Then you can start reading Kindle books on your smartphone, tablet, or computer - no Kindle device required. Would you like to tell us about a lower price? If you are a seller for this product, would you like to suggest updates through seller support? Artist, educator, curator, and critic Luis Camnitzer has been writing about contemporary art ever since he left his native Uruguay in for a fellowship in New York City. As a transplant from the "periphery" to the "center," Camnitzer has had to confront fundamental questions about making art in the Americas, asking himself and others: What is "Latin American art"?
Utopias and Identities - A Blade of Grass
How does it relate if it does to art created in the centers of New York and Europe? What is the role of the artist in exile? Writing about issues of such personal, cultural, and indeed political import has long been an integral part of Camnitzer's artistic project, a way of developing an idiosyncratic art history in which to work out his own place in the picture. This volume gathers Camnitzer's most thought-provoking essays-"texts written to make something happen," in the words of volume editor Rachel Weiss. They elaborate themes that appear persistently throughout Camnitzer's work: art world systems versus an art of commitment; artistic genealogies and how they are consecrated; and, most insistently, the possibilities for artistic agency.
The theme of "translation" informs the texts in the first part of the book, with Camnitzer asking such questions as "What is Latin America, and who asks the question? Who is the artist, there and here? Read more Read less. Save Extra with 4 offers. Customers who bought this item also bought. Page 1 of 1 Start over Page 1 of 1. Luis Camnitzer. Now there was panic in the family. But I was also learning how to make all those postcultural objects I was attacking.
Ironically, the grant I received was to go to Germany; there were two applicants for two grants, and I was one of them. I would rather have gone to Japan, to the village of the seven samurai, but it worked out differently. The German experience definitely made Uruguay the cradle of culture.
Maybe sometimes one peed against the walls there too, but only in the dark. In Uruguay nobody made calculations when hearing that I left Germany at the age of one, nor did I to figure out what my interlocutor was doing during the war. I returned happily to continue my career toward Uruguayan intellectuality. Over a year of longing made that irrelevant.
I thought in modern-social terms to the point of advocating the disappearance of art or—a little closer to current language—art as a tool for social change. I continued speaking my mind in art school, we all did, and finally we 24 On and Against Translation changed the school.
The art school became a quasi-community, and the courses went way beyond any dreams of the Bauhaus, of Montessori, and of all our references. Some of us applied to the searches for new teachers, got the jobs, and thus were able to teach in pedagogical paradise. At the same time I continued with architecture, definitely as a semiexile in both fields. I continued with my anachronistic art, accumulated work to exhibit, exhibited. I exhibited again and again. Decidedly and luckily, I was not going to be one of the three artists who live off their work in a given moment.
I had good reviews, made drawings for newspapers, participated in biennials, received prizes, and my name—however unpronounceable—generally appeared with few spelling mistakes. I had managed to become a Uruguayan intellectual. And now? Now, a small elite had accepted me.
And I was told so. Teaching had become a fundamental and satisfying activity, but I had set myself an impossible aim. This, taken to twenty hours a week and added to a daily drawing for a newspaper plus some weekly drawings for a weekly, while I was trying to graduate as an architect to save the honor of the family, became too much. This was also a time in which Montevideo was infected by fascist gangs which were getting ready to later man a dictatorship.
- On Art, Artists, Latin America, and Other Utopias By Luis Camnitzer.
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The gangs killed time by kidnapping leftists, preferably Jewish leftists, and tattooing swastikas on them with razor blades. Well-meaning friends supplied me with firearms so that I could defend myself. In my briefcase, besides some book, at some point I was carrying a Beretta, a Colt.
I could only carry them around, their weight increased by ridicule.https://dernschachinceradep.tk
New York was a fascinating image: the center of the empire that was screwing us. They said that it was like walking on an enormous ant nest, Exile 25 although not to dissuade me. It was the place where I could learn more techniques, get updated; understand the world and Uruguay as a subpart of the world. I arrived in New York.
- Inverted Utopias: Avant-Garde Art in Latin America;
- On Art, Artists, Latin America, and Other Utopias?
- Avant-Garde Art in Latin America.
- Move into Life: The Nine Essentials for Lifelong Vitality.
From the outside, the U. Solid and flexible, it fit over us nearly without leaving any spaces and infected our ideas, habits, and ideals. I suppose that is the way efficient empires function when dealing with their colonies. The definition of status ends up being the achievement of the imperial level. The tools to measure success are manufactured in the Empire, not in the colony, and both rebellion and refusal are determined and calibrated in the central office.
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It was more like a sponge, with holes and crevices in which one could continue staying in Uruguay. And there was room to hate reboiled coffee, plastic bread, and mid-afternoon dinner. The theory about Uruguay being the cradle of culture was politely listened to, any skepticism kept hidden. The task of eliminating imperialism seemed reduced to convincing million Yankees of both their own provincialism and their exaggerated level of consumption. It seemed a task difficult for its quantity, but not really for its quality. Even the student body seemed to be evolving at the time.
I could help them. I ended up in a university in New Jersey. There were sixteen hundred students, seven of whom were black. White students rebelled. They refused to sit on chairs contaminated by black students during the preceding class.
Utopias and Identities
Confronted with the situation, the professors of the university took polarized positions. Three of us sided with the black students; the others abstained or were against them. The U. Distance helped me to see Uruguay in perspective. It seemed a clear place, easy to handle, confused only because of the inability to see itself from the outside. Especially the situation of art seemed very clear. Uruguayan art was structured according to international guidelines.
Interna- 26 On and Against Translation tional meant imperial. The international market ruled. Without any awareness of it, we were working following these lines of reasoning. We created artifacts for this market; the Uruguayan market was no more than a second- or thirdhand echo.
All our rhetoric when we had spoken our minds as militants became palpably true, revealed, and filled with content—ironically, in the example of us. I had been educated to work within that system. Since only three artists were able to live off their work at any given moment, it became clear that I had not been educated to work in Uruguay.
I had been educated to receive a grant that would take me to the Empire so that I would work for it, and not for the Uruguay that had invested in my education. In this panorama, the highly aesthetified operations engaged in by the Tupamaro guerrilla movement seemed like the only valid and authentic artistic strategy for a cultural change. With them we could be the super avant-garde, outdo at once happenings, hippies, and Conceptualism. In Uruguay this was the new and original way to use local resources to create a new culture. The foundations of the history of art written by the Empire were being seriously shaken.
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For the first time there was a possibility of getting out from under contemporary colonial art. And no artist in Uruguay was realizing this, at least not to the point of radically changing his or her production to follow this example. After five years I returned to Uruguay for a visit, carrying with me this insight and all this clarity and wisdom.