#la ene

C-32 Sucursal: La Ene at MALBA                                                                Buenos Aires, Argentina                                                                                    August 8 - October 13, 2014

Do It Yourself

Every exhibition is a proposition. Every museum is a project.

La Ene, the Nuevo Museo Energía de arte contemporáneo, was founded in August 2010 as a critique of the institutional system and the ways that art is circulated, legitimized and produced. The first contemporary art museum in the city of Buenos Aires, La Ene is a critical intervention on its environment, a way of building formats that renew the ways we think of museums. it sets out to question the supposed opposition between the alternative and the institutional. it furthers experimentation and critical thinking on art. it is an open, flexible, dynamic, expansive, and chévere museum.

La Ene is an institution that responds to the needs of a specific environment. it exists because there is a community that demands it not because of a preexisting collection in need of a shelter or someone to administrate it. The nuevo Museo is a tool that combats the use of art for the sake of the mainstream, and the banalization and corporate globalization of museum as trademark. La Ene is based on a “do-it-yourself” philosophy and the new museology; it is a dynamic and amorphous, inclusive and provocative organism. it is a space of cooperation, communication, and encounter, a host of alternative practices in research and cultural production.

A project like La Ene partakes of two distinct genealogies, one that reacts to local concerns and another involving the broader history of institutional criticism. The first critical institutions emerged in other continents in the sixties (like the Moderna Museet in Stockholm or El Museo del barrio in New York). For too long, in Buenos Aires the discourse on art and the production of many young artists have necessarily been enmeshed with commercial galleries. Even today, despite the vast number of independent, artist-run projects in Argentina, the gallery is still the dominant aspirational model. In lack of institutions or government structures that respond to updated policies, or proper funding to further contemporary art practices and the working conditions of cultural agents, La Ene must exist. The museum produces exhibitions by local and international artists and curators conceived specifically for its space. It organizes educational events—seminars, workshops, lectures, informal gatherings—that encourage new readings of art history and artistic practices. It has established a network of dialogue between independent projects in Latin America and the rest of the world in order to support artists and to foster an exchange of exhibitions, materials, and ideas. The institution came first, then came the collection. For La Ene, the creation of a collection is not an instance of legitimation, but rather a statement on what can be considered a collection and how it can be built. if, in its founding, La Ene signaled an institutional void, its collection is similarly critical of the way local museums acquire, conserve and put art in circulation—or fail to do so. The museum’s collection is stored on a hard drive. what La Ene holds in its collection are not objects, but the rights, granted by the artists, to reproduce works. it is a hybrid set of works that combines traditional notions of collection and archive with features of information technology. The origin of this collection lies in an analysis of the difficulties that a museum faces in attempting to have a collection, difficulties linked to the conservation and storage of its contents. In La Ene’s new museum format, the collection can be transported and installed anywhere. Its works can be reproduced according to the space they occupy: some works exist in memory, others are printed out, remade, or simply planned. a pixel is a pixel, regardless of location. a memory expands beyond the confines of a building. For the exhibition Sucursal, La Ene temporarily moves its seat to MALBA. The show mostly consists of a display of La Ene’s collection and of archival material pertinent to the activities it has organized since its founding four years ago. in the framework of the exhibition, Radamés “Juni” Figueroa, from puerto Rico, and Sofía Olascoaga, from Mexico, will carry out specific projects as part of their residencies at La Ene. Lastly, Luis Camnitzer’s work El museo es una escuela [The Museum is a School], which partakes of La Ene’s ideology regarding the social role of the museum, will be exhibited on MALBA’s façade. La Ene is not an answer, but many questions. How to have a collection without storage space? How to be political without engaging in proselytizing? How to be a critical and self-reflexive institution? How to build a collection on the basis of physical limitations and the possibilities of memory? This new Museum promotes acting outside of established institutions in order to create our own, proposing ideas even when they seem to fall on deaf ears. La Ene will be a success if it outlives us, if it ceases to be necessary, or if it finally stops being ad honorem, not necessarily in that order.

What would be a conversation between an old Peronist and a young militant of La Campora be like? What space do the visual arts have within the “national model”? What does redistribution imply, not only in economic but also in cultural terms? How did you find out that I'm from the middle class? These and other questions - implicitly and explicitly - are posed by Nani Lamarque in his exhibition Frente en Alto.

This exhibition is a rumination, from the visual arts, on the "gained decade” of Kirchnerist politics and the terrain that it conquered among the youth. When we refer to politics and militancy in art, the questioning of the space contemporary art has in state policies is implicit. These ambiguously militant works comprise a selection of two years of Lamarque's production, whose strength resides precisely in his obstinacy in not assuming a clear position. His works bounce off the ideas of those who look at them.

The exhibition itself is simple, concise. A meter and a half of light blue synthetic enamel protects the walls and gives, literally, an air of asphyxiating institutionality. A charcoal drawing guiltily questioning the artist’s social class dominates the room. In a niche there is a picture of the stain left by a cross when it was removed from the wall. I can not help but think about when President Néstor Kirchner gave the order to Lieutenant General Bendini to withdraw the paintings of Videla and Bignone. The spectrum of the cross is still there, the grime persists. Customs are hard to forget and history is never erased. An English translation of a song by La Cámpora and three t-shirts conclude the display. The apparent contradiction of using the language of the American Empire is taken by Lamarque as a symbol of a past time in which they talked about "exporting the model", something like a neo-pedagogical colonization in reverse. Just two years ago the Occupy movement talked about taking factories and making cacerolazos of their own. Finally, the shirts that are raised as flags are the clearest representation of the understanding of popular culture and politics. It is about the game of seduction of the images of immortality, the political slogans and the renamed Néstornauta.

The contradictions of Argentina are never as obvious as in the use and abuse of images for political purposes. However, if something is evident it is that it has been during the last 10 years that a space has been gained for historically marginalized groups and communities. It is in this framework that Lamarque asks about the place of art.

For La Ene, as a project of institutional critique in the field of contemporary art and host of this exhibition, it is very important to discuss artistic practice in relation to politics. The decision to present an exhibition that speaks explicitly about political parties and militant groups aims to highlight the curious imbalance that exists in relation to political positions and the art scene in Buenos Aires. At a minimum, we must be militants in our own field.

Poetry from the Unemployment Office Esteban Valdés, Beatriz Santiago Muñoz, Chemi Rosado Seijo, Jesús "Bubu" Negrón, with David Maggioni and Gaby Cepeda Nuevo Museo Energía de Arte Contemporáneo - La Ene Buenos Aires, Argentina November 2012

In 1977, Esteban Valdés published Fuera de Trabajo, the first book of concrete poetry in Puerto Rico. This volume was part of the Perfil series of the publishing house Editorial qeAse, commanded by Joserramón Meléndes, which aimed at the creation of an alternative library of new Puerto Rican literature. Fuera de Trabajo is a fundamental work to understand the intersection of art, literature and politics in Puerto Rico in the seventies, which has been widely ignored. This book, and the production of Valdés that precedes it, accounts for a network of collaboration and continental influences, alternative graphic practices, typographic innovation, subversion of the media and political radicalism of great elegance and humor. The works contained in the book cover 10 years of poetic production, ranging from word games to constructions based on typography and instructions for actions and sculptures.

Born in Mexico in 1947, of Puerto Rican father and Mexican mother, his relationship with graphics, typography and the written word in general stems from his own childhood. His maternal grandfather owned a printing house where he sometimes played with typesetters between printing plates, and it’s there that he got to know the physicality of words. Valdés carried out performances and wrote poems that culminated in Fuera de Trabajo, before retiring from the artistic scene and concentrating on the union organizing work that occupied him for over 32 years of his life as a worker. At the time of the publication of Fuera de Trabajo, Valdés was an employee of the Department of Labor in the Unemployment Office, and was a spokesperson for the Brotherhood of Employees of the Bureau of Employment Security. In this exhibition we reflect on the publication Fuera de Trabajo and the influence of Valdés on the subsequent production of artists in Puerto Rico, including Chemi Rosado-Seijo, Beatriz Santiago Muñoz and Jesús "Bubu" Negrón, starting in. The show also includes collaborations with Gaby Cepeda, and David Maggioni who helped realize two pieces described by Valdés and adapted for the exhibition.

*Adaptations of this exhibition have also been presented in Phosphorus (São Paulo, Brazil) and Bosque Auxiliar (Naguabo, Puerto Rico)

Buenos Aires:

São Paulo:

Naguabo:

Ladrón de Museos [Museum Thief] Franco Ferrari Nuevo Museo Energía de Arte Contemporáneo - La Ene Buenos Aires, Argentina March 2012

In Museum Thief, Franco Ferrari presents work developed during his residency at La Ene. Ferrari works with high-resolution images hacked from museum websites, along with the idea of ​​high art, ancient museums as palaces converted into public spaces that were meant to educate the people, and the novel idea that you can build your own museum. Ferrari plays with the notions of the greatness of that art of the past, appropriation through technology, DIY, and theft, among other ideas. "In a Google search for Tiepolo's frescoes, I came across The Immaculate Conception. The file weighs almost 100 mb and, at 300 dpi, it could measure 2 meters. I was obsessed with the quality of the reproductions, it was no longer a matter of using photoshop to enlarge them and make them look good. It was a question of improving the search on the internet and getting the images that turned up. The shines, the craquelure, even the paintings with their original frames. I realized that I could open a museum anywhere. We would also have the Mona Lisa, and even bigger if we wanted. In the end I would be printing stolen reproductions of the internet, at an almost professional quality. My obsession for the faithful copy brought me here, because after all, if I could, I would be a forger of paintings."

Zaqistani Embassy in Buenos Aires

A project by Zaq Landsberg, Sofía Gallisá Muriente and other Zaqistani citizens, in La Ene, Buenos Aires, Argentina - January, 24 - February 9, 2012 

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January 20, 2012

The Zaqistan State Department is pleased to announce the opening of the first Zaqistan Embassy in Buenos Aires, Argentina. There will be a formal opening ceremony on Tuesday, January 24 beginning at 7:30pm. Run in conjunction with Nuevo Museo Energía de Arte Contemporáneo, the Embassy will be open for the next three weeks.

The Embassy of Zaqistan is an effort to expand Zaqistan’s global presence and influence beyond its desert borders. Buenos Aires, being an international city, a hub of South America, and also having a rich cultural history, especially in reactionary conceptual art, is a natural place to extend the reach of Zaqistan.

The Embassy features a History of Zaqistan exhibit, historicizing the recent past in display cases with artifacts and wildlife specimens, photographs, maps, wall texts, a timeline, and educational videos.  There will also be a naturalization/passport station, where visitors may choose to become citizens, take the oath, apply and get issued a passport.  

Lino Diva$ Art Gallery from lino divas on Vimeo.

Post Internet Argentina

Partially published as New Media in Buenos Aires in VICE's The Creators Project blog, January 2014

Argentina boasts hundreds of artist-run initiatives, some of which occupy no permanent space at all, other than web space. There’s an infinite number of workshops, studios, exhibitions, residencies and galleries that may or may not have ever sold a work of art in their life, yet thrive culturally and contribute to budding local scenes all over the country. These projects, a lot of which are documented online in the website Proyecto CARA (full disclaimer: I’m also co-founder), are often much more interesting than whatever goes on in bigger galleries or museums because they are community-driven and respond to artists’ needs in the face of systematic institutional inaction. Some of these projects are so essential to some cities, that it’s become impossible to talk about art in the city of Córdoba without mentioning Casa 13, Rusia Galería in Tucumán or La Herrmana Favorita in Rosario. These projects not only exhibit artworks, but rather take on the responsibility of creating educational programs and constitute a network of artistic and, lately, curatorial residencies. Namely, these projects are doing what a lot of city, provincial and national governments are not doing: supporting contemporary art.

While a lot of projects rely on a physical space to exist, some are mutable or even virtual. In fact, these art workers are sustaining alternative art institutions with varying degrees of seriousness and play, but always with a lot of commitment, especially considering that basically no one makes a living off them. One of the most notable efforts of institutional transvestism is the Fundación para la Difusión del Arte Contemporáneo en Mercosur y Alrededores (FDACMA, or Foundation for the Dissemination of Contemporary Art in Mercosur and its Surroundings), an “auteur institution”, according to its founder, artist Lino Divas. FDACMA is only one of Divas’ many uni-personal cultural endeavors, which also include Fanzineteca (a zine archive), Videoarteca (video art archive) and the all important FDACMA Permanent Collection, comprised of art from emerging artists from the Mercosur economic community Argentina, Brasil, Paraguay y Uruguay and other affiliated states (Bolivia, Chile, Colombia, Ecuador, Perú and Venezuela). FDACMA exists online and takes on various physical forms wherever Divas is invited. The fact that the project is his doesn’t mean he doesn’t involve many other people. In fact, in 2009 Divas invited several artists to create the future capital of Mercosur in ThisIsNotAGallery, each contributing a miniature building or urban area, turning the whole gallery into a model city. Recent activities also include the 1era Bienal del Pasacalle (1rst Banner Biennial), which took place in various public spaces during July 2012 in San Miguel de Tucumán, Argentina. Hopefuls tweeted messages with the hashtag #bienaldelpasacalle to @fdacma over a 3 day period, after which 20 were selected via online voting. The chosen messages, which varied in content and character -from “Thanks Google for everything” to “<3 Legal abortion is life <3”- were then turned into banners and placed around town close to existing independent art spaces, creating a route that increased their visibility.

Lino Divas (an alias, not his real name) is also an illustrator, web designer, gif maker, creator of his very own online Lino Divas Art Gallery, art peddler in Mercado Libre (a Latin American Ebay) and an artists’ artist who will probably matter more to insiders than to collectors, if that’s even a concern for him. Divas actually seems to be the direct descendant of another secretly great artist, Benito Laren (also not his real name). Laren, a self taught artist, first burst into the scene in 1987, when he started creating his paintings on glass and participated in the tight-knit 90s art scene around the Rojas Cultural Center at the University of Buenos Aires. He is also a cheeky megalomaniac who wears several wigs á la Warhol, open collar shirts under white suits, always dreamed of becoming famous and claims to be inspired not just by God, but by Martians. With him, everything about his personal branding is and is not a joke. His work spans painting, video, literature, mail art and nation building. Laren is actually the king and only citizen of Larenland, for which he has issued postage stamps featuring himself in various poses and sent letters to faulty addresses worldwide, including Saddam Hussein’s, only to have them sent back to him, with the other country’s “return to sender” stamp as a sign of recognition of Larenland. If mail art is a precursor of net art, then Laren is definitely sending spam. Both Laren and Divas have created personas as part of their work and the internet is a continued source of inspiration and source images, but Laren is still lagging on the technological front, whereas Divas’ body of work is readily available online. Divas is all about the internet, whether he’s making illustrations about the spam he gets or digital art based on “ego shots” (now called “selfies”, but this was back in 2008). Both his preferred mode of inspiration and medium is simply low budget technology.

The internet and the possibilities of Open Source, along with a lot of low tech and PC related imagery, are closely linked to the output of several Buenos Aires-based artists. There are more conventional venues like Fundación Telefónica, which focuses on “art and technology” or FASE, an annual exhibition featuring new media art, but both support a simultaneously dated and hi-tech version of art, which heavily features robots and LED lights. Other artists explore ways in which technology can be used to discuss such varied topics as the perceived notions of institutionality, politically correct humor and even the Patriarchy through gifs, websites and tumblrs, but also using otherwise old school mediums such as painting, sculpture and photography.

Facundo Pires

One such artist is Facundo Pires, whose work expands photography, sculpture and installation, yet does so through printing experiments with failing machinery and researching amateur porn posted online, among other subjects. Mostly, what Pires is really doing in exploring the mechanics and limits of photography, both analog and digital, as well as image manipulation. In his most recent solo exhibition, “La línea del horizonte” (The horizon line) at Miau Miau gallery, Pires researched pornographic images and videos amateur performers would post online, retouching them into oblivion. Some film rolls, already a thing of the past because of digital photography, were encapsulated in clay and displayed on a shelf. A printed photo was displayed lightly resting on a rod that protruded from a wall. Pires is steadily developing an archaeological approach to images and paraphernalia: “what did we use this for, again?”

Adriana Minoliti, from the Queer Deco series

Adriana Minoliti considers herself a painter, yet her practice expands way beyond the canvas into feminist activism through art, curating exhibitions and editing publications. What Minoliti proposes is a transformative approach to art and life, providing a more integral vision of sexuality that takes into consideration feminist and queer theories. Her practice includes painting but also installation and photomontages, always working with abstraction and geometry as a biopolitical tool. Aside from the huge and stunning paintings in her show Playroom at Daniel Abate Galería in 2012, Minoliti has been amassing an impressive body of work with her Play G and Queer Deco series, both of which are photomontages. In Play G, which she proposed to Playboy Argentina but was turned down for being “too artsy”, Minoliti mixes naked women and geometric forms that interact with them. According to the artist, the abstract porn she works with “is post-pornographic because they mean to excite the spectator’s nervous system but criticize the statutes of pornography.” The Memphis Group, an Italian architecture and design from 1980s Milan is a clear reference throughout Minoliti’s work, but particularly the Queer Deco series, in which she places anthropomorphic geometric constructions in the midst of design magazine spreads. Most recently, Minoliti teamed up with mexican born but Buenos Aires based net artist and curator Gaby Cepeda, to create a series of gifs for an online exhibition that mixed both Minoliti’s paintings and their interests, ranging from Rihanna to cats, japanimation and the affirmation of power through sexiness.

Girls of the Internet Museum, a project by Gaby Cepeda

Another project that stems from the online exploration of feminism is the Girls of the Internet Museum. According to Cepeda, it's founder, the GIM was “born from a necessity to put together references, works and context that build sense around the girly internet experience, wether they stem from art or from the most random digital production.” The project came about in November 2012 during a workshop on temporary museums and express exhibition making by curator Pablo León de la Barra at the Centro de Investigaciones Estéticas. For the past year, Cepeda kept working on the project, developing a Tumblr-as-museum as a feminine, if not strictly feminist, institution. Integrating post-internet theory and international artists, from Jennifer Chan, Angela Washko or Jesse Darling, who are more upfront about their feminism, to Petra Cortright and Emilie Gervais, as well as the Argentine Laura Códega or Bolivian Narda Alvarado. The GIM manages to exist as both online exploration of “girls”, but also as IRL exhibitions and the ultimate thesis research tumblr.

Franco Ferrari’s show at La Ene in Buenos Aires

Franco Ferrari is another artist fascinated by the idea of museums. First in an apartment show and then at the Nuevo Museo Energía de Arte Contemporáneoand the University of La Plata, Ferrari has been working with the idea of high art, theft, copyleft and the possibilities the internet provides for creating your own high art Open Source museum. Working with high resolution images stolen from the web, Ferrari prints them -mostly in a 1:1 scale- to play with the idea of the palace-as-museum, that 18th century space that, through revolution, was opened to the public and served as a tool for civilization. Searching for frescoes by Tiepolo, he found The Immaculate Conception on the Google Art Project -a 100MB file- and became obsessed with the quality of the images he could get online. He looks for the gloss, crackle and the paintings in their original frames. “It was a matter of improving the internet search to get high resolution pictures. I realized that I could open a museum anywhere.” he says. Ferrari clearly admires the greatest of the art of the past, but also questions its exclusivity, bringing the masterpieces to Argentina or someone’s home through appropriation, his DIY attitude and a little bit of theft.