Edgardo Aragón, Efectos de familia, PS1 MOMA

Efectos de familia (Family Effects,) 2007-9, was on display this summer at PS1, curated by Christopher L. Yew for its solo projects series. Edgardo Aragón's thirteen video sequences in the piece range from depicting acts of labor, endurance, and play to ritual, torment, and reenacted violence. Through short duration and unaffected actions the films casually portray biographical events surrounding Aragón's experience growing up in Oaxaca amidst drug violence and a suburban landscape. At the same time the narratives eloquently pass down a legacy of family history to his younger counterparts cast in the performances. We discussed in an interview his making of the films:


DM:  Este ciclo de videos enfoca en actos blandos los cuales pasan por la narrativa como sucesos en un tablero. La realidad es que la narrativa es derivada de tus experencias familiares. ¿Como llegaste en el uso del video para conectarlos y hacer un puente entre ellos?

EA: El uso del video es una herramienta, me interesaba sobre todo la accion, el performance de los personajes, el video ayuda a registrar la obra de una forma mas clara que la fotografia por ejemplo, hay una narrativa dentro de cada uno de ellos, son secuencias que estan narrando varias historias, era impresindible recurrir a este medio porque de otra forma hubiera resultado complicado hacer la estructura de la obra.

DM:  Este ritmo estructurado de los videos invita una lección sencilla de las escenas. Empiezan y terminan sin el movimiento de la camara. ¿Por qué recuentas las historias así?

EA:  Cuando hice los videos pensaba en tres cosas como regla, algunos serían con camara fija, otros con camara en mano y en plano secuencia, sin cortes, esto devido a que me interesa no agregar un comentario mas o una reflexion más alla de lo que sucede dentro de las acciones, llevarlo a un plano más cinematografico habría entorpecido de algún modo la lectura, son episodios pequeños vistos más como una coreografía que como un guión. El referente en estos trabajos de camara fija tienen la referencia de Vito Aconcci en sus acciones de los 70. Los videos con camara en mano están realizados así porque son eventos de indole documental, es decir, estos recrean eventos del pasado entonces la diferencia esta marcada por el sequimineto o acompañamiento de la accion, en este cas o es importante marcar la diferencia entre esos dos aspectos, entre los que son invenciones y los que provienen de un hecho pasado verifacable.

DM:  Unas de las escenas parecen tan abstractas que no ocurrirían exactamente. Pienso en la cual dos niños hacen un cuadro con espaldas por el suelo y tiran tierra al chavo en el medio. Tambien, en otra escena un niño vadea en una poza y se lava con jabón. ¿Hay elementos imaginarios que incluyes con la narrativa?

EA:  Por supuesto, la imaginación es importante, hay que recordar que la niñez se caracteriza por eso, por inventar con nada un mundo alterno, esos videos a los que refieres son en realidad ritos, inventados específicamente para que ellos los entiendan y aprendan. En algunos hablo del trabajo como tal, en otros de la fuerza bruta masculia de la violencia, al mismo tiempo de la purificacion de esa misma violencia contenida o desatada, ellos segun la narrativa de la obra estan aprendiendo a ser hombres, por lo tanto están sometidos a aprender de una o de otra forma con sus propias reglas.

DM: Si no se ha leido sobre los videos por adelantado todavía sería facil imaginarse que estás escribiendo un programa dentro de esas escena con sus proprios sucesos particulares. Paracen ocurrir como performance art. ¿En tus pensamientos existen las actos como simbólos o más como la historia material?

EA:  En efecto, el real fondo de la obra es performance art, es el objectivo inicial, así fue pensado el proyecto. El problema con la ejecución de los performances en vivo en alguna galeria o museo, radicaba en que no tendrís el contexto, el lugar que es donde yo jugaba cuando tenía esa edad. Pienso que la obra se comporta de una forma simbólica en su mayoria, hay algunos videos que no son tan simbólicos sino mas bien narrativos o metafóricos, es una combinación de muchas cosas, creo que si no están junto al menos tres de los videos la pieza carece un poco de sentido, es necesario que se acompañe de otros, es una narrativa que brinca de un capítulo a otro, como la novela Rayuela de Julio Cortazar, donde hay dos maneras de leerla una siguiendo la secuencia, y otra seguir un mapa que te guia por diferentes capítulos dentro del libro de modo que necesitas cada uno para entender la obra.

- -

DM:  This cycle of videos focuses on bland acts which pass through the narrative like events in a tableau. The reality is that the story is derived from your familiar experiences, however. How did you arrive at the use of video to connect them and make a bridge in between?

EA: The use of video is a tool, I was interested by all of the actions, the performance by the characters. Video helps register the work in a form more clearly than photography for example, there is a narrative inside of each one of them, they are sequences that are narrating various histories, it was essential to make use of this media because another form would have made the structure of the work too complicated.

DM: This structured rhythm of the videos invites a straightforward reading of the scenes. They begin and end with movement of the camera. Why do you recount the stories in this way?

EA: When I made the videos I thought of three things as rules, some would be with a fixed camera position, others with camera in hand, and in a sequence shot, without cutting; in this way I avoided adding greater commentary or a reflection more complex than that which occurs within the actions, bringing it to higher level of cinematography would have hindered the reading in some way, they are small episodes seen more as a choreography than a script. The referent in the works done with a fixed camera points towards Vito Aconcci’s actions during the ‘70’s. The videos with camera in hand are made this way because they are documentative events, that is to say those recreate events from the past, therefore, the difference is marked by the following or accompaniment of the action, in this case it’s important to note the difference between these two aspects, between those which are invented and those which proceed from a verifiable fact.

DM: Some of the scenes appear to be so abstract that they would not have occurred exactly in this way. I'm thinking of the one in which two boys make a square on the ground with shovels and throw dirt at the kid in the middle. Are there imaginary elements included in the narratives?

EA: Of course imagination is important, it’s necessary to remember that childhood is characterized by that, by inventing without anything an alternate world, those videos to which you refer are in reality rites, invented specifically so that the characters understand and learn from them, in some I talk about labor in this way, in others about masculine brute force, of violence, at the same time the purification of that same violence contained or unleased, following the story of the work they are learning to be men, therefore, they are subjected to learn from one form or another with its own particular guidelines.

DM:  If you haven't read about the videos in advance it would still be easy to imagine you writing a program inside of those scenes with their own particular events. They appear to occur like performance art. In your thoughts do the acts exist as symbols or more as a material history?

EA:  Really, the true source of the work is performance art, it’s the initial object, this is how the project was conceived. The problem with the execution of the performances live in some gallery or museum is you wouldn’t have the context to locate it, the place, which is where I played as a kid when I was that old. I think through its majority the work acts like a symbolic form, there are some videos that are not as symbolic but rather narrative or metaphorical, it’s a combination of many things, if at least three of the videos aren’t grouped together I believe the piece lacks a little feeling, it’s necessary that one accompanies the others, it’s a story that jumps from one chapter to the next, like the novel “Rayuela” by Julio Cortazar, where there are two ways of reading it, one following the plot and the other by following a map that guides you through different chapters inside the book, in either case you need each one to understand the work.

The exhibition, por amor a la disedencia, will be on view until January 13th, El Museo Universitario Contempáreno, Mexico City. Aragón's piece, Tinieblas, 2009, is on display.

Vermont Studio Center, Residency, February 2012

Fire burns; that is the first law.
When a wind fans it the flames

are carried abroad. Talk
fans the flames. They have

maneuvered it so that to write
is a fire and not only of the blood.

...
                  -W.C.W’s Paterson



      Originally, I though we might have to pack handfuls of snow into the radiator of Mary’s car to keep it from overheating as it started acting up in the hills above Bennington. We stopped there for the first time as co-resident, Mary Schwab, noticed the heater had gone out in her car. We assessed the situation coolly as a man pulled his own station wagon off the road ahead of us and marched back confidently to the open hood of our vehicle. Mary was running various contingency plans through her mind and phone so I stepped out to greet the tall Vermonter. We exchanged a few words as he approached before he stepped directly to the radiator cap which had been leaking steam minutes ago. He removed it, decided to check the reservoir also, and immediately discovered the unlikely residue of petroleum along it walls. Both of his daughters had Subaru’s; he’d seen it before: head gasket. The scenario was unclear but evidently grim and one of no clear direction to arriving in Brooklyn where Mary’s return to reality was waiting. The residency at VSC had unburdened us all of our daily routine, but by now it had come knocking sharply. I joked that we should contact Loren Tinsley Alliston who had arranged a truck and was headed to Yaddo with Ana Esteve Llorens. Getting Mary’s sculptures, computer, and life in general back to Carroll Gardens was becoming a growing concern. The unknown Vermonter filled the radiator with fluid and said to follow him as long as we could. It didn’t last, however, as he pulled off shortly towards North Adams. Our original plans to visit MassMoCA, there, on our return from the center had now become less a concern than making it out of the snowy mountains. We headed forward with success as a stream of texts poured in from residents taking the train into Manhattan or Connecticut. Uttica rest stop found us in good spirits, stopping to replenish the radiator and eat. In the bathroom I assumed the extent of my exhaustion had coalesced in hallucination as Loren appeared aside of me. Swearing in exacerbated surprise as I confirmed it was in fact he, I immediately felt bad for the young kid urinating next to me. We had converged randomly only to separate again after sharing consolations and images of the short time apart. It was another hour or so afterward that the real, near meltdowns began, at mile marker 68 to be exact. I walked alongside the freeway to determine which sign post we had come to as Mary telephoned AAA. Unable to secure the tow truck due either to the inexperience of the telephone agent or Mary’s hysterical conviction that I had been struck down by a passing car on my walk, we decided to rally to the next rest stop before admitting full defeat.



The climb up the range of Bear Mountain had drained the radiator again. And after yet another refill we pulled out, reluctant of the looming hills. Mary grew up near here in Paterson and moved further up into Oakland, New Jersey the last two years of high school. She spoke of William Carlos Williams’ epic poem and the Jackson Whites who populated the Ramapo Mountains. The first of Williams I had read came from In the American Grain, much of which informed my work with the Navajo tribe and their experience with uranium mining. Mary’s interest in the West had brought her through the diffuse belt of land art monuments, mines, and roadside attractions capable of stringing out an unparalleled road trip. She spoke of breaking into Roden Crater on the cusp of a flash flood having managed through topographic maps, Google applications, and all-wheel drive to narrow the list of craters northeast of Flagstaff. She and her travelling mate (either Thelma or Louise) encountered javelina and then a revealing perimeter fence just as a caravan of white service vehicles overcame them heading into the compound to escape the approaching storm. Rewarded for their perseverance they were escorted into the crater along with the team. I imagined Jen there among the captors, Turrell’s daughter who grew up with my friend Roy in Prescott, AZ. I, myself, spent two years in Flagstaff while beginning university. I recall driving north of town with a friend, Candy Tracey, to visit her family in Chinle. She was the first Navajo to tell me of the legacy of uranium mining within their nation. We drove through the night as she pointed out houses constructed of leftover ore from mining. Returning the same evening the memory remains as a sort of negative-positive image in my mind. A few years later I would work closely with Daniel Neztsosie, also Navajo, as a land surveyor in Phoenix. Daniel’s family was based in Cameron, northeast of Flagstaff on the way to Tuba City; his mother herded sheep in the hills near their home during his childhood. Unknowingly traveling from open pit mines which had collected rain water and served to provide her and her cattle with water, she was exposed to radiation during two of her pregnancies. Daniel lost two of his sisters as a result; Laurie passed in 2008 while my research project dealing with the issue was culminating. I remember vividly him calling me in New York to tell me and despite the project having cultivated multiple interviews with tribal members, I could never attempt to collect his deposition. Sadly, it’s not an uncommon story to pass down in a generation of Navajos cut off from grandfathers who worked in mines or mills crushing ore in places such as Mexican Hat, UT.


Mexican Hat Long Shot, 16"Hx85"L, archival print, 1/1, 2010.

I visited that site in 2008 and photographed one of the world’s largest landfills for radioactive by-products associated with the leaching process. Shaped roughly as an enormous trapezoid, the feature occupies a valley just east of Highway 8 if you're headed south from Mexican Hat towards Monument Valley. The grim irony of the structure à la found land art didn’t strike me until much later, originally considering the photographs and oral history interviews I was generating to be purely documentative. I couldn’t refrain from drawing parallels, however, from the opening of the West through various economic initiatives to the eventual annexing of space and raw material by New York galleries. This also comes at a time when Michael Heizer nears completion of his “Levitated Mass” at LACMA.



The brokers of the west, its landscapes replete with horizon and bloodied sunsets, knew well that fortune lie in wait. Originally in search of vanadium, a component of steel used increasingly during the manufacturing boom of WWI, speculators encountered abundant surface-level uranium ore on ancestral land of the Navajo, Hopi, and Hualapai tribes. After its formation in '46 The Atomic Energy Commission gave rise to legislation which opened all resources capable of preventing foreign supremacy to public domain. This gesture would have such long-term systemic impacts on the area that those responsible could not have imagined their legacy. Ultimately, tribes continue to battle claims to reinstate mining activities on their land as vast efforts remain to remediate contamination (see the recent New York Times article by Leslie Harris.)

The work I continued during my residency at the VSC sinks further into the remote territories of the West seen anew as the annexed countries of Latin America. Now in the advanced stages of capital circulation initiated by NAFTA, Special Economic Zones have sprouted up in countries such as El Salvador and Guatemala. Seen as a form of “Double Negative,” themselves, these zones produce a drain on rural settings along with their diffuse structuring of location. Almost through a process of distillation the factories reduce labor to a grotesque machinic energy, the concentration of which spans the hand and eye. What is the remainder of this drift from a decentered landscape? The flow of workers into the nowhere time and place of the SEZ’s has long been a part of my memory if I can venture to call it that. We toured a Siemen’s maquila operating in Juarez during a high school service trip in ‘98. Visiting under the guise of an economics class, we viewed first-hand the production of inexpensive electrical switches for which workers would be compensated 50 USD weekly. Our guide explained the necessity of such a wage as the natural condition for a class of people too uncivilized to earn more. Presently, I’m concerned with employing similar individuals, women affected by the garment industry, in production of an installation documenting the collective migrations of those individuals. The overall means of production will take my own process of drawing into a directed relationship. As a combined approach the installation will advance the pierced line work of my two-dimensional pieces into an environmental framework.


untitled. 15"Hx20"W, acrylic on archival rag paper, 2009.

The pierced line drawings go back to 2008 while I was living in Brooklyn and interning for The Drawing Center. Exhibitions by Elanor Mikus and Zoe Keramea had a substantial influence on my questioning of the material nature of drawing. Incorporating this, the pierced line became a both an absence and recorded movement on paper. Over time the works have cultivated both a filiation to productive systems and the body's relative proximity in general. Through the incorporation of others into the performance, the project will push further towards a collective memory of negation. More specifically as a platform of gender labor advocacy the networked signifance becomes grounded and complex. The direct and long term means of compensating the eventual participants remains unclear, meanwhile, and will fundamentally direct interpretation of the artwork. Just as importantly, and unresolved for the time being, will be the means by which the artwork records the personal narratives of the participating individuals. Its original conception foresaw a portrait book series documenting the workers. This now falls short of the project’s ideal capacity to render haptic the flow of people and materials into the void of the SEZ’s. The potential to integrate a sort of topographic modeling of the migration has become the next iteration of the project’s structuring. Not without pure chance, the advancement of the pierced line in my abstracted works towards one of a hovering geographic vector underscores this direction. A cross-over to web or digital media may eventually allow for dissemination of installation formatted materials generated by the complex labor arrangement. Following that configuration, what long-term platforms may emerge to cyclically draw attention and perhaps financial support to the assembled participants?


untitled, installation shot, dimensions variable, steel and acrylic on archival rag paper, Vermont Studio Center, 2012.

Host and Factory; Cuidad Juarez, Chihuahua, 1998


Our trip to Juarez in high school was meant to facilitate most generally a sense of Christian service; I can’t fully recall my own expectations, however, for going there. I grew up in a Hispanic community in Phoenix and spent a considerable amount of time in various parts of Mexico. As president then for the social action group participating in the trip, it seemed a natural thing to do. At that time in ‘98 the greatest danger in Juarez was being being one of the many females in an anonymous class of economic refugees. I suppose the Jesuits running our Catholic prep school thought it safe enough for us to go and look around. We visited a number of foundations operating along the border: a political asylum with Nigerian aliens, a women’s shelter, and a church inside the colonias on the outskirts of Ciudad Juarez. The most memorable exchange, however, brought us inside a Siemen’s maquila under the guise of an economics class, studying the flow of goods across the border. Seperate from the tour but altogether poignant was a lunch hosted by a family living in the colonias. Beyond humbling the moment was further intensified through our first-hand experience of the severity of their working conditions. The manner in which they were viewed by their employers drastically explicated the adversity of their plight. I remember quite well the setting of their home as you would recall that of a close relative who although related by blood occupies a very different walk of life.

After returning to Phoenix our group worked together to reconstruct a “casa de carton,” indicative of the living conditions we encountered. While the attempt felt mild in certain ways to redirect others to the profound destitution of their situation, the effort was not far from my present concerns as an artist. My sense of form and labor in the context of art making stems from the same margins of region and trauma encountered by the individual. The notions of space and occupation performed by the body in general centralize my work. In her book, “The Body as Material Culture: A Theoretical Osteoarcheaology,” Joanna Sofaer writes, ”Furthermore, the divide between the living body as cultural and the skeletal body as natural cannot be sustained as bodies will always be both...”[1] Looking back to the maquiladores, I see a torn condition, ramified in the experience of these dual mechanisms of identity. My work as an artist in this regard seeks a material investigation activated both by ethnicity and technological imperative. Ethnicity in this sense culminates through the numerous facets of identity associated with the body. In many ways I’m curious of the role the artist plays as host to both spectator and setting in this described context. How the artwork facilitates an extension of the spectator body reveals the complex instability of identity.

1. Sofaer, Joanna R. The Body as Material Culture: A Theoretical Osteoarchaeology. New York, Cambridge University Press. 2006. Print.