TOO OFTEN HAVE LATIN AMERICAN ARTISTS been lumped together by careless critics and dismissed as mere followers of international “bandwagons.” The “Art of Latin America since Independence” at Yale and “The Emergent Decade” [SEE DOCUMENTS IV.2.3, IV.2.4, RESPECTIVELY] were the most recent exhibitions to be thus minimized. But if one takes the trouble to examine individual works a bit more carefully, are they really synonymous with their European counterparts or have they some character which distinguishes them as uniquely Latin American?
The question “Is There a Latin American Art?” was taken up recently at a symposium held at the New School for Social Research. Panelists Thomas Messer of the Guggenheim Museum and Stanton L. Catlin of the Yale University Art Gallery answered an ambiguous “yes and no” to the question. Mr. Catlin mentioned some small isolated groups that are not known here and, one would gather, not active in the major Latin American art centers. Mr. Messer felt that there is an intention that suggests differences. The other two panelists, Ernesto Deira and Marcelo Bonevardi, both Argentinean painters, vehemently denied the existence of a Latin American art. Bonevardi felt—with some justification—that aesthetic objectives did not have anything to do with nationality. “There are no nationalities, only good artists,” Deira said. “Latin America does not exist as such; there are twenty different countries. . . . If Latin America does not exist as a concept, how could one ask for something characteristic of its art?” After further deliberation and no conclusive answer, the symposium joggled to an end. But one point had barely been touched. Content! The discussion had been largely concerned with style while the only clear allusion to content had been Mr. Messer’s “intention that suggests differences.” Yet content appears to be the whole difference.
I am not concerned here with the Mexican Renaissance which unquestionably produced both a style and content distinct from anything else, and which in turn exerted a strong influence abroad. The brutality inherent in much Mexican painting has been either refined or completely eliminated from the art of other Latin American countries while its energy has survived and taken other forms.
As I talked further to Latin Americans and took a closer look at their works, it became increasingly apparent that their attitudes were neither those of the United States nor those of Europe. Contrary to Deira, both the Peruvian painter Fernando de Szyszlo and the Bolivian Maria Luisa Pacheco, for instance, are very much aware of being Latin American in their art. While their individual forms of abstraction admittedly come from Europe, the content in both painters’ work is completely indigenous. Both use their countries’ pre-Columbian civilizations as themes. Another example is Fernando Botero of Colombia. Botero’s paintings of fat gnomish creatures, executed in a technique and polish acquired from studying the Italian old masters, are unparalleled in their strange combination of powerful commentary, wit and sincerity. In other figurative work, for instance that of [José Luis] Cuevas and [Leonel] Góngora, one is aware of a mentality that is distinctly Spanish-American. There is a fusing of well-mastered plastic elements with a taste for absurd commentary.
Nowhere is this mentality more evident than in the work of five Argentinean expressionists, one of whom ironically, is Deira himself. The other four are Luis Felipe Noé, Jorge de La Vega, Romulo Macció and Antonio Seguí. Collectively, their styles show a combination of Cobra [group] characteristics, a Germanic taste for the bizarre, and a little James Ensor. Yet the chaotic buoyancy and intellectual enigma often present in these works speak of a mentality other than European. The Argentinean, although largely Spanish by heritage, manifests a turn of mind most resembling the French in its capacity for quick, witted perception and subtle sense of humor. Yet he also manifests a forthright emotionalism that is not Gallic. Although each of the five expressionists concerned is distinctive, one from the next, each is motivated by a common objective. The five painters aspire to regain human values in their art. Theirs is an intensely personal art. “We, the men of today,” Noé once wrote, “are creating among us a new order of things and signaling the way to a new organic ‘Weltanschauung.’ But this new order has nothing to do with any previous one; it is above all to understand chaos that we are living because what we call chaos is nothing but that for which we lack a pattern of understanding. The United States is a society which affirms itself,” he continued. “But in our country as in the whole of South America, we are still at a stage previous to that of formulating our own way of life as compared to the ‘American way of life,’ and thus we are left with that which precedes all order —chaos. Therefore we must invest ourselves with it.” Chaos is both the subject and the means of his work, and man is the subject and the means of chaos. In his own work Noé has no set of rules: but each of his compositions places the viewer before a new “disorder of images.”
Commentary on the human species has always been a Spanish favorite. But when Latin Americans denounce man, they seem to do it with infinite warmth and empathy. They are patently on his side since they consider themselves as much the object of the lesson as is the viewer. They present “truth” with considerable humor. Noé, Seguí and de la Vega are particularly noted for their whimsical touches. Noé’s portrayals of people are often biting caricatures in garish colors.
The concern for human values constitutes perhaps the most cohesive force throughout Latin America. Because of it there exists a sort of ideological consistency far greater than among North American artists who are still trying to reconcile what little individuality remains with the overpowering spokes of the industrial wheel.
In Latin America there is as yet no such problem. Therefore the artist can only refer to it in a vicarious manner when he chooses to do so. South Americans are undeniably individualists as is evident in their politics. This condition is both good and bad. In art and spiritual values it is good. It is also advantageous to self-esteem, personal courage and unconditional enjoyment of life. One could say that, it is more conducive to a richer inner life and less so to one’s adaptation to social and political formulæ. In short, it can create… chaos. The South American artist, especially in Argentina is the “man-in between” as opposed to the North American artist whose life is far more isolated. As such, the Latin American stands in the middle of his audience and speaks directly to it about himself, about mankind. In turn, the average Latin American viewer, who, like in the United States belongs to the business, political or professional classes, is rarely one hundred percent layman. He is enough of a poet himself to be able to read a painting without requiring further explanation. Perhaps he might also feel a little ashamed not to understand since his attitude toward art is not condescending, but rather one of respect for the artist as an oracle and agent between unseen forces and himself. There is no doubt that Latin America has its “international” artists just as Europe and the United States have. Can anyone say that Jean Bazaine is particularly French, [Jean] Tinguely particularly Swiss, Ben Nicholson particularly British, [Philip] Guston or [Milton] Resnick particularly American anymore than [Marcelo] Bonevardi is Argentinean or Jesus Rafael Soto is Venezuelan? Artists have always sought to bring something individual to art in general more than they have to one particular country. When artists do contribute to the art of a country it is often so unconscious a process that they are not aware of it themselves. Certainly a true artist does not concern himself with anything as superficial as style. But the condition of his life in relation to a particular country or environment is bound to affect his attitude. It is this attitude that we sense in the work of the Argentinean expressionists as well as in that of many other artists throughout South America.
The Latin American artist believes in his fellow men while at the same time he fully realizes that they are as fallible as himself: “We are not afraid of making mistakes,” says Deira. It is undoubtedly for this reason that artists are sympathetic to the mistakes of others. They accept the challenge of the unknown. They are not satisfied with easy comforting answers. It is this self-doubt that spurs them on to constant re-adaptation in their quest for new values in art. In this sense they are being essentially Latin Americans; they are responding to their environment. “Our tradition is in the future,” Deira says. “Anything else is not tradition because it does not work.” He is unconsciously contributing a large share of energy to a tradition he is so close to, [so that] he cannot yet recognize its budding form.