II.3.7 DIGITAL ARCHIVE 1051653
Journalist and writer Mada Ontañón (née Carreño, 1914–2000)—a Mexico City-based Spanish émigré—interviewed the Peruvian painter José Sabogal during the artist’s trip to Mexico in 1942. On this visit, Sabogal, who had lived in Mexico in the early 1920s, returned in his official capacity as director of Lima’s Escuela Nacional de Bellas Artes. During this trip, Sabogal annouced his intention to paint large-scale frescoes in Peru. Much like the strategically-minded Mexican muralists who created art as political statements, the Peruvian artist used his administrative charge as a platform from which to call for a radical nationalist art in Peru that was based on native values. Initially published in Mexico City’s magazine HOY [(January 23, 1942), 96-97], the interview is included in Sabogal’s Obras literarias completas [(Lima: Ignacio Prado Pastor Editor, 1989), 433–35].
THE GREAT PERUVIAN PAINTER HAS COME TO VISIT US—he came for the first time twenty years ago—on his way home from a trip to the United States. The winds of war have stirred up even the quietest, most remote places, and we are now being visited by crowds of people from all over the world. Mexico is host to a most interesting parade of celebrities: one of the kings who are still around; international “stars”; distinguished politicians; artists who escaped Europe and were known only by name. They are now here and still a little surprised, as we are, that so much has happened. Also, as in the case of [José] Sabogal, old friends of Mexico have returned after thinking they might never again leave their country or their regular work routine.
In the lobby of the hotel where he is staying, Sabogal—with an air of the moderate dreamer about him—says nice things about Mexico. He has seen so much that has impressed him that all he wants to do is get back to work and do a lot of painting. In the meantime, he is traveling in Mexico—“which has changed a lot”—in the company of friends. The phone rings constantly and he interrupts the conversation with a very pleasant “excuse me” and an ever-widening smile.
“[Pablo] O’Higgins? Yes, I’ll be there to pick you up in a little while.” Sabogal is happy. With Mexico, with his trip to the United States—at the invitation of the State Department—, with the chance to meet up with old friends. He also speaks in very complimentary terms about the art milieu in Mexico and about young Mexican artists.
“It is interesting,” he says, “to note the duality that has always existed between Mexico and Peru, ever since pre-Hispanic times. Now, once again, our two countries are developing the art movement in the Americas, both fired by an identical vision. Our similarity has connected us and united us over the course of time.”
Sabogal is the current director of the Escuela Nacional de Bellas Artes [National School of Fine Arts] in [Lima,] Peru, and is one of the most enthusiastic supporters of new art. The National School of Fine Arts in his country sets an example of a broad perspective; it is a place defined by flexible criteria where students learn, above all, to express themselves and their personal vision. For an official school—of the kind that can so easily become mired in the foul odors of academism—this is a well-nigh miraculous achievement.
Young artists—Sabogal mentions Julia Codesido, Teresa Carvalio, Camilo Blas, and [Enrique] Camino Brent—travel around Peru so that, while they are studying art from other countries, they can also learn about their own. Sabogal says, “This is the example Mexico set for us in 1923; then we had to explore ourselves and discover our own form of expression; we had to discover an art for the Americas. Now, twenty years later, Mexican painting, for example, ranks in the upper echelons of world painting.”
— “Do you think this movement is important for art?”
— “I think this blooming of the visual arts, which started in the continent in late 1922, is just as interesting as l’École de Paris.” Sabogal tells me about his intention to begin painting al fresco when he returns to his country, inspired by the splendid exhibitions he has admired here. “This revival of al fresco painting,” he says, “is, in my opinion, yet another example of art in the Americas, proof of its vitality, its vision, its new breath of life.” He adds,
— “Furthermore, a wall measuring so many meters high by so many long is a good place on which to theorize. You can speak to the people from there, as from a podium.”
— “Are you interested in politics?” I ask maliciously.
Sabogal takes his time to answer.
— “Art is broader than any political idea. I think politics inevitably gets in the way of an artist’s painting.”
— “Now let’s talk about European art.”
—“I’m very interested in the modern French painters.”
— “And Picasso?”
— “Picasso is always alright, whatever he does. And we shouldn’t forget about the Impressionists so soon. But, among modern painters, the one to whom we, the Americans, feel closest is Gauguin.”
Sabogal—who brought no paintings with him—hands me some photographs for readers of HOY. His mature, firm style is most clearly visible in his most recent works that get steadily more powerful, more sure of themselves. They are portraits of Peruvian Indians and marvelous landscapes that are extraordinarily concise—the rocks of the Andes and their white tunics; the high plateaus looking as still and unreal as a moonscape; sun-bleached scenes of churches; authentically picturesque Spanish imagery—the soul and color of the people—featuring towers painted with tragic realism; and popular musicians who sing their dirge to who-knows which god.
Sabogal’s painting, which is so Peruvian, reaches out beyond the frame. Focused exclusively on expressing his country—the art of his homeland—Sabogal’s work, like all good painting, embodies a direct connection to universal art.