VI.2.1 DIGITAL ARCHIVE 1065586
Cuban art critic and theorist Gerardo Mosquera (born 1945) introduces the exhibition Ante América—held in Bogotá’s Biblioteca Luis Ángel Arango (on view October 27–December 20, 1992) and curated jointly with Carolina Ponce de León and Rachel Weiss. Mosquera’s essay describes the common social, political, and economic framework that fostered the art of what he refers to as “el Sur” (the South) or “Nuestra América” (Our America). Expanding on the continental construct first articulated by José Martí [SEE DOCUMENT I.3.4], Mosquera’s “Nuestra América” is a concept not strictly defined by geography; instead, it is an imaginary region that, in addition to artists working in the continent, includes Latin Americans living in exile in both Europe and the United States, African Americans, Chicanos, and others. Although these artists are characterized by substantial heterogeneity, they undoubtedly share a common “cultural, historical, economic, and social community.” What unites the members of this almost limitless “community,” Mosquera argues, is the fact that they all have conflicted relationships with economic centers and that they experience extreme sociocultural contradictions within their own local contexts. As a result, the art produced by artists working in “el Sur” tends to be especially concerned with its social context and exhibits a tendency toward postmodern appropriation. During the early 1990s, Mosquera emerged as a key voice in the reframing of contemporary art produced in the heterogeneous context of Latin America. In this text, he introduces many important concepts and terms central to the discussion of postcolonial theory and contemporary Latin American art. This translation is made from the text’s original publication [Gerardo Mosquera, “Presentación,” Ante América, exh. cat. (Bogotá: Banco de la República/Biblioteca Luis Ángel Arango, 1992), 12–16].
ANTE AMÉRICA [FACING THE AMERICAS] is a discourse of integration. South American, Caribbean, Central American, Native, Chicano, Afro-North American, Latin American, and exiled artists in Europe take part in [this exhibition]. In a nutshell, this bundle of diversities that we classify—but cannot adequately represent—under the general designation of Latin America, or, better still, of Nuestra América, to use José Martí’s term [SEE DOCUMENT I.3.4], represents the Southern Hemisphere,1 even if some of these artists live in the big cities of the North. [We speak of a] Southern Hemisphere defined not by geography, but by a cultural, historical, economic, and social community beyond obvious differences.
In a short story by [Jorge Luis] Borges, a Colombian character says that being Colombian is an act of faith.2 This statement could extend to Latin America and to this exhibition. But so-called postmodern anthropology has conferred a cynical connotation to the statement by showing that identities stem more from deliberate structure than essence, especially in the cases of cultural diversity and syncretism. These structures materialize from common experiences and interests as schemes resulting from the pursuit of goals with shared benefit for those involved.
We Latin Americans, who have so much in common, are driven to integrate ourselves while at the same time accepting our complex diversity. The longing elicits general approval, but realistically leads to little progress, due to local pettiness that persists to this day and shatters the continent. The problem is typical not only of Latin America but to the entire Third World. One of the Southern Hemisphere’s puzzles is its lack of horizontal integration and communication, which is in sharp contrast to its vertical—and ancillary—connection with the North. In Latin America, it stands out even more because of our cultural, geographic, and historic proximity [to one another]. Yet all the Southern cultures and countries, despite their differences, still face common problems stemming from the post-colonial situation that has created structural similarities encompassing diversity. It is the mosaic effect, making it so difficult for us to make the most of things. How rhetorical indeed it is to “speak of the Third World and throw into the same bag Colombia, India, and Turkey,”3 as if ignoring what unites us or could unite us in a confrontation with hegemonic powers, even if [that common bond is] only poverty.4 These cultures need to know and reflect on themselves, exchange experiences, undertake common projects. Nevertheless, a radical relativism must not foment isolation, as we distance ourselves from the effort to approach and learn from the Other (even from what we don’t like, as [the architect Robert] Venturi would say). If postmodernity places otherness in the foreground, it does so through a process of infinite differentiation that eliminates the very need to choose.5 The strategy of the dominated is geared toward integration, starting from what unites them and by activating their difference “in face of the predominant international postmodern factor.”6 South–South [self-reliant, Robinson] Crusoe-ism only benefits the centers, which support the North–South verticalism.
The question puts in the foreground the issue of intercultural relations, one of the great subjects of the moment, introducing a more complex and multifarious consciousness. However, the intercultural challenge begins at home. How will Latin America confront the horizontal dialogue of [multiple] cultures if it has hardly solved it within [individual] countries where a large part of the population remains alienated from a supposed national integration scheme? The ideology of mestizaje [racial intermingling], a rhetorical approach aimed at resolving in a harmonious and equitable manner socio-ethnic diversity, has contributed a great deal to removing us from the problems of our otherness. Latin American countries find it hard to acknowledge their pluralism because the criollo bourgeoisie that shaped them blueprinted national outlines through accounts of totalizing identity that disguised the ethnic diversity and social marginalization of large groups of population.7
As integration can only be reached through dialogue and respect for differences, the false consciousness misleading our nations into feeling integrated only hampers, paradoxically, an authentic integration process that has failed to take place in the vast majority of them. Such a false consciousness [or ideology] does not merely float in the air: it weighs on the discriminatory economic, social, political, and cultural structures of Latin American countries. Present events in the ex-Soviet Union and Eastern Europe demonstrate the weakness of such structures when imposed by hegemonic groups instead of by plural consensus. In Latin America, the situation is more fluid, even though it provokes identity conflicts and confusion due to lack of consciousness of the problem.
Even speaking in the most general terms, we Latin Americans suffer from a problem of self. Whenever Latin American art or culture is discussed, the question of identity resurfaces like incurable herpes. We have yet to accept ourselves as we are, taking for granted our diversity and contradictions. We consider ourselves second-rate Europeans once-removed, either rushing to solve our complexes by using [a strategy of] Euro-North American mimicry; or we believe ourselves to be “Indians” or “Blacks” who have nothing to do with the Western culture, rebuffing it en bloc. Moreover, we dream of the utopia of mestizaje as a “cosmic race”;8 or we despair as victims of chaos, in order to seek refuge in both nihilism and cynicism. Our complexity either befuddles or intoxicates us. We fail to accept it with naturalness; we always need a chronicle that sets us into an ontological model of being and behaving. More than a century ago, José Martí said that, “by holding a book in front of our eyes,” we failed to see that the governing of “a hybrid and unique land” should include “all the elements . . . which rose to found it.”9 And the book turned out to be many books, and, unhappily, all of them portended adverse fortune.
Such detours arise from our sociocultural heterogeneousness, which goes back to the tremendous collision of cultures five hundred years ago. [The tendency to take these detours] stems from our original hodgepodge, of being simultaneously Western and non-Western; of belonging to the periphery while wearing a wristwatch showing the same time as New York; of being marginal yet eminently acquainted [with what is going on] in the centers of power; of enduring the conflictive structural diversity of our societies, where people live a stone’s throw from some of the world’s greatest megalopolises that are just adjacent to [areas for] hunting and primitive agriculture; [and of living in a state] of dependency with its economic, social, and cultural distortions. [The Argentinean anthropologist Néstor García] Canclini (paraphrasing Perry Anderson) speaks of “the continent of semi-,” where we find a mixture of “a dominant semi-oligarchic order, a semi-industrialized capitalist economy and semi-transforming social movements.”10 At least in Asia and Africa, despite bad conditions in some countries, things prove to be less ambiguous.
It has been said that we lack artistic identity, that “we were unable to forge a Latin American art concept.”11 Indeed, this is not inconsistent with the contradictions outlined above, but rather arises from them. Much of this has been intertwined with the complexity of the context, yet, more importantly, art has faced up to the complexity, has confronted it, serving as an example to politics or economics, which have done so little in this regard. I am not referring to the social role of symbolic production despite its coherence with the surroundings from which and for which it is made. The contradictions and insufficiencies that at times are indicated by the art of Latin America frequently reflect its acceptance of the contradictory structure of society itself, of its operations from the inside out. This has led it either to go astray or to score a bull’s-eye, to become either barren or fruitful. But never has it avoided culture’s dirty work. Thus, a general trait of art on the continent has been its active link with context, to the point that there has been mention of an “inextricable relation with reality” which determines “an immature concept of the symbolic,” meaning that aesthetics becomes continuously saturated with meaning from abroad.12
Along with all this, another general feature would be the “postmodern” ability for inclusion and appropriation, to make “the foreign something of one’s own, something intimate,” in [Ricardo] Forster’s words.13 It is a question of taking over our diversity without prejudice and using it to our advantage. According to [E.M.] Cioran, the Latin American intellectual typified by Borges, lets his spirit stretch in all directions. It is a scheme of “selective cannibalism,” of différence, formulated by the Brazilian modernists,14 whose early “Postmodernism” claimed it as a viable bit of cunning for Latin America’s contemporary culture.
Although the tricky question of “who’s eating whom?” remains more or less present in this as in any other intercultural relation, the process, albeit under circumstances of domination, instead originates in “give and take,” to quote Cuban ethnologist Fernando Ortiz. A long time ago [Franz] Boas, [Robert] Lowie, [Alfred] Kroeber, [Melville] Herskovits and other anthropologists stressed the active role of those innovators who receive alien elements—[namely,] the ones choosing, adapting, and transforming them. Nonetheless, the task is arduous because it goes forward on occupied instead of neutral grounds, thus underscoring a praxis that assumes, for tactical purposes, the contradictions of both dependency and post-colonial distortions. It was Simón Rodríguez in the past century who ironically asked why, if we were such good imitators, we didn’t imitate originality.
Therefore, the Ante América exhibition intends to offer a vision of contemporary art on the continent, emphasizing all these and other complexities. [This goal] is expressed in the invitation extended to artists of extremely varied backgrounds: here, probably for the first time, Chicano, Uruguayan, Native, Caribbean, Afro-North American, and Colombian artists are exhibiting together in a show asserting Latin America, whether it is in a New York suburb or on an English-speaking island. The exhibition in itself is an open essay on the continent, as the artists have been chosen because they propose in their works a consciousness of what America implies. Such a consciousness is communicated in quite different ways, often far-removed from the literal. Threaded into the artistic work, such consciousness can be aesthetic, cultural, social, religious, or even based on first-hand experience. The participants vary in age and degrees of recognition, but all of them are actively involved in the formulation of the continent’s contemporary culture.
Furthermore, the exhibition strives to improve the dissemination and knowledge of contemporary Latin American art in the continent itself, where, for instance, such an intense artistic scene as Jamaica is almost unknown, or Chicano or New York–Puerto Rican cultures remain often ignored or looked upon with suspicion. Countless obstacles are not only placed between North and South—as a consequence of the center–periphery power relationship—but also within the very South, due to post-colonial distortion. Such an attempt at communication is conveyed, on the one hand, through works discussing problems in our context and enriching what [the Cuban artist] Juan Francisco Elso used to call “a Latin American spirituality.” On the other hand, it aspires to present in the United States an image of Latin American art that is conceived from the South and delves deeply into our problems and is thus far-removed from clichéd expectations.
Latin American art—and the same is true for the rest of contemporary, non-traditional production in the Third World—has traditionally been undervalued and marginalized in the centers. And this increases every time the international circuits of Art History unveil the latest of accounts in the Euro-centered art history field. Even in exhibitions such as Primitivism in 20th Century Art or Magiciens de la terre [Magicians of the Earth], the Latin American presence was insignificant, despite the fact that it would have made an important contribution to those shows especially by probing and bringing to the fore [Latin America’s] problems and perspectives.15 Aside from the power mechanisms in play, this art has not been understood from the point of view of its response as committed to its own context. A myth of authenticity has made it difficult for it to be appreciated as a live reaction to the post-colonial contradictions and hybridizations, since the myth demands “originality” be carried to the Nth degree or to be closely tied to tradition and ancient cultures pertaining to a situation that is no longer germane.
One of the greatest prejudices of art history and criticism is to undervalue Latin American art as “derivative” of the Western tradition. Latin American artists are continually required to show their identification papers; their luggage is searched because of suspicions that they may be smuggling stuff from New York or Milan. In order to have their visa of originality stamped, they must be “fantastic” [SEE DOCUMENTS V.2.5 AND V.2.6] and not resemble anyone or, instead, resemble Frida [Kahlo]. The sensible thing would be to analyze how the art of a given country or region satisfies the aesthetic, cultural, social, communicative, and other demands of the community from which and for which it is made. The reply is usually mixed, relational, an appropriation that is, indeed, “inauthentic” and, therefore, inadequate to confront its current reality [of the here and now.] Although one has to guard against colonialism, which in general certainly weakens much contemporary art of Latin America and the Third World, it cannot be done with an attitude of nostalgia for masks or pyramids.
The postmodern interest in the Other has opened up some space in so-called “international” circles for Latin American art. It has introduced, however, a new thirst for the exotic—a carrier of a passive or second-degree Eurocentrism— that instead of making its own paradigms universal, makes certain cultural productions of the peripheral world agree with paradigms that the center typifies for its own consumption. Many Latin American artists and critics seem well disposed to “become the other” of themselves for the sake of the Western culture. In the final analysis, the resulting greater distribution and the relatively high prices favor above all artists who best fulfill the expectations or a rather stereotyped Latin American-ness which is suitable for the renewed insistence on the exotic. That is why [Diego] Rivera is held in much greater esteem than [José Clemente] Orozco and Remedios Varo valued more than [Joaquín] Torres-García [and so on].
Held in the United States, this exhibition will attempt to challenge such a perspective, taking advantage of the space [available] and widespread public interest. It supports a more plausible dialogue that contributes to a critical knowledge of Latin American art viewed from its own bases. It does so knowing that the reverse of exclusion and silence becomes token-ism. Even though postmodern times have introduced heterogeneous possibilities in the opposite poles of center–periphery and hegemony–subordination, such diversity was an imposition controlled from the center, thus reproducing domination. Being disguised as relativism, the center “threatens to sweep away to the periphery its main character as the alternate,” according to [Nelly] Richard,16 and to dull its opposing edge, swallowing it up. The postmodern interest in Other-ness is, once more, hegemonic and Eurocentric, a movement originating from the dominant toward the dominated; in other words, the other one is always us.
One of the inescapable challenges of subordinated cultures—more post-colonial than postmodern—is to transform the dominant culture for their own sake; the move being to de-Euro-centralize it without harming its capacity for action in current times. Many of the artists gathered here work, either spontaneously or consciously, in that direction. Ante América is a discourse of integration and also an act [of faith]. Furthermore, it is a provocation to more critically look in-depth at the art from the continent and at the continent through its art. This [strategy] can enlighten us greatly about the processes that are taking place today in our milieu, lowering some “books” from in front of our eyes. But Ante América is also a contribution to aesthetic enjoyment through abundant works of assorted insights. . . .
1
The dual and simplifying terms South–North, center–periphery, Third World–First World, etc., are as vulnerable to criticism as they are shop-worn. There are many centers and peripheries and relations in-between, just as there is a Third World in every First World and a First World in every Third World, as pointed out by Vietnamese filmmaker Trinh T. Minh-ha. I adopt these categories for practical purposes.
2
Jorge Luis Borges, “Ulrica,” El libro de arena (Buenos Aires: Emecé Editores, 1975), 27. —Ed.
3
Néstor García Canclini, “Modernismo sin modernización?” in Revista Mexicana de Sociología, (Mexico City) 51, no. 3 (July–September 1989): 170.
4
Mirko Lauer, “Notas sobre Plástica, Identidad y Pobreza en el Tercer Mundo,” in Debate Abierto: Tradición y Contemporaneidad en la Plástica del Tercer Mundo, Third Havana Biennial (1989): 19–27.
5
Geeta Kapur, “Tradición y Contemporaneidad en las Bellas Artes del Tercer Mundo,” in Debate Abierto, op. cit., 11. Reproduced under the title “Contemporary Cultural Practice: Some Polemical Categories”, in Third Text, London, no. 11 (Summer 1990): 109–117.
6
Nelly Richard, “Latinoamérica y la Postmodernidad,” in Revista de Critica Cultural, Santiago de Chile, 3, no. 3 (April 1991): 15. The author defines Latin America as “a zone of experience (namely: marginalization, dependency, subordination, de-centering) common to all the countries of the continent located on the periphery of the Western dominant model of centered modernity.”
7
Criollo is not equivalent to Créole. The latter term refers to West Indies culture and is applied to a broad range of cultural manifestations, from food and the African-influenced dialect common in the Caribbean islands, to the white and mixed-race descendants of French or Spanish settlers. By contrast, Criollo is used to refer to individuals of European—namely Spanish—descent born in the Americas. For the most part, the term identifies members of the white Latin American bourgeoisie.—Ed.
8
“Here we have, then, on the continent, all the elements of a new humanity. . . . Only the Iberian part of the continent has at its disposal the spiritual, racial and territorial factors necessary for the great venture of starting the universal era of humanity.” José Vasconcelos, “La Raza Cósmica,” in his Obras Completas, Volume 2, (Mexico City: FCE, 1972), 941–942. [SEE DOCUMENT IV.1.2]
9
José Martí, “Madre América” (1889), in his Páginas escogidas, vol. 1 (Havana: Imprenta Nacional de Cuba, 1971), 193.
10
García Canclini, “La Modernidad después de la Postmodernidad,” in Ana Maria de Moraes Belluzzo, Modernidade: Vanguardas Artisticas na América Latina (São Paulo: Memorial da América Latina, 1990), 220–221.
11
Juan Acha, “Las Posibilidades del Arte en América Latina,” in Arte Bienal (Cuenca, Ecuador) no.4 (October 1991): 7.
12
Ángel Kalenberg, interview in Journal. Southern California Art Magazine (Los Angeles) no. 25 (December 1979): 17 and 19.
13
Ricardo Forster, “Latinoamérica: el diálogo desde los márgenes,” typescript report in Simpósio Identidade Artistica e Cultural na América Latina (São Paulo: Memorial da América Latina, 1991).
14
In 1928, the Revista de Antropofagia was founded in São Paulo, in the first number of which appeared the “Manifesto Antropófago” written by Oswald de Andrade. For a critical appraisal of his ideas see Zita Nunes, Os Males do Brasil: Antropofagia e a Questão da raça, série papéis avulsos no. 22, Rio de Janeiro, CIEC/UFRJ, 1990. English version as Cannibal Democracy: Race and Representation in the Literature of the Americas. [SEE DOCUMENT I.5.7]
15
Rasheed Araeen, “Our Bauhaus Others’ Mudhouse,” in Third Text London, no.6, (Spring 1989): 3–14; James Clifford, “Histories of the Tribal and the Modern,” in Art in America, New York (April 1985): 164-177, in The Predicament of Culture, Cambridge and London, 1988; Gerardo Mosquera, “Primitivismo y contemporaneidad en jóvenes artistas cubanos”, in La Revista del Sur, Malmö, Sweden, 2, no. 3–4, (1985): 52–55.
16
Richard, “La Centro-Marginalidad Postmoderna,” typescript report in Simpósio Identidade Artística e Cultural na América Latina (São Paulo: Memorial da America Latina, 1991).