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The restless eye: Finding art in Mexico's no-man's landsPosted on Sun, Mar. 16, 2008
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BY FABIOLA SANTIAGOfsantiago@MiamiHerald.com
Parres I, 2004, 35mm film. Courtesy Galer?a OMR, Mexico and Galerie Peter Kilchmann, Zurich.">
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Still from Parres I, 2004, 35mm film. Courtesy Galer?a OMR, Mexico and Galerie Peter Kilchmann, Zurich.
IF YOU GO What: Melanie Smith with Rafael Ortega: Parres TrilogyWhere: Miami Art Museum, 101 W. Flagler St., MiamiWhen: 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Tuesday to Friday; until 8:30 p.m. on third Thursdays; noon to 5 p.m. Saturday and Sunday, through June 29Cost: $8 adults; $4 seniors; free admission every second SaturdayInfo: 305-375-3000 or www.miamiartmuseum.orgTwenty years ago, Melanie Smith left her native England to live and work in Mexico City. It was the end of the Thatcher era, a time she remembers as ''dead for art'' in London. The world's third largest metropolis beckoned with opportunities for cultural and artistic development. ''Mexico City was fantastic, like a huge fair,'' says the 42-year-old artist, in South Florida for the debut of her exhibition Parres Trilogy at Miami Art Museum. Consisting of a three-part film produced with Mexican cameraman Rafael Ortega, a painting behind a cement wall and a ''negative painting,'' the show is a MAC@MAM collaboration curated by Rina Carvajal. A small but exquisite sample of Smith's acclaimed contribution to the visual arts emerging from Mexico, the exhibition reflects upon the tensions and contradictions of urbanity, as well as on the process of creating art. PRODUCTIVE YEARS The last two decades have been productive for Smith, who was trained as a painter but also has worked in photography, video and installation. She is fluent in Spanish and peppers her conversations with such words as ''inquietud,'' the state of restlessness that brought her to Mexico and continues to fuel her art. ''I couldn't just sit there and paint all day,'' Smith says. Smith has come a long way since her arrival in 1989, when she lived in one of the city's poorest neighborhoods and mingled with fellow roving European artists -- among them Belgium's Francis Alys, now well-known for his cutting-edge work -- and with some of the Cuban artists who had fled to Mexico and now live in Miami. All were penniless but intellectually charged. ''There was no place to show our work, so we were showing in each other's homes,'' Smith recalls. ``We were very connected and aware of what we were all doing. It was a really good moment.'' Smith relished examining her daily experiences and the ''micro'' components of the city's glut of color and history. ''Walking around became part of my own work,'' she says. Among her first serious projects was the series Orange Lush (1994-96), which stemmed from her fascination with neon-orange everyday objects she found all over the city -- from consumer goods to the rows of tents at a sprawling Chinese market. She made her contribution to the electric orange glow with Orange Lush I, a collage on foam and plywood she assembled from objects of synthetic, fluorescent quality -- curtain tassels, balloons, paper weights -- ``junk, really, sold in the center of the city.'' Another piece, Orange Lush III, consisted of a box lit by fluorescent lights that cast an orange glow and was filled with odd objects Smith collected: tiny soccer balls (one of them deflated); yellow and orange shoe laces; orange tulle; orange string. ''All this chaos was contained in this sort of minimalist object,'' she says of the box. In 1997, Smith began to collaborate with Mexican cameraman Rafael Ortega, who later became her husband and father to her two young children. Smith and Ortega began to examine ''macro'' aspects of the city, hovering in a helicopter above one of the poorest neighborhoods in Mexico, a place of no vegetation, and photographing and filming in spirals as if they were making an abstract painting. BLACK AND WHITE The resulting black-and-white photographs and video, Spiral City, reference the earthwork of the late Robert Smithson's Spiral Jetty in Salt Lake City. After that project, Smith and Ortega began to work on their poetic Parres Trilogy. They focused on the rural highway town of Parres, 16 miles from the center of Mexico City. They discovered that the town once had thrived as a stopover for the railroad Mexico-Cuernavaca-Acapulco but that it had become a no-man's land after a modern highway replaced the train. ''It's this very sad place,'' Smith says. ''Most people leave it to go to Mexico City to work. It's a non-place, de paso.'' A pit stop. The work is shot in 35-millimeter, and each clip chronicles the place's grim reality and ''heightens the artifice of film-making,'' Smith says. In Parres I, a man walks toward the camera and gradually sprays a light mist of paint on a screen, casting the view of Parres behind him in a fog. The film's soundtrack is the mournful voice of an opera singer who changes her pitch to the tune of the man's strokes. Parres II marks the first time Smith has inserted herself into her work. She stars as a woman left in the rain in front of a deserted blue house where the only living creatures seem to be a tied horse and a roaming black dog. The soundtrack is a folk song about childhood memories. ''It wasn't a self-portrait, although there are elements of it,'' she says. ``Where I come from, rain is part of daily life, so there is an element of nostalgia for a place where I am no longer living.'' In Parres III, a man diligently cleans a grimy screen, and as he works he seems to create a painting with his wash-rag strokes, Pollock-style, drips and all. The soundtrack is ''highly constructed'' -- the ringing of bells, the bark of a dog, the languid horn of an approaching train. ''As he cleans the screen,'' Smith says, ``there is almost a sense of hope.'' In all three films, Smith and Ortega find art in Mexico City's famous pollution and in the way the relentless rain turns the gravel road into a river of mud. Parres Trilogy was exhibited at Tate Britain in 2006. To accompany the films in Miami's exhibition, Smith added two works this year: Negative Painting, a blank rectangle framed by the spillover of paint from a canvas, and Installation for Parres 15, in which a six-foot, gray cement wall partially blocks the view of a gray landscape painting, also by Smith. Museum-goers are not allowed to step behind the wall to see the painting and are prevented by a museum guard from crossing a bright pink demarcation line. ''Negative Painting does not comprise a painting as such but a negative space,'' says Carvajal, the curator. 'Marks and bobs around the edge of the painted rectangle suggest what `was' or, more accurately, what might have happened.''
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