Bill Kelley Jr. and Grant H. Kester, editors COLLECTIVE S I T U A T I ON S READI NGS I N CONTEMPORARY L AT I N A M E R I C A N A R T , 1995 – 2010 Collective Situations Collective Situations Readings in Con­temporary Latin American Art, 1995–2010 bill kelley jr. and grant H. kester, editors du ke u ni ve rs i t y pre s s Durham and London  • 2017 © 2017 Duke University Press All rights reserved Printed in the United States of Amer­i­ca on acid-­free paper ∞ Cover designed by Heather Hensley; interior designed by Jennifer Hill Typeset in Chaparral Pro and The Sans by Westchester Publishing Services Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data Names: Kelley, Bill, Jr., [date] editor. | Kester, Grant H., editor. Title: Collective situations : readings in con­temporary Latin American art, 1995–2010 / Bill Kelley Jr. and Grant H. Kester, editors. Description: Durham : Duke University Press, 2017. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: lccn 2017015431 (print) lccn 2017022942 (ebook) isbn 9780822372493 (ebook) isbn 9780822369264 (hardcover : alk. paper) isbn 9780822369417 (pbk. : alk. paper) Subjects: lcsh: Art, Latin American—21st ­century. | Art, Latin American— 20th ­century. | Group work in art—­Latin Amer­i­ca. Classification: lcc n6502.6 (ebook) | lcc n6502.6.c66 2017 (print) | ddc 700.980/0904—­dc23 lc rec­ord available at https://­lccn.loc​.­gov​/­2017015431 Cover art: Fernando Falconí (Falco) and a group of w ­ omen from the Danubio Azul, “Nuestra Patrona de la Cantera,” La Cantera, San Roque, Quito, 2008. Photo and proj­ect w ­ ere part of the Encuentro de Arte y Comunidad al Zur-­ich (2008) and the Tranvia Cero archives. ­Faces are intentionally blurred by the contributor. To Samira and Elliott Te quiero con todo mi alma. —­G.H.K. A mi querida madre Zoila —­B.K. Jr. Contents Introduction 1 grant H. kester and bill kelley jr. Part I. (Un)Civil Disobedience 19 1. Lava la bandera: The Colectivo Sociedad Civil and the Cultural Overthrow of the Fujimori-­Montesinos Dictatorship  21 gustavo buntinx 2. Interview with Caleb Duarte of edelo Residencia  43 raquel de anda 3. Grupo Etcétera Proj­ect Description  58 rodrigo martí An Interview with Etcétera  62 ­e tcétera 4 . Artistas en Resistencia Proj­ect Description  79 kency cornejo An Interview with Artistas en Resistencia  83 kency cornejo  5. A Long Way: Argentine Artistic Activism of the Last De­cades  98 ana longoni Part II. Urbanism 113 6. Galatea/bulbo Collective Proj­ect Description  117 mariola v. alvarez “Participación” (2008) and Tijuaneados Anónimos (2008–2009)  120 bulbo 7. Interview with Tranvía Cero  130 maría fernanda cartagena 8. Art Collectives and the Prestes Maia Occupation in São Paulo  149 gavin adams 9. Frente 3 de Fevereiro Proj­ect Description  165 rodrigo martí The Becoming World of Brazil  169 frente 3 DE fevereiro 10. Interview with Mauricio Brandão of BijaRi  186 mariola v. alvarez Part III. Memory 199 11. Skins of Memory: Art, Civic Pedagogy, and Social Reconstruction 203 pilar riaño-alcalá and suzanne lacy 12. Some Frameworking Concepts for Art and Social Practices in Colombia  220 david gutiérrez castañeda 13. Chemi Rosado-­Seijo Proj­ect Description  241 marina reyes franco An Interview with Chemi Rosado-­Seijo  245 sofía gallisá muriente, marina reyes franco, and beatriz santiago muñoz Part IV. Indigeneity 255 14. Ala Plastica Proj­ect Description 259 fabian cereIjido  Otros-­Nosotros: An Interview with Ala Plastica  261 grant H. kester 15. Interview with Pablo Sanaguano  279 maría fernanda cartagena 16. The Empowerment Pro­cess of Community Communication in Ec­ua­dor  297 alberto muenala Part V. Migrations 305 17. Of Co-­investigations and Aesthetic Sustenance: A Conversation  309 Colectivo Situaciones and Electronic Disturbance Theater/b.a .n.g. lab 18. How Three Artists Led the Queens Museum into Corona and Beyond  321 prerana reddy Part VI. Institutional Critique 339 19. Lurawi, ­Doing: An Anarchist Experience—­Ch’ixi  343 lxs colectiverxs 2 0. Con la salud si se juega Proj­ect Description  367 fabian cereIjido The Tournament: Nodes of a Network Made of Undisciplined Knowledge  369 juan carlos rodríguez 21. La Lleca Colectiva Proj­ect Description 388 elize mazadiego Exodus to La Lleca: Exiting from “Art” and “Politics” in Mexico  391 la lleca 22. La Línea Proj­ect Description  403 elize mazadiego The Morras Proj­ect  406 interdisciplinario la línea/la línea interdisciplinary group: abril castro, esmeralda ceballos, kara lynch, lorena mancilla , and sayak valencia-­m iriam garcía Contributors 413  Index 423 Introduction grant H. kester and bill kelley jr. Injustice is not an accident. gustavo gutiérrez, The Power of the Poor in History This collection of essays, statements, interviews, and proj­ect descriptions provides a selective overview of collaborative, socially engaged art prac- tice in Latin Amer­i­ca between 1995 and 2010. Our goal is to introduce English-­language readers to some of the most engaging new artists and critics currently working in Mexico and Central and South Amer­i­ca.1 Many of the proj­ects presented ­here are ­little known in the United States and Eu­rope, and a significant number of the essays and interviews have been translated into En­glish for the first time, specifically for this anthology. We believe this material deserves a much wider audience. While some pub- lications have focused on earlier periods (Katzenstein and Giunta’s Listen, ­Here, Now! for example, which includes material from Argentine artists ac- tive during the 1960s), this is the first book to pres­ent work from the most recent generation of artists working throughout the region.2 This has been a remarkably fertile period of experimentation, with new forms of artistic production not just in Latin Amer­i­ca, but globally. In par­tic­u­lar, this pe- riod has witnessed a range of efforts to redefine conventional notions of aesthetic autonomy, as artistic practices began to overlap with and to par- allel forms of cultural production in the realm of activism, urbanism, radi- cal pedagogy, environmentalism, and other fields. Examples range from Park Fiction’s experiments with participatory planning in Hamburg to Ala Plastica’s engagement with regional ecosystems in the Río de la Plata basin (discussed in this book), and from Huit Facette’s proj­ects in the villages of Senegal, to Tania Bruguera’s Immigrant Movement International in New York.3 While a number of artists working in Latin Amer­i­ca over the past fifteen years have gained considerable fame in the established cir­cuit of interna- tional biennial and museum exhibitions (Francis Alÿs, Ernesto Neto, Ga- briel Orozco, and Santiago Sierra, among o ­ thers), their work w ­ ill not be the focus of our attention ­here. In fact, many of the artists and groups pre- sented in the current study are relatively unknown in the mainstream art world. This is due in part to the particular—­some might say parochial—­ interests of con­temporary curators and critics, but it also reflects a con- scious decision by a number of ­these artists to locate their practices in networks of validation and reception that are peripheral to the main- stream art world and, by extension, to establish a dif­fer­ent relationship with the public. Rather than simply accepting the self-­selecting audiences and the arbitrary time constraints imposed by biennial commissions or museum exhibitions, ­these artists seek to define new publics and new con- stituencies for their practice, and to engage the broader field of variables (of space and time, situation and subjectivity) that constitute the social field of a given work. This act of secession also reflects a growing disillu- sionment with the increasingly close integration between the institutional mechanisms of the mainstream art world (the journals, curators, critics, art fairs, biennials, museums, and galleries that provide the discursive and intellectual validation for con­temporary art) and the global auction mar- ket, in which con­temporary art alone generated almost five billion dollars in sales in 2014. Given the diversity and sheer size of the American continent, the rela- tionship of the proj­ects discussed ­here to the global art world cannot be generalized. Some regions have l­ittle in the way of “art world” infra- structure (galleries, museums, publications, and so on) while cities such as Buenos Aires, Mexico City, or Rio de Janeiro rival the art centers of Eu­rope and North Amer­i­ca. What seems to be consistent, as noted above, is that ­these practices have, with a few exceptions, traditionally operated outside the art world’s purview. Only very recently, in cities that have a strong history of community-­based art practice, such as Medellín or São Paolo, has some effort been made to incorporate t­ hese proj­ects into a larger matrix of museological programming or art historical research and publication. In terms of research, some of ­these developments are driven 2   •  g r a n t H . k e s t e r a n d b i l l k e l l e y   j r . by teams of national and international curators, as is the case with the São Paolo Biennial, while o ­ thers are taken on by academic researchers and in­ de­pen­dent research teams, such as the Red Conceptualismos del Sur. Art historical studies focused on con­temporary art have been relatively rare in Latin Amer­i­ca. As such, it is often the case that the writers associated with this work ­were e­ ither educated abroad, or emerged from other disci- plines, such as the social sciences. This further contributes to a situation in which community-­based or socially engaged art practices are more fully and frequently examined in fields outside of art history or theory (e.g., visual anthropology, sociology, e­ tc.). In many cases t­ hese artists and collectives exist in relatively precarious circumstances, with ­little institutional support or recognition from the art world, and an often antagonistic relationship to formal state bodies (this is evident in the case of Colectivo Sociedad Civil in Peru, Grupo Etcétera in Argentina, and Artistas en Resistancia in Guatemala, for example). The contrast with the sumptuary economy on display at art fairs, galleries, and biennials could hardly be more striking. This contrast is paralleled by a key ideological difference. Where the default attitude ­toward po­liti­cal change within the mainstream art world involves a studied cynicism (as Santiago Sierra famously observed, “I c­ an’t change anything . . . ​I d ­ on’t believe in the possibility of change”), the artists represented ­here are committed to the idea that change is not only pos­si­ble but essential, and that they can play a role in bringing it about.4 At the same time, they have come of age in a region of the world where both the possibilities and the disappoint- ments of po­liti­cal transformation are a subject of visceral, daily knowledge and lived historical experience. If ­there is a broader institutional context for this work, and a wider set of affiliations, it can be found in an impro- visational network of activist and socially engaged artists and collectives scattered around the world, from Senegal, to Finland, to Myanmar, to Delhi and beyond, which are equally peripheral to the mainstream, Euro-­ American art world. Site-­specific art has conventionally operated through what might be described as a teleological orientation. While a given image, event, or idea may be generated in response to a par­tic­u­lar context or situation, the art- ist’s relationship to site is largely appropriative, and the locus of creativity resides primarily at the level of autonomous conceptual ideation (e.g., the well-­worn image of the artist working alone in his or her studio). The world, in turn, becomes a kind of reservoir from which the artist may draw at ­will in elaborating his or her par­tic­u­lar vision.5 By and large, the I n t r o d u c t i o n   •  3  work presented in this collection has been produced through a situational engagement with active sites of social or cultural re­sis­tance (the Prestes Maia occupation in São Paolo, the ecosystem of Buenos Aires, the public sphere of Medellín). In each case we see a concern with tactical knowledge production and an extemporaneous relationship to incipient po­liti­cal for- mations and social spaces—­a form of civic reimagining.6 At the same time, ­these individual sites of practice share certain commonalities, through the influence of recent geopo­liti­cal shifts in Latin Amer­i­ca, which we w ­ ill trace below. From the Requerimiento to the EZLN The vio­lence of Spanish colonization constituted a social trauma that was borne by the body politic of Latin Amer­i­ca long ­after formal in­de­pen­dence from Spain was achieved. While the specific or local forms of domination set in place by the Spanish colonizers ­were modified over time, in the case of Latin Amer­i­ca, the under­lying structures (the repression of indigenous languages and cultures; the hacienda system; forms of race-­, caste-­, and class-­based oppression; the dominance of an elite of planters and mer- chants) remained largely intact, even as a new generation of neo­co­lo­nial actors came to power in the region in the mid-­to late nineteenth ­century (­Great Britain and l­ater the United States). In fact, the authority of the aristocratic latifundistas in Latin Amer­i­ca was actually strengthened a­ fter in­de­pen­dence due to the leading role they played in military re­sis­tance to Spanish authority. The concentration of land owner­ship in large estates, the appropriation of native lands, and the eradication of indigenous communities continued, and even increased, in many countries, especially during the late 1800s. As a result, neo­co­lo­nial po­liti­cal movements retain a contradictory character. On the one hand, the leaders of ­these move- ments (Rafael Núñez during the regeneration period in Colombia, Juan Manuel Rosas’s “populist” reforms in Buenos Aires, La Reforma in Mexico ­under Benito Juárez) sought to encourage re­sis­tance to foreign economic domination through appeals to a unified national identity. At the same time, ­these movements ­were often led by, and designed to benefit, wealthy landowners, traders, and industrialists at the expense of working-­class, mestizo, and indigenous populations.7 Colonial powers, from Spain in the sixteenth c­ entury to the colonial ad- ventures of vari­ous Eu­ro­pean nations in Africa during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, have typically maintained their domination through tactical alliances with local indigenous elites, which identify their interests 4   •  g r a n t H . k e s t e r a n d b i l l k e l l e y   j r . with the colonial power rather than with their own p ­ eople. As a result, many of the conflicts that occurred in the countries of Latin Amer­i­ca fol- lowing liberation from Spain involved efforts by t­ hese same elites to retain control over the cultural and economic resources of their countries. The result was a cyclical pro­cess familiar to historians of the region, as a com- prador class skimmed off a portion of the wealth exported from the coun- try by foreign investors and corporations, in exchange for maintaining order and repressing or­ga­nized re­sis­tance among the working class and indigenous populations.8 This model was, in the long run, untenable. Debt payment burdens, pressure t­ oward monoculture economies, and periodic currency devaluation only exacerbated internal class divisions, leading to the rise of a cadre of autocratic caudillos and military dictators during the early to mid-­twentieth c­ entury. In the post–­World War II period (roughly 1950–70), a series of new po­ liti­cal movements emerged in Latin Amer­i­ca that attempted to challenge long-­standing internal class divisions, while also taking up a more opposi- tional relationship to foreign capital. Typically t­ hese involved socialist or quasi-­socialist reforms (Jacobo Árbenz Guzman in Guatemala and Victor Paz Estenssero in Bolivia in the early 1950s, Juan Velasco Alvarado’s na- tionalization of oil production in Peru in 1968, and the 1970 election of Salvador Allende in Chile) as well as open revolution, in the case of Cuba in 1959 and the overthrow of the Somoza regime in Nicaragua by the San­ di­nis­tas in 1979. Most of ­these endeavors ­were greeted by overt and covert attempts at subversion by the United States, including support for mili- tary coups, dictatorships, and po­liti­cal assassinations. During the 1960s the Alliance for Pro­gress, a hemispheric plan developed by the Kennedy administration, played a leading role in this pro­cess, providing indoctri- nation and counterinsurgency training for both urban and rural guerrilla groups in the name of “fighting communism” in the region. By the mid-1970s many countries in Central and South Amer­i­ca had returned to a familiar pattern in which foreign investors and corpora- tions worked in tandem with internal elites, whose power was frequently maintained by military repression (e.g., in Argentina, Brazil, Bolivia, Chile, Uruguay, and Paraguay).9 However, where previous client states had attempted to ameliorate some of the economic and social costs of depen- dence through spending on domestic social programs, the 1970s and 1980s witnessed a gradual return to demo­cratically elected governments and a transition to early neoliberal policies, imposed through the World Bank and International Monetary Fund. ­Under the so-­called “Washington Consensus,” I n t r o d u c t i o n   •  5 t­ hese policies required debtor nations to reduce welfare and worker pro- tections, eliminate tariffs, and open internal markets to foreign invest- ment. It is impor­tant to understand that neoliberalism does not involve an absolute reduction of the state’s power relative to the private sector. Rather, neoliberalism involves a transition in state function, as the gov- ernment abandons a market-­regulating role (imposing controls over cor- porate conduct, recognition of or­ga­nized ­labor, e­ tc.) and embraces instead a market-­complementing role in which any “public” obligation is subordinate to the interests of corporate and financial elites.10 Neoliberal economic policies proved to be particularly well-­suited to re- pressive po­liti­cal regimes in Latin Amer­i­ca, as the withdrawal of social support systems (i.e., reductions in welfare, public education, health ben- efits, and so on) only served to increase internal social tensions that, in turn, ­were used to justify further social repression and vio­lence. In re- sponse a number of po­liti­cal leaders during the late 1990s attempted to combine obedience to the fiscal discipline of neoliberal development with a largely symbolic embrace of populist domestic policies (e.g., Carlos Menem in Argentina, Alberto Fujimori in Peru, and Patricio Aylwin and Eduardo Frei in Chile). The failure of ­these efforts w ­ ere epitomized by the fall of Fuji- mori in 2000, the Argentine debt crisis of 1999–2002, and the coterminous financial crisis in Brazil, which prompted a domino effect of monetary de- valuations throughout the region. The result was the so-­called “Pink Tide” of the early 2000s, as a series of po­liti­cal leaders emerged in Central and South Amer­i­ca who w ­ ere openly antagonistic to the neoliberal economic discourse that had dominated the region since the 1970s.11 This marked a significant shift in Latin American politics, as ­these leaders came to power through peaceful, demo­cratic means, reflecting a region-­wide frustration with the social costs of globalization. At the same time, while heads of state such as Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, Rafael Correa, Hugo Chávez, and Evo Mo- rales have been, or ­were, critical of neoliberal dogma, they also recognized the tactical necessity of working to some extent within the international economic community and the mechanisms of the global market.12 It is this final period, both utopian and pragmatic, that provides the po­ liti­cal backdrop for many of the artistic experiments documented in this collection. The time frame for this collection is significant, beginning as it does in the mid-1990s, which witnessed both the passage of the North American ­Free Trade Agreement (nafta), that penultimate expression of neoliberal ideology, and the Zapatista uprising in Chiapas, Mexico, which introduced a new paradigm of revolution. It is a period marked by a wide- 6   •  g r a n t H . k e s t e r a n d b i l l k e l l e y   j r . spread repudiation of the tenets of neoliberalism and structural adjust- ment, and an equally widespread disillusionment with traditional armed re­sis­tance.13 The gradual shift ­toward new forms of po­liti­cal organ­ization in Latin Amer­i­ca was signaled by the emergence of the ezln (Ejército Za- patista de Liberación Nacional) or Zapatista Army of National Liberation in Chiapas in 1994. “It is not our arms which make us radical,” the Zapatis- tas declared, “it is the new po­liti­cal practice which we propose . . . ​a po­liti­ cal practice which does not seek the taking of power but the organ­ization of society.”14 The Zapatistas deliberately sought to differentiate themselves from previous models of revolutionary insurrection. In an early interview Subcomandante Marcos stated: We do not want a dictatorship of another kind, nor anything out of this world, not international Communism and all that. We want jus- tice where ­there is now not even minimum subsistence. . . . ​We do not want to monopolize the vanguard or say that we are the light, the only alternative, or stingily claim the qualification of revolutionary for one or another current.15 The Zapatistas are emblematic of a broader desire in Latin Amer­i­ca dur- ing this period to move beyond the traditional notion of revolution as a system for communicating the expertise of a vanguard party or mobiliz- ing the quiescent masses through agitation or exemplary acts of vio­lence. Some indication of the richness and diversity of t­ hese new approaches can be found in Boaventura de Sousa Santos’s “Reinventing Social Emancipa- tion” initiative, which he launched in the early 2000s. This is an interna- tional research proj­ect that provides an overview of new forms of social strug­gle in the Global South. At the core of de Sousa Santos’s research is a differentiation between existing models of “representative” democracy, associated with the traditions of bourgeois liberalism, and incipient forms of participatory democracy in Latin Amer­i­ca, Asia, and Africa, many of which have been catalyzed in response to neoliberal globalization. “The main thesis” of this research, as de Sousa Santos writes, “is that the he- gemonic model of [liberal, representative] democracy . . . ​guarantees no more than low-­intensity democracy, based on the privatization of pub- lic welfare by more or less restricted elites, on the increasing distance be- tween representatives and the represented, and on an abstract po­liti­cal inclusion made of concrete social exclusion.”16 From Brazil’s mst (Movimento dos Trabalhadores Rurais Sem Terra), to the cocaleros of Putumayo, to innovative forms of participatory bud­geting I n t r o d u c t i o n   •  7  in Porto Allegro, de Sousa Santos identifies a “new emphasis on local democracy and on the variations of the demo­cratic form.”17 Taken in the aggregate, t­ hese initiatives seek to expand demo­cratic pro­cesses and princi­ples beyond the formal confines of representative politics to the “lived temporality” of everyday life. They represent the strug­gle to “de­ moc­ra­tize democracy,” in de Sousa Santos’s words, and mark a movement ­toward a more experiential and pragmatic approach to social and po­liti­cal transformation. This model of change implies neither a rejection of strate- gic thinking nor a refusal to acknowledge the coordinated and systematic nature of oppression t­ oday.18 It does, however, suggest that we must con- tinually rediscover our relationship to practice: that consciousness does not always precede action, and that action itself can produce a form of knowledge that is both experiential and reflective. It is this same spirit that animates many of the artistic practices presented ­here. The imperative to de­moc­ra­tize our knowledge as well as our politics has also been addressed by the Chilean economist Manfred Max Neef. Accord- ing to Max Neef, the current neoliberal economic model, often presented as the only pos­si­ble form of economic policy and almost universally supported by Western universities and academics, fails to take account of “meaningful ­human scale indicators.” Max Neef argues that conventionally educated economists who study poverty do so from the abstracted critical distance of “scientific” macroeconomic indicators (e.g., gross national product). As a result, they never truly understand the nature of poverty, how it affects ­people, or what local communities can do to improve their lives. He ar- gues for a “barefoot economics” that would study issues such as poverty through learned community experience and de­moc­ra­tize the indicators of development to include local ancestral knowledge and the impact on na- ture in any cost–­benefit analy­sis. This suggests an enriched intercultural dialogue between histories and cultures analogous to what de Sousa San- tos calls an “expanded ecol­ogy of knowledge.”19 De Sousa Santos and Max Neef both seek to challenge the “cognitive injustice” that has paralleled the economic and social injustice of the postcolonial period, as neoliberalism ignores, or deliberately represses, alternative epistemologies and value systems (­whether of the indigenous, the poor and working class, or the non-­Western).20 Progressive Latin American social theory since the 1950s has been char- acterized by a concern with the rights of the oppressed and methodologies that focus on local perspectives and initiatives. Thinkers such as Enrique Dussel have remarked on the practical and theoretical foundation estab- 8   •  g r a n t H . k e s t e r a n d b i l l k e l l e y   j r . lished in g­ reat part by advocates of Liberation Theology and other libera- tory pedagogical and community-­driven practices during the 1960s. As Dussel notes, this work enabled the rise of a new generation of left-­wing po­liti­cal leaders and perspectives in key regions of Latin Amer­i­ca. Within the distinctly decolonizing discourse of Liberation Philosophy, Dussel cites mid-­century populist movements, the theoretical implications of the Cuban revolution, and the Catholic Church’s work in developing local co- munidades de base (base communities) that focus on the lives of the poor. Concurrently, the work of theologians like Gustavo Gutiérrez insisted on turning theology away from abstract philosophy and ­toward criticality and the social sciences. Within this arena of study, one must also acknowl- edge the contributions of Paolo Freire and other pedagogical theorists whose ideas on popu­lar education and the po­liti­cal and liberatory nature of collaborative and community work through art have been extraordi- narily influential. The second Latin American Episcopal Council (celam) in Medellín laid the groundwork and established the language of Liberation Theology in 1968. However, this was only one stage in a broader movement by Latin American activists and academics beginning in the 1960s to critique the Eurocentric foundations of Western theory and philosophy. Decolonial theoretical movements focused on revealing epistemological exteriorities—­ forms of knowledge and methodologies left aside and pushed beyond the scope of Eurocentric modernity in its drive ­toward modernization and capitalism. Decolonization, as a theoretical apparatus, is concerned with the contingency of a world-­system that is defined by the centers of power. It seeks instead to recover forms of knowledge that re-­center the frame on intercultural exchange and prioritize the cultural work of the Global South. Concepts such as transmodernity—­seeing Euro-­modernity and its economic forces “from the perspective of its reverso, its underside, its oc- cluded other”—­argue for the reevaluation of that same exteriority.21 The development of a Latin American philosophy centered on the decoloniza- tion of knowledge has played an instrumental role in questioning the rela- tivity of postmodern thought, and in ascribing validity to local cognitive histories, knowledge, and methodologies. Th ­ ese positions are grounded in the po­liti­cal movements of the late 1960s, a period that was as much about the affirmation of Third World p ­ eoples’ autonomy, identity, ­will to freedom, and liberation as it was about the critique of imperialism, rac- ism, and sexism within industrialized First World nations. ­Today ­these ideas not only provide the foundation for a historical understanding of I n t r o d u c t i o n   •  9 Latin American po­liti­cal thought; they continue to flourish in the hands of thinkers such as de Sousa Santos, Max Neef, Dussel, and ­others, and function as a theoretical framework for con­temporary methodologies that reverberate through many of the practices in this book. Otros-­Nosotros The dramatic expansion of collaborative and community-­based art practices has been accompanied and framed by an emergent critical discourse that remains largely Euro-­and U.S.-­centric in both its theoretical orientation and its objects of study. The theoretical and methodological inheritances of Latin Amer­i­ca are as diverse as its p ­ eople, yet the analy­sis of t­ hese art practices within the intellectual centers of the West has tended to “trans- late” Western critical theory and apply it to Latin American art with- out recognizing or investigating local communities, contexts, histories, and practices. Recent art-­world debates around issues of art, collectivity, and po­liti­cal change (Nicolas Bourriaud’s “relational” art, Claire Bishop’s deployment of Chantal Mouffe’s concept of agonism, Jacques Rancière’s framing of the ambiguous relationship between the aesthetic and the po­ liti­cal, Miwon Kwon’s foregrounding of displacement, e­ tc.) have focused primarily on the work of more mainstream artists and have, in many cases, expressed a congenital mistrust of communal or collective identi- ties and action. Thus, the proj­ects documented in this book may well be viewed with some suspicion by mainstream art critics. From Ala Plastica’s engagement with environmental policies in the Río de la Plata basin to La Linea’s work with w ­ omen’s shelters in Tijuana, t­ hese proj­ects operate both within and against the grain of existing civil society in Latin Amer­ i­ca. In each case we witness a willingness to work through civil and public institutions (ngos, governmental agencies, u ­ nions, ­etc.), combined with a commitment to transforming t­ hese institutions through practical action and re­sis­tance. Notwithstanding the per­sis­tent skepticism about collaborative and col- lective art practice among some critics and theorists, artists themselves have shown an increasing willingness to explore the potentials offered by this approach. As noted above, we are currently witnessing a heightened interest in ­these practices in the mainstream art world. This has led, in turn, to an inquiry into the place of collaborative and community-­based art practices within a larger history of Latin American art. This inquiry has ranged from more general investigations into the history of the avant-­garde in Latin Amer­i­ca to case studies focused on specific proj­ects, such as the 1 0   •  g r a n t H . k e s t e r a n d b i l l k e l l e y   j r . actions of the Tucumán Arde group in Argentina during the 1960s.22 Thus, the drive to situate collaborative and collective art practices from Latin Amer­i­ca within a larger canon has already begun. While the con­temporary proj­ects included in this book share certain commonalities with ­those earlier, historical practices, the methodologies employed by the artists pre- sented ­here are distinctly transdisciplinary, placing greater emphasis on close community participation and dialogue. This marks an impor­tant de- parture from earlier models, in which the primary locus of creativity was often seen to reside within the authoring consciousness of a single artist. It suggests, as well, the need for a new set of analytic par­ameters that do not rely solely on the traditions of historical avant-­garde art, but rather remain open to a broader range of influences, criteria, and intellectual contexts. Thus, proj­ects like the memory recuperation initiatives created by Pablo Sanaguano or the community video network-­building efforts of Alberto Muenala, both produced with indigenous groups in Ec­ua­dor, have closer ties to the traditions of radical pedagogy and the con­temporary legislative efforts associated with the indigenous concept of sumak kaw- say (translated as “good living” in Kichwa) than with the conventions of Western art history.23 ­These proj­ects also demonstrate a range of tactics for overcoming the pervasive historical amnesia in many Latin American countries regarding the vio­lence of authoritarian regimes during the 1970s and 1980s. This is evident in Grupo Etcétera’s work in Buenos Aires, as well as memory and reconciliation proj­ects in Colombia. Fi­nally, we can observe new forms of protest and dissent in the cultural proj­ects developed as part of the Prestes Maia occupations in São Paolo and Colectivo Sociedad Civil’s Lava la ban- dera per­for­mances in Lima. In each case, ­these proj­ects are characterized by a receptive, improvisational approach; an openness to the insights gen- erated through practice and action; and a desire to both learn from, and move beyond, the limitations of past narratives of po­liti­cal emancipation. And in each case the groups involved seek to address a public that is both receptive to claims of social justice and able to act upon them. This faith in the often-­fragile mechanisms of participatory democracy is all the more remarkable given the recent history of state repression in Latin Amer­i­ca. Taken in the aggregate, what do ­these artists and collectives have to teach us? We can identify several recurring themes or motifs in their practices, notwithstanding the very wide range of locations, constituencies, and thematic concerns evident throughout this anthology. The first, as already noted, is a sustained and immersive relationship to specific sites and I n t r o d u c t i o n   •  1 1 locations, and a model of critique that is always rooted in specific institu- tions, subjectivities, and po­liti­cal forces. This relationship entails a set of dis- tinct methodologies (pragmatic forms of learning and research, i­nterviews and conversations, shared perambulations or performative actions, ­etc.) and a heightened awareness of the complex interplay of the discursive, the haptic, and the po­liti­cal that structures any given site of practice. This work is, by and large, durationally extensive, unfolding over weeks, months, and even years of engagement. This situational commitment is joined by a strong connection to national and international networks of prac­ti­tion­ers and activists struggling with similar issues throughout Latin Amer­i­ca and around the world, from which many of ­these artists take inspiration and with whom t­ here are frequent and productive exchanges. Second, the proj­ ects presented h ­ ere exhibit a consistent concern with the generative po- tential of collaboration itself. In their essays, interviews, and statements ­these artists repeatedly stress the necessity of learning from the experi- ences and actions of their collaborators and interlocutors, of remaining open and receptive to the transformative encounters across the bound­ aries of subjectivity and culture that characterize their work. Fi­nally, we encounter a shared recognition that existing models of both artistic prac- tice and po­liti­cal re­sis­tance are changing, and a consequent willingness to challenge the conventional bound­aries between art and activism or aes- thetics and politics.24 We hope that this anthology can help facilitate a dialogue on, and further an investigation into, ­these diverse forms of artistic practice. The rapid growth of dialogical or collaborative forms of art making over the past de­cade, not to mention the rich and largely unwritten history of community-­driven art practice, makes a collection of this nature all the more pertinent. Very l­ittle of this material is available in En­glish, and we believe ­these translations can help open up a productive exchange between prac­ti­tion­ers, critics, historians, and activists working in the United States and Eu­rope (who may be unaware of the remarkable range of art practices developed in Latin Amer­i­ca over the past twenty years) and their counter­ parts in Mexico and Central and South Amer­i­ca. The se­lection of materials is by no means exhaustive, but we have sought to provide a representa- tive sample of regional efforts to rethink the bound­aries between art and activism and, by extension, the creative capacity of art. While many significant studies and groups have been left out of this collection, due to limitations of space and time, we feel the material we have been able to include effectively highlights the diversity of practices in the region. 1 2   •  g r a n t H . k e s t e r a n d b i l l k e l l e y   j r .  We have or­ga­nized the thirty-­one readings in this book, consisting of essays, interviews, manifestos, and conversations, into six parts: (Un)Civil Disobedience, Urbanism, Memory, Indigeneity, Migrations, and Institu- tional Critique. The orga­nizational structure came about organically, as we began to identify the most relevant case studies and proj­ects. Each chapter includes a brief introduction, and detailed proj­ect descriptions accompany several of the texts. The proj­ect descriptions serve to highlight basic infor- mation not covered in the central text and are included to facilitate further research, and to provide an additional contextual foundation for the es- says themselves. From the beginning of the editorial pro­cess we deci­ded against imposing fixed limits on the kinds of texts we would publish. We ­were open to what­ever format the artists and authors felt was most effec- tive in representing their work or their creative investigations. Most of the texts are new, but ­there are a few that have been republished from smaller or less accessible publications. As is so often the case with proj­ects of this nature, it is, at the time of its publication, already a historical document. Over the past five years a range of exciting new works have been developed in Latin Amer­i­ca. Impor­ tant research on memory, vio­lence, and the history of military repression (and its toll on, and relationship to, artistic and activist practice) has been undertaken by groups such as La Red Conceptualismos del Sur, and across the hemi­sphere. Th ­ ere are active and vibrant gender equality movements involving artists and cultural producers in Bolivia, Argentina, Ec­ua­dor, and other countries. Many of the artist groups in São Paolo or Buenos Aires who took to the streets in the early 2000s are now active in build- ing organ­izations, developing infrastructure to facilitate international col- laborations, and forming new cultural alliances and strategies to continue their initial po­liti­cal strug­gle, while also redefining the role of the artist in society.25 The ending date for this anthology, 2010, marked the moment that Lula da Silva stepped down as president of Brazil, to be replaced by his former chief of staff, Dilma Rousseff. Rousseff has become increasingly unpop­u­lar as inflation has increased dramatically, and her administration has been confronted with scandals over Petrobras, Brazil’s state-­run oil com­pany. She is currently facing impeachment. By 2013 Hugo Chávez had died, re- placed by his former vice president, Nicolás Maduro Moros. Maduro has also strug­gled, as falling oil prices have led to a growing economic crisis in Venezuela. Notwithstanding t­hese shifts, Latin Amer­i­ca remains one of the key regions in which new forms of re­sis­tance to the imperatives of I n t r o d u c t i o n   •  1 3 neoliberalism are sustained and at least partially encouraged at the state level (Rafael Correa and Evo Morales remain in power).26 Moreover, 2010 was also the year in which Tunisian street vendor Mohamed Bouazizi im- molated himself in protest ­after the police prevented him from selling vegetables, marking the beginning of the Arab Spring. We are unable ­here to pursue the productive points of contact between the Arab Spring and the subsequent Occupy movement (which began in 2011) and the work developed in Latin Amer­i­ca during the Pink Tide. It is evident, however, that in each case we can identify a significant relationship between po­liti­ cal re­sis­tance, especially in response to neoliberalism and antidemo­cratic or authoritarian regimes, and artistic production (for example, the new forms of street art that proliferated in Tahrir Square as well as in the Oc- cupy movement). It is our hope that this collection ­will contribute to the ongoing dialogue around the nature of this relationship, as both artistic practice and po­liti­cal re­sis­tance continue to evolve, complicate, and chal- lenge each other.27 Notes Epigraph: Gustavo Gutiérrez, The Power of the Poor in History (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1983), 117.1. 1 While our primary focus is on work produced in Latin Amer­i­ca, especially proj­ ects that are less well known in the English-­speaking world, we ­will also include some discussion of recent proj­ects developed in diasporic communities in the United States (see “Of Co-­investigations and Aesthetic Sustenance: A Conversa- tion between Colectivo Situaciones and Electronic Disturbance Theater/b.a.n.g. lab” and Prerana Reddy’s “How Three Artists Led the Queens Museum into Co- rona and Beyond,” chapters 17 and 18). Of course, ­these two essays can offer only a partial and incomplete picture of the diversity of artistic practices developed by Latino/a diasporic communities in North Amer­i­ca. We would note ­here that con­temporary artistic practices being produced by Latino/a artists and com- munities in the United States are already well represented in English-­language sources and museum exhibitions. See, for example, the exhibition “Our Amer­i­ca: The Latino Presence in American Art” at the Smithsonian Museum of American Art (October 25, 2013–­March 2, 2014), which toured nationally and featured a major conference and accompanying cata­log. In addition, one of our concerns, as noted in this introduction, was to focus on proj­ects developed in the context of significant po­liti­cal shifts that occurred in Latin Amer­i­ca, specifically during the late 1990s and early 2000s (the so-­called “Pink Tide”). 2 Inés Katzenstein and Andrea Giunta, Listen, H ­ ere, Now! Argentine Art of the 1960s: Writings of the Avant-­Garde (New York: Museum of Modern Art, 2004). 1 4   •  g r a n t H . k e s t e r a n d b i l l k e l l e y   j r .  3 This work has been described as the expression of a “dialogical” (Kester) or “relational” (Bourriaud) aesthetic, and as evidence of a “participatory” turn in con­ temporary art. For recent studies, see Nicholas Bourriaud, Relational Aesthetics, translated by Simon Pleasance and Fronza Woods with the participation of Mathieu Copeland (Dijon: Les Presses du Réel, 2002); Grant Kester, Conversa- tion Pieces: Community and Communication in Modern Art (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004) and The One and the Many: Con­temporary Collaborative Art in a Global Context (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2011); Shannon Jackson, Social Works: Performing Art, Supporting Publics (New York: Routledge, 2011), Living as Form: Socially-­Engaged Art from 1991–2011, edited by Nato Thompson (Cambridge, MA: mit Press, 2012), and What We Made: Conversa- tions on Art and Social Cooperation, edited by Tom Finkelpearl (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2013). 4 The Sierra quote is from the cata­log Santiago Sierra: Works 2002–1990 (Birming- ham, UK: Ikon Gallery, 2002), 15. 5 See Grant Kester, “Lessons in Futility: Francis Alÿs and the Legacy of May ’68,” Third Text 23(4) (July 2009): 407–20. 6 By “tactical” we refer to the effects of artistic and activist practices at specific sites and in specific situations (as opposed to “strategic” forms of action that involve the calculation of the long-­term effects of cumulative practices). ­There is an implicit scalar distinction ­here, but also a temporal shift, in which tactical action allows for the immediate recalibration of a resistant practice in response to changes, breakthroughs, or counter-­actions at a given site. The concept of a “civic reimagining” refers to the capacity of certain artistic practices to contrib- ute to a pro­cess of reframing the nature of public and civic space within a given social system. As with the Lava la bandera actions in Peru discussed by Gustavo Buntinx (“Lava la bandera: The Colectivo Sociedad Civil and the Cultural Over- throw of the Fujimori-­Montesinos Dictatorship,” chapter 1), this often entails the ability to reclaim signifiers or symbols of po­liti­cal unity (e.g., the Peruvian flag). 7 As historians Benjamin Keen and Keith Haynes argue: Populist reforms historically had united elites and subalterns u ­ nder the ban- ner of nationalism ­because they promised social and po­liti­cal inclusion with- out fundamentally redistributing property and power. In the absence of such a radical transformation of existing social structures, however, populist re- forms had to be financed by high export prices, low-­interest foreign loans or some combination of both. —Benjamin Keen and Keith Haynes, A History of Latin Amer­i­ca: In­de­pen­ dence to the Pres­ent, vol. 2, (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2009), 498–99. 8 Originally deriving from the Portuguese word for “buyer,” associated specifi- cally with trade with China, “comprador” evolved in the Marxist tradition to identify a “native” man­ag­er of Eu­ro­pean colonial enterprises. I n t r o d u c t i o n   •  1 5  9 The overthrow of Anastasio Somoza by the San­di­nis­tas in 1979 was an exception. 10 See The State ­after Statism: New State Activities in the Age of Liberalization, edited by Jonah D. Levy (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006). 11 ­These include Néstor Kirchner and Cristina Fernández in Argentina, Luiz Iná- cio Lula da Silva in Brazil, Evo Morales in Bolivia, Ricardo Lagos and Michelle Bachelet in Chile, Rafael Correa in Ec­ua­dor, Mauricio Funes in El Salvador, Manuel Zelaya in Honduras, Daniel Ortega in Nicaragua, Fernando Lugo in Paraguay, Tabaré Vázquez and José Mujica in Uruguay, and Hugo Chávez in Venezuela. 12 This is also a reflection of the loss of the USSR as a sponsor of state socialism in Latin Amer­ic­ a. 13 This period was also marked by the death of Jacobo Arenas of farc (Revolu- tionary Armed Forces of Colombia) in Colombia in 1990 and the capture of Abimael Guzmán of Sendero Luminoso in Peru in 1992. farc had come u ­ nder increasing criticism for its reliance on kidnapping for revenue and its recruit- ment of ­children as young as fifteen. 14 As Subcomandante Insurgente Marcos wrote in an open letter to “National and International Civil Society” in 1996: We do not want o ­ thers, more or less of the right, center or left, to decide for us. We want to participate directly in the decisions which concern us, to control t­ hose who govern us, without regard to their po­liti­cal affiliation, and oblige them to “rule by obeying.” We do not strug­gle to take power, we strug­gle for democracy, liberty, and justice. Our po­liti­cal proposal is the most radical in Mexico (perhaps in the world, but it is still too soon to say). It is so radical that all the traditional po­liti­cal spectrum (right, center left and ­those of one or the other extreme) criticize us and walk away from our delirium. —Zapatista Army of National Liberation Mexico, “To National and Interna- tional Civil Society” (August 30, 1996), http://­flag​.­blackened​.­net​/­revolt​/­mexico​ /­ezln​/­marc​_­to​_­cs​_­se96​.­html. 15​­ In a communiqué released in response to the emergence of the epr (Popu­lar Revolutionary Army), which engaged in more traditional armed re­sis­tance, the ezln responded: You strug­gle for power. We strug­gle for democracy, liberty and justice. This is not the same t­ hing. Though you may be successful and conquer power, we ­will continue struggling for democracy, liberty and justice. It does not ­matter who is in power, the Zapatistas are and have always strug­gled for democracy, liberty and justice. —Zapatista Army of National Liberation Mexico, “To the Soldiers and Com- manders of the Popu­lar Revolutionary Army” (August 29, 1996), http://­flag​ .­blackened​.­net​/­revolt​/­mexico​/­ezln​/­ezln​_­epr​_­se96​.­html. 1 6   •  g r a n t H . k e s t e r a n d b i l l k e l l e y   j r .  16​­ Boaventura de Sousa Santos, “General Introduction: Reinventing Social Emancipation: ­Toward New Manifestos,” in Demo­cratizing Democracy: Beyond the Liberal Demo­cratic Canon, edited by Boaventura de Sousa Santos (London: Verso, 2005), ix. 17 Boaventura de Sousa Santos and Leonardo Avritzer, “Introduction: Opening Up the Canon of Democracy,” in Demo­cratizing Democracy, xxxvi. As de Sousa Santos and Avritzer continue, “The strug­gle for democracy is ­today above all a strug­gle for the democ­ratization of democracy. Liberal democracy, the norma- tive paradigm, confined democracy to the po­liti­cal realm. . . . ​This rendered the demo­cratic pro­cess susceptible to constituting an island of democracy in a wide ocean of social despotism” (lxii). 18 In fact, as de Sousa Santos writes, “in our time, social emancipation involves a dual movement of de-­globalization of the local (vis-­à-­vis hegemonic globaliza- tion) and its re-­globalization (as part of counter-­hegemonic globalization).” Demo­cratizing Democracy, xxxvi. 19 Max-Neef, in reaffirming the importance of po­liti­cal agency in local ­human and economic development, defines the concept of “­human scale develop- ment” as “focused and based on the satisfaction of fundamental h ­ uman needs, on the generation of growing levels of self-­reliance, and on the construction of organic articulations of ­people with nature and technology, of global pro­cesses with local activity, of the personal with the social, of planning with autonomy, and of civil society with the state.” Manfred A. Max-­Neef, ­Human Scale Development: Conception, Application and Further Reflections (New York: Apex Press, 1991), 8. 20 Also see Raewyn W. Connell, Southern Theory: Social Science and the Global Dy- namics of Knowledge (London: Polity Press, 2007) and, in the context of postco- lonial Africa specifically, Jean Comaroff and John L. Comaroff, Theory from the South: Or, How Euro-­America Is Evolving ­toward Africa (Boulder, CO: Paradigm Press, 2012). 21 Eduardo Mendieta, in Enrique Dussel, The Underside of Modernity: Ricoeur, Apel, Taylor and the Philosophy of Liberation, translated and edited by Eduardo Mend- ieta (New York: Humanities, 1996), xxii. 22 Maria Carmen Ramirez’s contribution in Inverted Utopias: Avant-­Garde Art in Latin Amer­i­ca (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2004) and Luis Cam- nitzer’s Conceptualism in Latin American Art: Didactics of Liberation (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2007) are two popu­lar and recent examples. 23 See Pablo Alonso González and Alfredo Macías Vázquez, “An Ontological Turn in the Debate on Buen Vivir—­Sumak Kawsay in Ec­ua­dor: Ideology, Knowledge and the Common,” Latin American and Ca­rib­bean Ethnic Studies 10(1) (sum- mer 2015): 1–20; Julien Vanhulst and Adrian E. Beling, “Buen Vivir: Emergent Discourse within or beyond Sustainable Development,” Ecological Economics 101 (2014): 54–63; and Sarah A. Radcliffe, “Development for a Postneoliberal I n t r o d u c t i o n   •  1 7  Era? Sumak Kawsay, Living Well and the Limits to Decolonisation in Ec­ua­dor,” Geoforum 43 (2012): 240–49. 24 Kester discusses this question in more depth in “On the Relationship between Theory and Practice in Socially Engaged Art,” in the Blade of Grass journal Fertile Ground on July 29, 2015 (http://www.abladeofgrass.org/fertile-ground​ /between-theory-and-practice/), and the editorial for issue #2 of FIELD: A Jour- nal of Socially Engaged Art Criticism (fall 2015) (http://­field​-­journal​.­com​/­issue​-­2​ /­kester​-­2). 25​­ Examples of this shift would include Grupo Etcétera and Frente 3 de Fevereiro. Each group has evolved, more recently, to explore their respective social and po­liti­cal concerns through the building of regional and international cultural alliances, publishing, and curatorial work. 26 Morales himself has been accused of facilitating the “bureaucratic stagnation of the Bolivian revolution.” As Dinerstein has noted, in the post-­Pink Tide period of retrenchment ­there are, among the grass roots, “divisions between ­those who support the governments and ­those who feel betrayed.” See Ana Cecilia Dinerstein, The Politics of Autonomy in Latin Amer­i­ca: The Art of Organ­ izing Hope (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), 8. 27 For a useful study of the impact of the Occupy movement on artistic practice, see Yates McKee, Strike Art: Con­temporary Art and the Post-­Occupy Condition (Brooklyn, NY: Verso Books, 2016). The exhibition “Creative Dissent: Arts of the Arab World Uprisings” was on display at the Arab American National Mu- seum in Dearborn, Michigan, between November 8, 2013 and February 9, 2014. See http://artsofthearabworlduprisings.com/. Some proj­ects documented in this anthology ­were featured in exhibitions or­ga­nized by coeditor Bill Kelley Jr. Rather than see this as a source of editorial compromise, the author wishes to convey his belief that curatorial practice is one of the few ways in which it is pos­si­ble for an in­de­pen­dent researcher to gain direct, firsthand knowledge of ­these complex, long-­term proj­ects. This kind of field research is essential to a deeper critical, as well as curatorial, understanding of the work. 1 8   •  g r a n t H . k e s t e r a n d b i l l k e l l e y   j r .