Joaquín Jesús Sánchez

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  picks May 18, 2022

  Maider López

  In a tiny village in central Spain, a farmer moved a mound of cut grass on the back of his tractor. Eclipsing the vehicle, the large load appeared to “walk” on its own, gently wobbling along like a creature from a fairy tale.

  A chance encounter with such a scene inspired “Hierba en movimiento” (Moving Grass), an exhibition at Espacio Mínimo by the Basque artist Maider López. In the first of three videos, Hierba en Movimiento, tractor (Moving Grass, tractor, all works cited 2021), we watch a pile of cut grass—the tractor hidden under its bulk—making its way through a grove of oak trees and down

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  picks April 25, 2022

  Berta Cáccamo

  After living in Barcelona, Paris, and Rome, Berta Cáccamo returned in the mid-1990s to her native Galicia, where she made “Horas felices” (Happy Hours), a series of one-line abstractions in which a thick, sinuous brushstroke expands across each canvas, folding in on itself like an intestine. The series lends its title to this exhibition, which brings together paintings by the artist dated from the late 1980s to 2018 alongside notebooks, sketches, annotations, and a collection of knickknacks and discarded objects.

  These years map a trajectory, from the discreet informalism of her early output, to

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  picks February 15, 2022

  Suzi Ferrer

  In a passage from Velázquez, the philosopher José Ortega y Gasset mocks those who think that history is shaped like a reef, as if information were washed up by the tide. Undoubtedly, this paradigm suits the status quo: Rather than comply with dominant interests, the historiographical canon is established through a—presumably impartial—process of sedimentation.

  However, the manner in which the image of an era is formed or in which forgotten artists are recovered is much more arbitrary and even haphazard. This retrospective seeks to shed new light on the decade-long career of Suzi Ferrer (1940–2006),

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  picks January 23, 2022

  Freddie Mercado

  Uncanny valley is a term coined to describe the feeling of discomfort generated by androids that look too much like human beings; The more they resemble us, the more they repulse us. Although popularized by recent advances in robotics, this effect is nothing new. Almost-humans have terrorized us for centuries, from the golem of Prague to Frankenstein’s monster.

  The doubles that Freddie Mercado has installed in La Casa de Los Contrafuertes—a selection of elaborate costumes complete with masks bearing the artist’s features—provoke a similar discomfort. These other Freddies veer toward the histrionic,

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  print January 2022

  Gonçalo Sena

  The Western tradition has some ineluctable images of water. One is the melancholic Psalm 137 (“By the rivers of Babylon”), which was set to music by Palestrina, Victoria, and Verdi, among many others. Another comes from the myth of Narcissus, whose fondness for looking at his reflection in a lake had tragic consequences. Then there are the material manifestations of our feelings about water: for instance, in the fountains in the palace gardens of the Alhambra or Versailles, which demonstrate architects’ mastery over the forces of nature.

  For his exhibition “Circular Spaces,” Portuguese artist

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  print October 2021

  Robert Filliou and Wilfredo Prieto

  “The play of art,” said Hans-Georg Gadamer in a 1973 lecture of that title, “is a mirror that through the centuries constantly arises anew, and in which we catch sight of ourselves in a way that is often unexpected or unfamiliar: what we are, what we might be, and what we are about.” I remembered this quote while visiting “Un encuentro improbable” (An Unlikely Encounter), an exhibition that staged a chance meeting between Robert Filliou (1926–87) and Wilfredo Prieto (born 1978).

  On the surface, this was a modest exhibition. It featured small pieces made with basic materials: a cardboard box with

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  picks July 15, 2021

  Ugo Mulas

  Dante, Borges claimed, believed that there is a moment in the life of each man that encapsulates that life’s entirety. Ugo Mulas’s photographs of some of the last century’s most famous (and mostly male) artists, gathered here in the late Italian portraitist’s first solo exhibition in Madrid, may seem to confirm this belief. His theatrical black-and-white pictures flatter us with illusions of intimacy, as though we were having a friendly encounter with his legendary sitters or permitted to observe them at the instant the muse strikes. The pictures also, of course, flatter the artists, whom we

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  print May 2021

  Rafael Tur Costa

  Born in 1927, Rafael Tur Costa spent his entire life in Ibiza. There, having survived the Spanish Civil War, he studied at its Escuela de Artes y Oficios (School of Arts and Crafts), as it was then called, but then went on to run a fabric store. Despite the insularity of the place where he lived, Tur Costa, who passed away in 2020, maintained contacts with artists who vacationed on the Balearic Islands, among them a group from the Hochschule für Bildende Künste in Berlin. He also connected with the art scenes of Madrid and Barcelona. These internal and external influences were reflected in “La

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  print April 2021

  James Casebere

  It is no accident that utopian philosophers situated their ideal societies on islands, which in the imagination appear to provide both security and solitude. But if such isolation is often portrayed as blissful—as with Taprobane in Tommaso Campanella’s The City of the Sun (1602), for instance, or the tropical paradises that Western tourists fantasize about—it can also represent something terrible: Devil’s Island, Alcatraz, or Homer’s Aeaea, where the sorceress Circe dwelled. 

  James Casebere’s “On the Water’s Edge” featured a collection of photographs of colorful stilt houses, each an island unto

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  print January/February 2021

  Eulàlia Rovira

  In his famous 1967 lecture “Des espaces autres” (Of Other Spaces), Michel Foucault stated, “Heterotopia is capable of juxtaposing in a single real place several spaces, several sites that are in themselves incompatible.” I was reminded of this definition when I read the introductory text to Eulàlia Rovira’s exhibition “Esmorteir l’esmorteït” (Deaden the Deadened), which recounts a story at once macabre and funny. In mid-nineteenth-century London, a dance hall was created in a former chapel with a burial vault beneath the floor. The owners advertised “Dancing on the Dead—Admission Threepence.”

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  picks December 24, 2020

  Carles Congost

  Music is the most obvious connector between the different videos. Wonders, 2016, and ¿Para qué sirven las canciones?, 2020, reflect on the phenomenon of the hit song. The mockumentary Simply the Best, 2016, considers a Swiss firefighter’s

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  print September 2020

  Richard Artschwager