Difference of Opinion

There is often a struggle to get people to backtrack and observe what got them to the present point in time...meaning their heritage and history. We're going through this crisis in the US and it's going on here in northern Colombia, for different yet parallel reasons.

I was invited to a conversation among six intellectuals in the area, held in an exquisite house with a tropical garden. Each was a professor at one of the local universities in either architecture, history or the social sciences, and most had the complaint of the resistance met with their investigative projects by citizens of the area, as well as the lack of accurate documents kept for proper reference. 

Already a consideration, is that the humid climate and mold consume everything, and climate control storage for antique documents is a recent development, in this area at least. Therefore, much has been scanned to official websites and the original materials were sent to the capital where resources exist for the safe storage of photographs, documents and historical artifacts.

What was interesting about the 2-hour conversation is that each gentleman had their own foundational knowledge of the various aspects of the area. However, I picked up quickly that most of the developments of the area occurred in the 1970s--not the 1700s when the city was formed; not even the 1950s when the area was awarded autonomous statehood. Only after the 1970s were more roads paved and zoning laws put into use, even if the old ways were already established and not apt to change--ever. This development is disappointing...since this project is all about memories. 

Forgot how hot it can be...

Purposefully, I came outside of rodeo season. There's a lot going on in those wild three weeks; it's distracting. I'm working with the assets I have, refining the message and researching the delivery.

Researching content like this is difficult no matter where it finds itself. You really need to travel far distances to get the first-hand information to give a project depth. Through contacts I made long ago, I was able to meet with a historian at the cultural center in town, and she informed me that much of what I'm looking for can be found in one of two places: a digital archive within the center, since the original materials are in Bogotá and, quite illusive but infinitely more exciting, by knocking on doors and requesting to see family photo albums. There's another six months of my life, or, with some help and luck, maybe not.

She also directed me to an architecture professor who teaches in the area and who possess the high-res files of everything available online. That saves me a lot. He's gonna WeTransfer vintage scans from which I'll recreate backgrounds for my story,
.

OK, I'm going again.

Moments ago, I posted about the illness that flattened me for a year after my last visit to Tierralta—highlands of Córdoba near the Antioquia border. Those days, and the angry, xenophobic U.S. administration, don't matter to me now. I'm leaving in June for yet another journey to finish this installation. Something tells me it won’t be the last.

It only took a phone call with a historian. I held my breath before dialing—his work parallels mine, both of us chasing something fleeting and elegiac. His project is about preserving the architectural landmarks of the region, a fight against not just time and climate, but also a local skepticism rooted in survival. For many who live there, preservation feels like a luxury they can’t afford.

A bulldog's snout is a bottle cap opener.

As I described my work again, our visions aligned. He asked me to send more information, and—generously—offered his time. He’s opening a window into a history I would struggle to access alone. I’ll be meeting friends and colleagues of his from the region to help fill in the missing pieces—essential fragments of a story about how tradition is being left behind.

Even without the Venezuelan crisis spilling across the border, Colombia has its hands full: fighting corruption, confronting the legacy of cocaine, and striving to be seen as a serious center of American culture. Tourism helps. Planes to Cartagena are packed with gringos flying in for the weekend, partying to the rhythms of Palenque music. The old city, which I’ve written about before, is a 500-year-old sleeping beauty, stirred awake by a rapid and tasteful renovation. It’s charming and expensive. I don't know if the same can be said for the interior. I'm focused on the Coast.

I’ve been thinking about this project for years—through the pandemic, through politics, through my absorbing work of printmaking. I'm packing. My heart aches to tell this beautiful story.

Learning the Lingo

 The collar bone of South America spans three "Departments" (the equivalent of the US "States") of Colombia, going from west to east: El Choco, Antioquia and Cordoba. I've attached a screenshot map I swiped from Google maps, and it shows why this tiny neck of horribly inhospitable land is so valuable. 

It rains several times a day in these parts, so a quick plane will get you from town to town, landing on an asphalt strip in the jungle. 

At the moment, with the South American migration halted by the unforgiving US Administration in favor of South Afrikaners (they're white, of course), the Darién Gap is further overrun with strife as people are mired in the extreme instability, crime and violence of Venezuela and neighboring countries to the north in Central America. And, the continued market for illicit drugs and other products we Americans covet ensures that the strife will continue for some time, perhaps indefinitely. 

Even when times were a little calmer, it was not an area to be fooled with. It's one of the most challenging ones to navigate with downpours so extreme that people have drowned in their sleep during a rainstorm. The flora and fauna are relentless as well, with plant growth overtaking the Pan American highway within days and sleeping under mosquito net still a necessity. Window screens mean nothing to many of the bugs in the area--some are so small that they fit easily--and others leave bites with poison lasting in the skin for six weeks. I was there shortly before writing the last post in September 2023 and returned with an unexplained infection that kept me hospitalized for over a week and ten months on antibiotics. Fun.

But, now that I'm fine, I'm going back. 

From Chaos Comes Opportunity

The correct quote is 

In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity.

It's attributed to Sun-Tzu, a military strategist from the Han Dynasty. He wrote The Art of War, a book filled with thoughts about warfare and battle. The amended version applies better to our current state of affairs; the expression Social Distancing is a perfect example. 

During the three or so years since we've taken uncertain paths in and around the COVID crisis, what's emerged is a panicked approach to communication. Before the pandemic, being taken seriously would mean jumping on a plane for a show of face. Now, turning on your computer mic and camera is sufficient.

Likewise, going to see art in a museum or gallery changed. Art became a fully personal experience since the pandemic closed the venues down. Once the doors reopened, we'd taken steps to make art accessible from devices and, with that, on-demand. 

Enter Augmented Reality. 

AR artists and technicians "built" backgrounds and conditional scenes in paintings to give viewers an interactive insight into artworks. Further, artists combine all kinds of still, motion and archived images to create scenes that can jump back and forth between past and present. This is of great interest: my work deals with reassessing the present by examining overlooked nuances. How convenient to have both instances at the same time...

A FB page called Mi Vieja Monteria proudly opens its page with an old image of one of the main drags showing a muddy avenue. Asking around about why it took so long for the town to pave its roads, the answer was simple: Monteria was--and continues to be--a cow town. Of course, now livestock gets around by truck; but then, the heavy animals couldn't possibly walk around on anything other than mud. 

Just wondering what it would be like to add footage to some of the old roads....

The Journey Continues

The living room of a house in Monteria. It's slated for preservation. 

A memory popped into my head from long ago, which seems like yesterday. One of my genius designer buddies, came up with a small, hand-held folding viewer that could show kids their sports heroes--or any collection of images--in 3D. The lenses did all the work.  It was gorgeous, but no one picked it up to produce it commercially. 

Maybe it was ahead of its time, but, more likely, time jumped far ahead of it with digital video. At that point, he was still very interested in 3D imagery and worked with various investors and developers toward building a business.

Rather than the still image, AR has taken over. The super imposition of images from the personal device has the potential to draw in the viewer from their phone. Sound can easily be accessed, also from the phone.

Looking at the pieces out there, museums were the first to create apps so visitors could get background on the exhibits easily. We are screen-addicted, after all, and seeing a painting's source or the origins of an invention in real time gives a deeper, more fun experience. It's an avenue worth exploring as institutions of all kinds mine any possibility to increase attendance.

Numerous examples with a description live on Evergine.com, a 3D graphics development company. 

How this relates to Finding the Sky is that, with the help of the various archivists I've met, and additional access to available footage, I can link what I've already done to previous materials; if necessary I can shoot additional. What's interesting, and at the crux of this project, is not so much how things have changed in the life of the subject's life, but how much has not. Many of the AR art works I have seen so far deal with memory, history, the ability to go back and interact with what is irrevocably lost.

As I write the story board for my project, I keep thinking that a comparison is more appropriate, possibly because, in my eyes, so little seems to have changed.

(above) The second floor balcony. (below) The comedor (dining room).

Robert Irwin

Busy with other projects for a while kept me away from the gallery show openings in Chelsea. I went last night. Some things don't change much; a parade of posers of all ages still crawl the streets, dressed to the nines and weaving their way through Beuys's steeles. They sinewing past the art, pretending either to know one another, or not.

The Pace was showing Robert Irwin's Unlit, a series of gel-covered fluorescent tubes covered with gels, with a grey stripe painted intermittently between the fixtures. I'd seen his scrim work at the Whitney a few years ago, fascinating how his elegant control of the space alters distance perception. And, while disappointed that this work wasn't lit, stepping up close to analyze the subtle "bar codes" is sweet.

There was a lot written about Mr. Irwin in his 91 years of working, and I'll report on it in the coming days. The images are courtesy of Pace Gallery and ArtNEt.