Introduction: US

The revolution 

Flows within us: exciting 

Unfinished

It lied to us, 

the future, some time ago

In the past

Art anthropology and trans perspectives were presented to us as an opportunity to cross views and think about different processes and registries, challenges and realities. 

 

The experience of Iguala, because it is from there, from the experience and a desire that this reflection comes from, it is – because it continues to be – a slow process of losses and findings that guides paths, which while they have not always been clear, they have always been tasty and eatable. 

 

It is the experimentation process, the living and the efforts to register with an understanding that is not yours, as you still don’t know it, it only appears in the process of unlearning to see, when you’re not actually trying to see, and just feel. In our case this translated in being, reacting and staying together. That’s how we gave place to the emergence of improvised subjects (Lonzi, 1970), we stopped being part of a preconceived dialectic of oppressor/submissive, researcher/subject, ethnographer/observee; and we made space for horizontality, we gave space for that which is intimate and at the same time widely known even if until now it continues to be cognitively illegible. 

 

We part from the desire of working together to address a reality that in our imagination was made up of sensations attached to a collective constructed memory: the violence, the subversion, the politics, the power and the invisibility of women’s resistance. Our intentions have a territory: México-Iguala-Guerrero, but also, and mainly, the common spaces of daily life, those which are neglected because they are under the shadows. 

 

From these intentions, two clear things emerge the relationship between us, ones who search but now they do it together; and the window to enter spaces, lands, and memories of a territory which has an unhideable social weight. But these desires emerge from another place, from the corners that have not been looked at or appreciated with care, from the insides, from the body, the flesh that is continuously disposed of because of the silly hassles of the financial dictatorship in which we are submerged and suffocating. 

 

It is in the intersection between cravings, fears, confusion, and desires – that we breath – and then we begin to apply research/creation/inflection processes that are profoundly based on the senses and intimate motivations. It is from there that we want to think about Iguala, the place that was the excuse to explore ourselves, and our bodies vis-à-vis our rationalities.

 

We didn’t collaborate like two different people. We were more like two streams coming together to make a third stream, which I suppose was us. 

- Deleuze

 

From this we emerge, entangled: it was the only thing that could emerge, because Iguala is far from our bodies, and we made significant efforts to scrutinize the collective imaginary that we had of it and that was all we had. Thus, it emerged, that self that we were seeking for, it’s mobile and temporary, but now more recognizable and almost tangible, in her, in me, in this that we are for moments and in every decision, we take until and beyond tomorrow. 

 

*If the art piece, besides the esthetic or conceptual proposal, or the idealization of the artist, or the beauty schemes that it validates or breaks with, is defined by the social connections that it creates. If the art piece is ‘us’, if the creative act is the resistance and the constant effort to continue in something together, just because, with or without a clear objective - if we understand clear an objective by its normative frameworks where it involves a lineal development, of validation and recognition, and is measured by its retribution or institutional contribution - maybe yes, maybe if we see it like that, if we make this effort, if we flirt with rebelliousness, if we assume our poetry, if we conceive ourselves as the creative process, the research and the piece of art in itself, everything at the same time and only at that time - then we are irreplicable. 

WE APPEAR

Used to the sequence narrative and the centrality of argumentation, the multiplicity is hard to face. How to open to all the streams when the institutional entanglement of the empire teaches us to close up, to centralize a despotic ego, to not let ourselves go, to control ourselves?

 

- Néstor Perlongher, Becoming Minorties

So, I decide to profoundly reject falling into interventionist proposals beautified with ideas of progress and social improvement – it happens so much – imperialism, caudillismo, interventionism, colonialism continues to be the normative frame through which actions are taken, but today it has new names, new masks. You can see it in the arts, politics, sciences and on different scales – private, local, national, international – it’s in many places just bigger and more fragmented. It’s applied constantly whenever you speak or give a voice to that which doesn’t belong to you, that which you are not, nor will ever be, and when we cling to the idea that we are foremost individuals and not a multiplicity of beings. 

 

“We are standing in a history that doesn’t belong to us” (Colombres, 2004), in our intentions to work together we are presented with the opportunity of new versions of a creative project, where we are re-situated, and re-territorialized, without seeking to become protagonists, but where we begin to exercise an incarnated-consciousness without imported formats, formulating our own visual thought.  That’s how our work in this and any other project begins with the identification of our subjectivity and agency, one which is mobile, interdependent, and multiple; and in recognizing the spaces, relationships, and actions where we can assume form, even if it’s only for an instant. Opening spaces and positioning ourselves is part of the creative and reflexive act, it is process and outcome.

 

*What if we stop speaking about Iguala, about the political and social conflicts present there, the pain and strength that has framed that territory and its narratives, not as negligence, nor indifference, but because it’s not my mouth the one that should speak, I’m standing somewhere else, I see it from the outside, from a privilege that I must not forget but one that should not limit me either, blind me or petrify me, though I need to assume, without forgetting to question just as it is. 

How can we think of new forms, beginnings, indexes, and agencies that grow from the collaboration and the collective?

Art, beauty, esthetics are historically western – from the north -  these are concepts of a time in history that was imported and imposed by a political system that since then was tightening up its roots in a hierarchized financial structure, and which exercised its power through ideal types, utopias and devoir-être recipes; because the divine and the idea of a linear life towards heaven prevailed. We had to submit and do things on earth to get to paradise. But the collective already existed, the flesh has always been there, but it’s been a while since we touch, listen and smell it. Even today it’s urgently categorized and boxed for the purpose of being overlooked, it’s named folklore, ritual, craft, indigenous. 

 

Today, it’s making noise, the so-called ‘social art turn’ which contests the conceptualization of the western artist as that genius that lives an extraordinary life of inspiration and talent. Artists are those that make situations, and launch continuous long-term projects with unclear endings or results; and where the classical viewers are active participants. This emerges from intuitions and human urges, from what the body is asking, and it represents another effort to translate ourselves together.

What are the possibilities of reading/understanding a space from its subjectivity?

*I wasn’t able to register, write, formulate questions, I was only able to see, take a few photos, record some audios, I was blocked, with fear, without knowing why I could exercise a 'regard' in that space and then share what I’ve seen like if it was something relevant and worthwhile. I was captive by always having to justify myself, I grew learning that I always had to have a reason to be, I was forced to reclaim my place with arguments, actions, achievements, and external validation, because of that institutional entanglement and not for the simple fact that I existed there, in that place, at that moment. Happens, happens and I believe less and less in the idea of individual authorship, my self is dissolved, that used to cause me anguish, make me fragile, but now not so much, now I can hear myself better in the cacophony. 

 

How can we talk about this [project] without stopping in the importance of archiving that which emerges in between processes, between the collaborations, if we don’t dive into the cuts and the scratches in between the walls we’ve built? 

 

How are we going to make a collaborative project if we don’t take ourselves into account if we don’t watch ourselves and study ourselves like new forms of being and relating? 

 

How do we dare to not include that which trespasses us in daily life while being together, how is that which is us and appears between us is lost when we share our findings, research and creative pieces?

That which is fleeting lasts - the laughter, the cries, the screaming, the touch - it’s permanent in the body and the collective.

 

But, we have been taught to not see it. 

 

Thus, we seek threads; threads are drawn from every point of presence to the next. Removed by power, fear, violence, and normativity. These threads leave a trace, bodies leave a trace, we search those traces, their knowledge, and resistance.

HAIKUS

“Poetry is the voice of language, meaning that is the resurgence of enunciation. Poetry is the here and now of the voice, the body, and the world: it sensually gives birth to meaning” 

(Berardi, 2013)

Iguala se va

Ya, ya, llegamos, solas

Al sol vacio     

[Iguala is going

Already, already, we’re are here, alone

Towards the empty sun]

Sofía, está 

Raspa la sombra, de él 

Toca, sin miedo

[Sofia is here, 

Scratches the shadow, of him, 

She touches, without fear]

Humeda boca

Asta bandera floja

Nos dá la tierra

[Wet mouth

loose flagpole

The Earth gives us]         

Salir, entrar, hoy 

Ver y oler, buscarse

Sí, fuímos, suyas

[To leave, to enter, today, 

See, and smell, look for oneself, 

Yes, we were theirs]

Delgado va hoy 

Pesca plata, es roja 

Llueven pesares

 

[Delgado goes today, 

He fishes silver, it’s red

Sorrows are raining]    

Pierden miradas 

Puntos blancos les sobran 

No sé qué quieren 

 

[Losing seeings

White dots are leftover

I don’t know what do they want]

La radio blanca 

Esquina de helados 

Santos saludan            

 

[The White radio

Ice Cream's corner

The saints are greeting]

De los caminos 

Búscar, ayer, las sombras 

Desde Guerrero 

 

[From the paths,

We looked, yesterday, for shadows, 

From Guerrero]

¿Quién eres hoy? la 

Chingada de colores 

Cárajo, basta   

 

[Who are you today, 

La Chingada of colors, 

Fuck, enough]                                                 

Alto, para, no 

Huelo y, demasiado

Vuelvo mañana

 

[Stop, Stop, no 

I smell, and too much, 

I’ll be back tomorrow]

Oculta siempre

nos sostengo, sin ellos 

del calor de ti 

 

[Hidden always, 

I sustain us, without them,

From your heat]

Se me fue verte

Yo, afuera, mojada 

Recordé irme 

 

[Seeing you passed me by, 

Me, outside, wet, 

I remembered to leave]

© 2020 by Regina Diaz