Félix González-Torres

The exhibition ́Somewhere / Nowhere. Algún lugar/Ningún lugar ́ narrates the story of an artist who took advantage of the resources of conceptualism and the formal austerity of minimalism to create a perennial and inexhaustible body of work, the production of which goes on after his death. Curated by Sonia Becce, it is González Torres ́s first solo show in Argentina, and the production of the works was carried out by the Museum of Latin American Art – MALBA, in accordance with the clear and precise instructions left by the artist. The beauty of a white beaded curtain opens the exhibit. It is Untitled (Chemo). Sin título (Quimio), a work comprised of the pearls the artist stringed together, one by one, as symbols for the count of the white corpuscles he was losing as a result of his illness. On entering the huge exhibition space, the viewer is faced with a radiant silver rectangle shining on the floor like a mirage. The glitter has its source in a layer of hard candies wrapped in metallized paper that the spectators may eat or carry away. González Torres straightforwardly avowed that the intention behind his work was to undermine the art market system: “I wanted to present an exhibition which would disappear completely, and which would also be a threat for the art market, and to be totally honest, it was a way of being generous.” In the first place, then, the disappearance of the work takes to the limit the primordial basis of conceptualism: the predominance of function and the inspiring idea over the material that constitutes it.

On the other hand, the candies give shape to a work which literally disintegrates in the mouth – something that also hinders the possibility to commercialize it – and which finally ends up propitiating a “sweet” and active relationship with the spectator. “I need the spectator, I need the interaction,” the artist expressed, “Without the public these works are nothing, nothing. I ask people to help me, to assume responsibility, to become a part of my work.” The work in question is Untitled (Placebo). Sin título (Placebo), and its description reads: “candies wrapped in silver Cellophane paper, unlimited supply, ideal weight 454- 544 kilos”. If, on the one hand, the mention of the “ideal weight” triggers an enigmatic meaning, on the other hand, the term “placebo” induces reflections on both the deceitful condition the candies hide and the harmless and innocent character of a sweet offering. The fact is that Gonzáles Torres ́s work allows double, triple, multiple readings opening up like a fan to the most diverse interpretations. At the stacks of prints that spectators can also take with them, and that bear the inscription “Somewhere better than this place” and “Nowhere better than this place” (“Algún lugar es mejor que éste” and “Ningún lugar es mejor que éste”), doubt already becomes established as method. And doubt functions at the same time as a device that stimulates the spectator ́s imagination.

Thus, the minimalism (material, perceptible) of the piles of sheets stacked like cubes on the floor is contrasted with the maximalism (immaterial, philosophical) of the content. One of these piles, a large red rectangle with black edges, Untitled (NRA). Sin título (NRA), the acronym for National Rifle Association, contains a critique of the institution that allows people to carry weapons in the U.S.A. The political message could not be clearer: conversely, its rendition as object could not show a greater economy of means. It is barely highlighted by a simple chromatic correspondence: red, as the color of blood, and the black band as a symbol for death.

On the other hand, these piles of unlimited sheets of paper, which are replenished at the same pace as they diminish, attack the mechanism of limited editions whose price depends on their exclusiveness. In this respect, somebody might object that a collector may buy a whole pile and suggest that his/her guests take some edition prints with them. However, González Torres has cleverly answered this question regarding his insertion in the system: “It would be very logical and natural that I should operate in alternative spaces, but it is much more threatening that people like me be included in the market system.” With a subversive intention, aimed at “altering the distribution system through an artistic practice,” the artist operated from the very heart of the Art institution, and did not evade using its own tools. “All the pieces are indestructible because they can be duplicated indefinitely. I love the idea of being an infiltrator,” González Torres stated. And with every print, or sweet or candy that is taken away, the circulation of the work is fueled, but in a new space that excludes the intervention of the market.

The view of the spectators happily carrying away prints or candies from an endless series might augur the loss of the “aura”, that feeling of detachment that an artwork is capable of conveying no matter how close it may be. But the fact that these elements are free and serially produced does not suffice to alter this auratic magic. The spectators take possession of a part of the work, and this part is perceived as, and even understood to be very important. Possession is, in itself, gratifying, but it is backed by an incomparable conceptual and sentimental support that enhances the value of these reproductions. The work conveys the wish to arrive in this remoteness where the aura resides, and the wish seems to lead to this territory.

“The idea of creating works that might be infinite became mandatory at a moment when I was losing someone who was very important to me,” the artist relates. The nearness of death – first his lover ́s, then his own – haunts the whole exhibition. The fleetingness of life is set out in the huge sign that dominates over the main gallery, in that strange bird flying across a stormy sky; in the prints that reproduce a dark tide in their diffuse horizon. And it is also in the advertising poster exhibited on Malba ́s terrace, which had been previously installed in the Manhattan streets in 1992. With the superlative eloquence of a sign, the work features an undone bed in which the pillows still show the traces of those who slept in it. Executed after the death of his partner, this public exhibition of the greatest intimacy was installed, together with other signs – always respecting the indications left by the artist – in different places in Buenos Aires city, to accompany the exhibit.

But beyond the political character of the work (since it is an incisive response to U.S. legislation, which allowed, until 1986, the intromission of the police in a residence inhabited by homosexuals), and beyond its lending a public character to a private image and a painful feeling of absence, this bed refers to the Shakespearean concept that man is made of the same stuff as dreams, and that his life ends in a dream.

Life, death and love are the dominant themes in the exhibition. And another one is time. In the two watches synchronized to mark the same time which, as a result of the simple effect of battery wear will, at some time, stop being in unison, the theme of time acquires a philosophic dimension. Untitled (Perfect Lovers), Sin título (Amantes perfectos) – such is the name of the work – contradicts the message that the stuff we are made of is the dream (the one featured in the sign and also Hamlet ́s), to propose in a very Borgean way, that our true substance is time. What purpose did the artist pursue with these evident and reiterated contradictions? Did he, perhaps, intend to change destiny? Supposedly, by denying the existence of something, that something cannot die. But the answer must be sought in the works.

The spectator may enter into a brief intimate diary of González Torres ́s, into the nostalgic puzzles which include a childhood photograph, a fragment of a love letter, the image of two silhouettes outlined against the landscape; in sum, parts of his personal life which took on the form of a supreme game in his hands. The work Untitled (Summer). Sin título (Verano), contributes to emphasize the melancholic atmosphere, with the light bulbs distributed along a wire like a languid garland suspended from the ceiling; the same occurs in Untitled (Loverboy). Sin título (Joven amante), with the poetic lightness of the pale blue curtains that amorously cover the windows. A strong emotional force gravitates upon things.

Thus, beauty is a plus that the works exhibit. But it is a beauty not incompatible with conceptual complexity understood, in the manner of Stendhal, as a promise of happiness. A happiness that, very often, González Torres’s work desperately demands. Perhaps the balance between minimalist rigor and wisely controlled sensibility turns out to be fragile, or on the contrary, only a defiant gesture can curb it. The truth is that, suddenly, that balance is broken by the sensual performance of a Go-Go dancer rhythmically and provocatively swaying his dark body, barely covered by a slip, on a luminous platform. The dark skin, the movements, the provocative glow reflect something that is close to eroticism, and whose aim seems to be to make what we are talking about quite clear when we refer to a Cuban in New York, a homosexual Latin American, sick with AIDS and a Marxist. “Above all things,” the artist stated, “this is about leaving a mark to prove that I existed, that I was here. I had hope and I had a reason; that is why I made artworks.”
(*) Art critic, editor of “Ámbito de las Artes”.

Profile:

Félix González Torres, an essential exponent of the 1980s and 1990s who cannot be ignored, has attained maximum recognition. In 2007 he represented the United States in the 52nd Venice Biennial. In New York, where he lived, he was the subject of different exhibitions, among them the retrospective at the Guggenheim (1995) – later also exhibited at the Museum of Modern Art in Paris –, the retrospective at the MoMA, and his solo show at the Whitney Biennial.