The Assault of The Body, The Body Under Assault: Interview with Érika Ordosgoitti

This is the English translation of an interview with Venezuelan performance artist Érika Ordosgoitti published last week by the Chilean magazine Atlas Revista Fotografía e Imagen (it can be read here). Érika is a dynamic force in the Venezuelan arts scene, a tireless political activist, driving force behind the Caracas Performance Biennale, and an extremely sensitive, disciplined, and thorough thinker and poet. It was a privilege to speak with her. This interview is particularly focused on the body, urban violence, and the “photo-assaults” that she has been developing for more than 6 years now.

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#Here: A Conversation with Costanza de Rogatis

Below is the English translation of my most recent article for La ONG’s blog. This time I interviewed Venezuelan photographer Costanza de Rogatis, with special focus on her social media images. The original Spanish can be found here.

Costanza de Rogatis (Caracas, 1976) holds a B.A. in Arts from Universidad Central de Venezuela and a Diploma in Photography from the Fondazione Studio Marangoni in Florence. She has participated in numerous group exhibitions, in countries such as Venezuela, Italy, the United States, Latvia, and Finland. This past August, she opened the individual show Puente at Tresy3 gallery in Caracas.

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Valentina Alvarado, Browsing History (Interview)

This interview was also originally in Spanish and published in Metal Magazine’s blog Pull The Metal (they redesigned the site and this got lost, apparently). In 2014, the Barcelona-based Venezuelan artist had just closed her first solo show in Backroom Caracas with some delicate, evocative work that seamlessly combined paper and digital collage in beautiful reflections about digital identity and affect. It’s brief, but I was glad to be able to talk with her about the project.

First, please visit the Historial de Navegación website.

 

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Valentina putting up the exhibit (2014) © Consuelo Méndez

Valentina, tell me a bit about your formal education background.

 

I started out studying architecture. Immediately I had problems with exactitude, so in my fear that housing complexes would collapse because of me, I shifted to graphic design. During my career as a designer I have experimented with fashion, art direction, publicity, and visual arts.

I was also instructor at the Department of Audiovisual Arts at LUZ (La Universidad del Zulia) for two years. I have now assimilated the teaching “chip,” and I hope to continue to develop that side of my career. Right now I am studying a Masters in Contemporary Artistic Creation at La Universitat de Barcelona.

What was the premise behind Historial de Navegación [“Browsing History”], your show that just closed in Backroom Caracas? There is a website that complements it too, and I’m curious how they worked together and what the site means to you now that the exhibit is over.

Although the website “closed” with the exhibit, this is an ongoing project; I will undoubtedly continue to develop web-based projects.

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© Valentina Alvarado

Nothing is fixed, everything is at the edges… it’s a little of what Homi Bhabha talks about, how we substitute the word post for beyond. That third space, which is neither the surface of the paper, nor the gallery space, but a virtual one, is an extremely interesting, infinite corridor. And I don’t mean it’s interesting only in terms of how easily it can be accessed or how far it can reach, but in the act of treating the screen like a canvas. With Historial de Navegación (the exhibit and the site) I was aiming to even invert the order of the terms: what is digital somehow returning to an “original” state, and the transformations that happen throughout.

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Deborah Castillo, from the threshold (Interview)

This interview originally appeared in Spanish in ViceVersa Magazine. I finally came around to translate it to English. Deborah Castillo is probably my favorite contemporary Venezuelan artist/image-maker, and in early 2015 I sat down with her to talk about her recent emigration. She’s done a lot since then (including a solo show in Caracas, one at Cornell University and another at Mandragoras Art Space in Long Island City).
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© Deborah Castillo

Deborah Castillo was born in Caracas (Venezuela) in 1971, and she has lived in NYC since August 2014. She is an artist. Her work is at once irreverent, intellectual, and visceral. She uses her body to negotiate her vital space, and to reflect back to her audience a tangible reflection of the political and social forces that traverse it. Her art cannot be separated from a critique of power in all of its manifestations: in social stereotypes, in gender discrimination, in political authoritarianism, or in the founding myths of Latin America.

Deborah won the Eugenio Mendoza Prize and the Jóvenes con FIA Prize in Venezuela, both in 2003. One wonders if there is an area of artistic formation that she has not explored: She was a student at the Instituto de Estudios Superiores de Artes Plásticas Armando Reverón and at the Escuela Cristóbal Rojas, she studied at the London College of Fashion, she started her own clothing line, she designs jewellery, she’s a certified make-up artist, she makes pottery, and she restored most of the furniture in her Brooklyn apartment.

In recent times, and in the light of a very complex political situation in Venezuela, Deborah has oriented her art towards a dialog with power and a profanation of the “untouchable” common places of a militarised culture. In El beso emancipador (The emancipating kiss), a work belonging to the exhibition Acción y Culto -which earned her the title “the Violator of the Homeland,” among others-, she makes out with a bust of Simón Bolívar, the Liberator. In Lamezuela (a play on Venezuela, replacing the first letters for “lame,” which means lick, leaving “zuela,” which goes to mean sole) she licks the boot of a man in military attire. Deborah uses her tongue to question, and impose herself upon, oppression in the symbolic field. 

However, since last August, Deborah is also standing in the same spot as the hundreds of Venezuelans that fled the country in 2014 (according to sociologist Tomás Páez, 2014 saw the highest rate of emigration to date): at the threshold. On the edge of possibilities that are still only beginning to emerge, she examines the things to come, and reflects upon the past and what is impossible to abandon.

You have been living outside of Venezuela for nearly a year now. Why did you decide to migrate?

I am self-exiled. In Venezuela I feel asphyxiated as an artist and as a citizen. 

You are now working from a very different reality. How has your work been impacted by this so far? 

I don’t have that answer yet. I only started working in January; the first few months I dedicated fully to getting settled. But I can say that my art is very contextual: I work according to the context that I happen to be in. I am still getting to know New York City, not as an artist, but as a migrating human being. I don’t know how exactly, but I know my work will change. For now it is still very tied to Venezuela; in fact, my first performative action here happened in  La Meta es Desmontar la Simulación at Wendy’s Subway. It was an event created to commemorate the protests that began in February 2014 in the country. My performance was called Slapping Power, where I slapped a bust of Simón Bolívar and I disfigured his face.

That performance was projected live at the Nelson Garrido Organization in Caracas, and it was also livestreamed

That was a very interesting experience, because I had never done something like that. I am very interested in the format of performance for web, but if I had been in Caracas it would probably not have occurred to me. This is how new alternatives begin to open up from here: new types of work and new spaces. 

Is your work fully inseparable from Venezuela?

My work is inseparable from my life: the work is life. Both are absolutely intertwined with the political circumstances in Venezuela, but I don’t want my work to be too local. Actions like Slapping Power are simply the answers of a common citizen to a system, and it speaks to a collective experience, both Latin American and from any other region that has suffered under totalitarian regimes. 

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