IV.3.3 DIGITAL ARCHIVE 815432
The essay “Invención del arte latinoamericano” by Mexican art historian and critic Jorge Alberto Manrique (born 1936) examines the meaning of the term(s) “Latin America(n)” in the context of the visual arts. Echoing the work of Edmundo O’Gorman [SEE DOCUMENT I.1.7], Manrique’s main contention is that these parallel constructs were invented by Simón Bolívar [SEE DOCUMENT I.3.2] and others so that Latin American artists came to meet in their practice the expectations associated with these general ideas. According to Manrique, Latin America has unique aesthetic values whose sum is not necessarily tantamount to a “Latin American art.” Rather, what defines the art produced along this cultural axis or continental bloc is the need to define, to question, and, in certain cases, to rebuff any unifying construct altogether. Initially, Manrique presented this essay at Primer Encuentro Iberoamericano de Críticos de Arte y Artistas Plásticos organized by Caracas’s Museo de Bellas Artes on June 18–27, 1978 [SEE DOCUMENTS IV.4.10 AND IV.4.11, FOR OTHER CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE SYMPOSIUM]. The translation of this document is based on the original typescript in the museum’s archives [Jorge Alberto Manrique, “Invención del arte latinoamericano,” Primer encuentro iberoamericano de críticos de arte y artistas plásticos, (Caracas: Museo de Bellas Artes, 1978)]. The manuscript was published in Catálogo General. Colección Pintura y Escultura Latinoamericana [(Caracas: Museo de Bellas Artes, 1979), 15–17].
WHEN I SAY “INVENTION OF LATIN AMERICAN ART” I am not talking about the invention or creation of all the works of art produced in Latin America over the centuries. Neither am I referring to local styles or groups of artists or periods in Latin American art. That is, the history of art that has been and is still being produced, and has its own ambitions. My purpose in writing this essay is to propose the idea of “invention”1 as a concept that can, to some extent, explain and justify a complex, challenging, and contradictory reality. I am talking about what we call Latin American art.
An inspection of Latin America’s rich artistic heritage clearly reveals its defining diversity: Latin American art is the pre-Columbian expression of Central America and the Andes region. That may sound like an absurd definition, since we classify it as pre-Columbian, pre-Hispanic, or pre-Cortés—that is, as having been produced in areas eventually settled by Spain. Latin American art is also the monastic art of sixteenth-century Mexico or Guatemala; the mannerist work of Mexico, Colombia, Quito, or Peru; the baroque style of the Andes uplands or the Anáhuac; the classical, academic, nationalist, and contemporary art produced in our countries. On another level Latin American art is intelligent, sophisticated, and urban, yet also includes traditional forms ranging from folklore to higher art. Local art also belongs under the umbrella of Latin American art—from the baroque to the nationalism of the twentieth century—as does our international art, whether neoclassical or academic, abstract or conceptual. Latin American art is restrained; it advocates temperance and scorns ornamental touches. It is also brimming with imagination and decoration and formal riches, past and present. Latin American art includes very distinct traditions from different parts of the continent; some countries have a rich pre-Hispanic heritage, a magnificent colonial tradition, and thriving folklore and traditional art—other countries are home to more recently-arrived migrant populations with correspondingly less history (though that reality too is included.)
All that past and present variety—and the infinite diversity among the artists themselves—create a mosaic so complex that no common denominator is immediately apparent.
We nonetheless speak of a Latin American art and when we do, what we essentially mean is art “produced by Latin American artists, whatever their aesthetic and regardless of where they live” (Saúl Yurkievich [SEE DOCUMENT IV.3.6]).
I do not believe that Latin American art can be conceptualized without an understanding of the essence of Latin America.
In very broad terms, we define Latin America as an area of the world where countries have similar histories—all of them experienced an Iberian conquest and colonization, gained their independence at approximately the same time, enjoyed a liberal period, and so on. These countries have endured many of the same conditions (a mestizo society, dependence, exploitation, neocolonialism, and a false economy, among others). They are similar in some ways, but also very different, each one a product of its own particular experience. [For example,] the races did not mingle in the same way in every country—there are obvious differences between Argentine society and Mexican society; the Brazilian economy is nothing like the Bolivian economy, and so on.
The fact is that results are different from one country to another, in spite of seemingly parallel histories and similar problems. Latin America, therefore, is a mosaic of different countries and geographies, each with different histories and social conditions. All this notwithstanding, we still talk about Latin America using this umbrella concept to convey something beyond a geographical identity or the fact that these countries are part of the Third World.
The fact is that this universal reference to Latin America makes undeniable sense. We define ourselves more in terms of what we are not than what we are; we identify ourselves in terms of the other, whether that be the Western world in the strict sense of the term, or the Asian or African worlds—we identify ourselves, in other words, according to our need to define ourselves. The desire to be something when we are actually something else is an “invention” that was initiated by [Simón] Bolívar, Fray Servando Teresa de Mier, [Melchor de] Talamantes, and [Francisco] Miranda, among many others. Perhaps it is fiction: it was then and maybe (in some ways) it still is. But if so, it is a fiction that has been so often repeated and so widely accepted that it has gained a certain aura of reality. We have invented the concept of Latin America and, in a rather odd way, have managed to make the reality look like the concept we are referring to.
What I have said here would seem to clarify matters in terms of art. Since Latin America exists in its own, recognizable right—though this existence may be a virtual reality, which I wish could transform into a tangible form—it then follows that the art produced by that Latin America must also exist.
I think, however, that we must look deeper. Because, though there seems to be no doubt that, for example, Mexico and Argentina exist, there is doubt regarding the existence of a Mexican art and an Argentine art. Not about whether art is being and has been produced in those two countries and others in the region, but about the existence of a very local kind of art expressing Mexican or Argentine nature; specifically, there are doubts regarding the existence of a Latin American artistic reality as such.
The fact is that our need to define ourselves as a continent and as a culture is the mirror image of our need to define ourselves as individual countries and cultures. And we still feel that need.
We will not rest until we are convinced that our art—our culture—has a secure place in the world. This is not about one or more artists being famous and enjoying worldwide recognition (which is just a small part of the problem), but about being recognized as creators of our own art. As such, we don’t accept the tired old line (which is in itself an expression of the problem) that “we are almost at” the level of the great civilized nations—meaning Europe and the United States—in terms of art. We have been “almost there” and “catching up” for two hundred years. Poor comfort indeed. It is also poor comfort to learn that, absent a change in production forms and dependence structures, we will be unable to have our own art or culture.
This position’s seemingly revolutionary attitude entails a reactionary conformism, since it commits action in the artistic field ad calendas grœcas [when pigs fly] to an uncertain future.
I believe that there has been a Latin American art in the past; I believe that Latin America has produced painters (some mediocre, some great talents) and continues to produce them. And that, in the aggregate, they are Latin American art. That is aside from the issues—not entirely remote but not exactly pressing either—of the market, promotion, exposure, and recognition.
As long as our current art tries (explicitly or tacitly) to be Latin American that is what it will be—as it has always been—and will thus earn its place in the world. When I say “as long as it tries…” I am sidestepping the thorny question of nationalism, with its national, historical, social, or political undercurrents. I believe that art at either end of the spectrum—whether expressing explicitly local content or adopting a more universal approach—is a valid response in terms of our need to define ourselves. [However,] I am referring to something more general, something deeper though perhaps a little less defined: the question of whether the artist feels Latin American.
When asked if artists living in exile are Latin Americans, I reply that if they still care about their country and their culture, not to mention their art vis-à-vis that culture, then they are.
After all, for example, everyone talks about “French art”—past and present—and yet, while there is less diversity there than in our countries, there seems to be no logical common denominator between [the cathedral at] Chartres, [Antoine] Watteau, and [Georges] Braque. There is, however, a barely definable likeness we now take for granted—perhaps something as vague, indefinable, and real as the “nature of the French people.”
As Latin Americans, we may never enjoy the untroubled conscience of the French because our need to define ourselves is what makes us who we are and what gives us strength. That need stimulates thoughtful contemplation and creates a culture, an art. Were it eliminated—should that even be possible—I believe the concept of Latin America would disappear, as would Latin American art, to be replaced by something else.
1
The concept suggested by the author echoes the opinion expressed by Edmundo O’Gorman in his book La invención de América (1958), an updated (1961) version of which is included in this volume [SEE DOCUMENT I.1.7]—Ed.