Text by Miguel A. López, 2022
Tania Bedriñana. El vestido al revés
Hecho el Depósito Legal en la Biblioteca Nacional del Perú
ISBN 978-612-5062-11-6

PDF Download ❯

Tania Bedriñana has painted hair, skin, heads, fluids, arms, eyes, and tongues, all of which act as bridges between different places and times. Like a wizard or an alchemist, she turns a series of simple materials (paper, fabric, cardboard, pigments, and emulsions) into soft anatomies and fragmented bodies that occupy spaces as if new life had been breathed into them. Their physiognomies are simultaneously inside and outside. A mask that is a dress that is a blotch that is a hand that is a leaf that is an ear. 

Her paintings, pottery, pencil drawings, cut-outs, and assemblages may seem at first glance like melancholy intimist landscapes, but one must look again—or cease to look only with the eyes. There is something uncertain and magnetic in her way of representing things, as if her lines were open questions about how our bodies make themselves visible and hide themselves in the world. Bedriñana’s works do not offer us soothing, tranquil spaces. Quite the opposite— they introduce us into a turbulent voyage where we find ourselves unpacking questions long concealed in the hidden corners where our worries and anxieties lie buried. The artist even leads us to doubt our own images of ourselves, as if the habitual representations of our faces—especially those taken from photographs— were nothing more than a fiction, a piece of theater. In response to that, the artist seems to assert that the task of painting is precisely to make space for and restore those uncomfortable sensations: to make our strange borders speak. 

In her hands, art is a technology for producing anatomies that evade capture. As if there were nothing permanent, only mutations. Her work has typically been associated with an exploration of the childlike, of dreamlike universes, perhaps due to the constant proliferation of bodies with no defining signs of age and chromatic atmospheres that evoke thresholds of dream and fantasy. However, her figures go even further than that: Bedriñana depicts beings battling to escape the disciplinary logic that organizes the world—the domesticating effect of neoliberal education; the surveillance and norms regarding public behavior; the medical, legal, or psychiatric discourses that attempt to define who is (and isn’t) suitable for life. It comes as no surprise that the faces in her paintings lack any defined features. The eye sockets are nearly always empty, the contours of the skin consist of unfinished lines, and the scenes surrounding the bodies are often hazy, combining dense and diluted pigments. 

This essay proposes to connect two important moments in her work: on the one hand, her little-known beginnings in the mid-nineties in Lima, as well as her move to Germany in 1999, where her work consolidated a defined interest in fragmentation and paper cutting; and on the other, her more recent output, after an intense series of visits to Peru since 2018. The way in which her painting has been interpreted has also changed along with the emergence of social processes which have challenged patriarchal cultural values, something that had long made it difficult to grasp the complexity of certain aesthetics and forms of representation. For over twenty-five years, Bedriñana has engaged in a rigorous work that we can only now begin to understand in its true magnitude.

For the artist, painting has been a space for introspective exploration that acts as a thermometer of the things that help us to keep ourselves alive in a profoundly violent social setting. Indeed, her images return us to a different state of matter: gaseous oscillations or liquid atmospheres that shatter the arrogance with which we typically see our bodies as closed containers free of cracks, whole and impenetrable. And while there are many images from the past that float through her works, the artist does not propose mere nostalgic revisitations but instead seeks to respond to how those recollections behave today in her body: hers is a work of the present. 

The early years 

Her pictorial work has always been associated with the exploration of the human form. Bedriñana was never interested in reflecting the physical characteristics of the body, but rather touching on the fleeting sensations that typically go unnoticed by subjects themselves. After graduating from the Universidad Católica Art School in 1995, the artist created a series of largescale easel paintings as well as a more intimate output of a smaller size, made with tempera and ink on paper. These changes in scale were tied to important transformations in her life, such as moving out of her family’s home to live on her own. That move impregnated her work with question marks linked to the uncertainties of adult life, loneliness, her place as an artist, and the hostility of a misogynist, racist city. 

Another of the key aspects in her oeuvre is the constant representation of female bodies.While various images seem to evoke her own face and body— one is tempted to see in them an incessant repertoire of self-portraits, each one more complex than the last—the artist has said multiple times that she is not trying to portray specific people. In fact, her painting seems to evince a desire to represent emotions shared by many women—women from her generation, but not only. Recalling the conversations she had with her girlfriends in the late nineties, which also set the tone for various of her paintings, she says, “All of them felt something similar: a lurking unease, a sense of uncertainty. We always talked about leaving, going somewhere, anywhere.”One of the effects of neoliberal capitalism’s triumph has been to turn social problems into individual issues, reducing the complexity of certain ills to only psychological pathologies 

rather than recognizing them as political problems derived from violent class structures, patriarchal logics, and forms of colonial dispossession. The feeling that one has no place in society is inevitably linked to a matrix of power. The British writer and cultural critic Mark Fisher describes it clearly: 

For those who from birth are taught to think of themselves as lesser, the acquisition of qualifications or wealth will seldom be sufficient to erase— either in their own minds or in the minds of others—the primordial sense of worthlessness that marks them so early in life. Someone who moves out of the social sphere they are “supposed” to occupy is always in danger of being overcome by feelings of vertigo, panic, and horror.

Bedriñana’s work seems to have a keen grasp on that invisibilized space in which we are pushed into believing that the emotional pain and existential malaise we feel is our own responsibility. Her images invite us to navigate through certain shared feelings, oftentimes associated with silent (and silenced) structures of male violence. Nor is it an accident that her depictions of women serve as forms on which to project herself: not self-portraits, but attempts to exist outside her own body, or perhaps ways of distancing herself to understand who and where one is. 

In Peru’s art scene, the nineties were an ebullient moment of response to patriarchal violence, although it was not yet named as such. During that decade, feminisms had not yet forcefully permeated the artistic field, a situation that would not begin to change until the first few years of the new millennium. In spite of this, the works of numerous artists and feminized bodies denounced misogyny, although without congealing into a current or organized movement. These images emerged from different (aesthetic, social, geographic) positions, and even without any direct dialogue between their creators, both inside and outside Lima’s artistic mainstream. Some of these processes were recently revisited in the exhibition “Hay algo incomestible en la garganta. Poéticas antipatriarcales y nueva escena en los años noventa” (“Hard to Swallow: Anti-patriarchal Poetics and the New Scene in the Nineties”), which brought together nearly two hundred representations that shared a determination to disrupt the patriarchal common sense of a reality that was not only intolerable, but also difficult to capture using the language available at that time.In those years, the self-portrait became a powerful tool of analysis, as in the work of Gilda Mantilla, Susana Torres, Giuliana Migliori, Elena Tejada-Herrera, Patssy Higuchi, Natalia Iguiñiz, and Claudia Coca. Their images challenged the androcentric discourse and interrogated the woman’s place as a political subject. While the self-portrait had been used in various ways prior to that, in the nineties this profusion of self-representation erupted into the public debate, where it was typically interpreted as a form of hedonism and individualistic navel-gazing.In hindsight, however, it can be argued that the artists’ desire to represent their bodies was a way of reclaiming them as their own in the face of male authority, in a context where misogyny was also an extension of the Fujimori dictatorship.The same thing occurred in sculpture: using humor and irony, the sculptures of Cristina Planas elaborated upon female stereotypes, migration, history, and social violence, while the early work of Claudia Salem called for an undomesticated way of presenting the female body, as in an early installation in the gardens of the Universidad Católica featuring a nude self- portrait surrounded by flowers and other elements.Documentary photography 

also helped concentrate on insufficiently discussed aspects of the visual arts, as in Madres niñas (Child Mothers) (1999-2000), a series by Mayu Mohanna focused on teen pregnancy. Her photographs, taken in the Mother’s Hospital in Lima, collected images and testimonies from young girls and teenagers, typically migrants from the provinces, who were dealing with pregnancies resulting from rape and domestic violence, forced to become mothers while living in poverty- stricken conditions. The precariousness of life—the violence of childbirth and the difficulties these young women were going to face as mothers—clearly points to the ways economic violence—the class structure that determines access to health care—was a normalized form of control over women. 

The aforementioned artists never shared exhibition spaces with Bedriñana. They didn’t know each other well, nor were they reference points for her work. Bedriñana’s oeuvre was developed along a parallel path, outside of the curatorial discourses that were most visibly shaping the cultural discussion during that decade. Her first works after graduating from the university were large oil paintings, including diptychs in the shape of a cross, as well as circular pieces. These were exhibited in her solo show “Pinturas” (“Paintings”) at the gallery Quadro in 1997. At the same time, she created an extensive series of small drawings and paintings on paper, made using washes and light brushstrokes, which were not intended to be exhibited and remained unseen by the general public until fairly recently.This fact is telling: university education and the art scene in general were gripped by the prevailing idea that drawing was an inferior language to painting. The force of that prejudice had caused artists such as Teresa Burga to decide, in previous decades, not to publicly show the hundreds of impressive drawings she had made in the nineteen seventies in which she explored her everyday life, the media, wage labor, time, and the representation of the female body.In recent years, these conservative parameters have begun to change, making it possible to address the complexity of a language that was ignored up until two decades ago, while also opening up a space for a different understanding of Bedriñana’s work. 

In her small paintings from those years, women are often shown in assertive, defiant attitudes. While the internal armed conflict and the Fujimori dictatorship forged an atmosphere of extreme violence and collective despair, the most intense feelings of pain for the artist in those years came not so much from external agents but from an internal place: family memories that reverberated within her body without her being fully conscious of them. Moving into her own apartment gave her a space of autonomy that allowed her to reconsider the origins of this constant malaise and progressively escape a socially induced condition of individual culpability. Her paintings were an important site of personal exploration. Created with the speed and fluidity allowed by tempera, oil pastel, and ink, these works captured a series of emotions that were still difficult to verbalize at that time. 

The first piece she painted after moving out was Hoyo negro (Black Hole) (1996). The work speaks volumes. On the right, we see the profile of a female face created using light colors. However, the brain is shown exposed in this portrait: the drawing of a pink gland that sticks up disturbingly above the hair, on which the artist has painted the divisions of the cerebral cortex. The face is crisscrossed by various vertical lines, one of which runs through her eye like a large tear trailing down her cheek. On the left side, a big black spiral absorbs everything around it, occupying almost two-thirds of the paper. Above that great gray cloud, the artist wrote the phrase, “Te presento a mi hoyo negro” (“I’d like to introduce you to my black hole”). The monochromatic severity stands in contrast to the colorful depiction of the woman. Although seemingly camouflaged in irony, the work declares a nebulous sort of anguish that invades and paralyzes everything. According to the artist herself, it was not so much the terror of political violence that resonated as strongly as the “fear of the mind itself”—a panic embodied by oneself that seemed to stem from one’s very being, the result of experiencing so many moments of class, racial and gender violence sedimented in daily life. 

An examination of those early moments in which the artist worked at a smaller scale is key to understanding the changes that her oeuvre would undergo after leaving Peru. Bedriñana moved to Germany in 1999, where she studied for two years at Kunsthochschule Kassel before moving to Berlin in 2001, where she still lives today.In Germany, Bedriñana strove to take the possibilities and bounds of her painting ever further. The renunciation of the traditional support—the canvas on the easel—which was foretold in her works from the late nineties would become consolidated in those years. At Kassel, the artist began to experiment with translucent pictorial material, playing with paper fragmentation and different levels of opacity with watercolor and gouache that allowed her to achieve sensations of levity in the bodies she depicted. In Berlin, her work shifted toward the creation of cut-outs emulating body fragments, painted with oils and emulsions, which started to escape their place on the walls and generate three-dimensional experiences. Her human silhouettes sometimes appeared stuck together like a collage, or with their surfaces scraped away. As if the skin had been torn from the bodies, these fragments composed choreographies that were sometimes tender yet disturbing. One of the characteristics of this new period was the ability to create multiple compositions: the elements were displayed hanging, placed on the ground, or superimposed on one another, always offering the possibility for subsequent reorganization and assembly in a different way. These figures also shared a material quality of fragility, evoking the vulnerability of our bodies and lives. 

Bedriñana played not just with cut-outs, but with space itself, painting scenes on the walls, as if it were a great fresco, suggesting a continuity with her paintings. As noted by the curator Gabriela Germaná (2017), while these forms appeared “almost by accident,” their composition and montage later involved “a work of great precision.” It was not only a question of what the fragments communicated, but the distance between them: the gaps, the way they depended on one another or rejected each another. Underscoring the sensual aspect of her installations, the German curator Harm Lux (2006) has offered a brilliant description of the way in which Bedriñana composes in space: “This procedure leads one shape to tell, first and foremost, a story; another [piece of paper] wants to ‘breathe’ first; yet another, for instance, emphasizes first its sculptural form, and only then, by virtue of the holes present in it, that which is missing.”

This process redefined the way she spatialized her pictorial practice, conceiving of it as a scene of connections and fragments which present life as a series of puzzles filled with a pain that is both private and social at the same time. Her first public exhibition in Germany was held upon completing her Freie Kunst degree at Kunsthochschule Kassel, where her professors included the artists Dorothee von Windheim and Norbert Radermacher. At the Stellwerk del Kulturbahnhof Kassel, Bedriñana presented her second solo show titled Alas de mariposa (Butterfly Wings) (2002), a complex and ambitious installation that included numerous cut-out figures on the wall, watercolors on paper, and a video animation.The work elaborates upon emotional changes and the experience of the female body during puberty. While several of the small scenes and images were inspired by personal memories, the installation was not necessarily an autobiographical statement. Bedriñana painted numerous faces, hands, feet, and other fragmented body parts, depicted colorful flowers and clothing, as well as pieces that alluded to paternalism and male authoritarianism, such as a silhouette of a female body standing on the palm of a large, outstretched hand. 

One important aspect during those years was the relationship that the artist began to develop with her own dreams and nightmares. The act of painting was a way to keep from entirely losing those images and symbols, inevitably ephemeral. The artist describes it as “the need to trap that fleeting instant of unconscious reality that starts to escape upon waking, as if in a kind of delirium.”The video animation was handmade by superimposing drawings, records of her dream experiences rendered on transparent paper. This is the only audiovisual piece that Bedriñana has created to date, offering a hypnotic, spellbinding personal journey in which the very bounds of reality are blurred. 

The emergence of cut-outs figures during those years was not only a chance for Bedriñana to deploy new ways of painting, but to talk about the fingerprints left on us by our family in such a way that we feel physically defied by that fragmentation. The artist breaks apart bodies to make audible the complex emotions that navigate the intersection between affectivity and violence, enthusiasm and anguish, silencing and memory. 

Recent years

Her departure from Peru shortly after graduating and her decision to permanently settle in Berlin led to an inevitable distance from the local art scene. Between 2002 and 2017, her work was mainly shown in Germany, with a limited number of appearances in Peru. Her second individual exhibition in Lima, titled “Personanormal” (“Abnormalperson”) (Galería Forum, 2007), occurred nearly a decade after her leave-taking. Five years after that, she presented the solo show “Enfant terrible” (Galería ICPNA, 2012). In these appearances, Bedriñana’s work had no clear reference point in the Lima scene. Her movement between abstraction and the human figure, and her desire to portray not people but emotions, had no obvious counterparts in a context where recent painting has always had one foot strongly anchored in the exploration of more explicit references, whether in themes associated with the landscape, the national imaginary, family history, political memory, or the like. The way in which Bedriñana’s work arrives at a language of the installation while reclaiming the pictorial is also unusual and proved difficult to process for a local art market accustomed to painting on canvas. 

At the international level, her work seems to share certain traits with the output of artists such as Marlene Dumas (based in the Netherlands) or Miriam Cahn (based in Switzerland), who have developed powerful repertoires of bodies with ghostly qualities. Depicting ambiguous anatomical shapes, the paintings of Dumas and Cahn confront society’s homogenization. Both combine techniques of fluid painting and denser pigmentations to create an atmosphere of estrangement which straddles the descriptive and the suggestive. While Bedriñana utilizes these blotches created with a wash technique, the difference lies in the punctured tear and a certain degree of chaos in the surface of her painting which acts as a foundation on which to compose. Sometimes it is unclear whether we are looking at what the artist has represented or if we are witnessing the glimmer of a wound of our own. The artist also shares with Dumas and Cahn the desire to capture a sense of danger: an intuition that something sinister has happened or is about to happen that is manifested in the ethereal, vibrant, or hazy colors that cover up and extend beyond the boundaries of the bodies. 

The more dynamic link that the artist has established with the local art scene since 2018 has influenced her recent work. She has presented three successive individual exhibitions in Lima: “Umbra” at the Socorro Polivalente space in 2018; “Cortar el aire – Recorte contemporáneo” (“Slicing the Air – Contemporary Papercutting”) at the Museo de Arte de San Marcos in 2019; and “Hablo un borde extraño” (“I Speak a Strange Edge”) at Galería del Paseo in 2021.She has alsotaken part in group shows, such as “Hay algo incomestible en la garganta” (“Hard to Swallow”) (2021) and “Creadoras” (“Women Creators”) (2019), allowing her to engage in a dialogue with her female contemporaries. For the artist, this has meant constant trips to Lima and other places in Peru, bringing about renewed encounters with sensations and geographies that have helped shape some of her newer images. A long trip through the Andes in 2019 was especially important for her. “The saturated colors found in nature and the intense light entered inside me through my retina. I felt a physical change, an enormous relief,” she says (Villasmil, 2021). 

 From her immersion in the humidity of the cloud forests to the sun’s reflection on the stepped terraces used to let water evaporate and leave behind the pink salt of Maras, near Cusco, these sensations have brought up personal memories and the question of where and how one belongs. Bedriñana also learned new stories about her paternal grandfather, a peasant from Ayacucho, who died during a mudslide when he was swept over the edge of a precipice along with his teenage granddaughter. The artist was profoundly impacted by the knowledge that his body was never found, especially in a country where the erasure of the indigenous population and Andean culture has been part of Peru’s foundation as a modern nation-state project.

Several of her recent paintings have taken on a luminous intensity in which the landscape claims a leading role it had lacked in her previous series. Bedriñana has turned toward the representation of mountains, rivers, and the force of the wind. In Andes (2021), a nude girl is shown running while surrounded by green mountains. The image suggests an organic continuity between the body and its natural surroundings, but there are elements in the landscape that are charged with anguish and distress, such as the group of clouds that hang above a piercingly red sky. Other pieces allude to collective grief, such as Adiós (Goodbye) (2020), in which three figures attend a wake in the midst of a reddish landscape, surrounded by small clouds. The bodies occupy a tiny fraction of the full scene, mere shadows in the humid atmosphere:bodies with no specific traits that remind us once more of a violent history of deaths and disappearances
whose wounds have yet to close. 

Some of her paintings, such as Ciempiés desnudo (Nude Centipede) (2021) or Piedras y flores (Stones and Flowers) (2021), suggest the presence of stratigraphic diagrams in which layers of color seem to gouge the figures’ skin. Bedriñana paints like someone engaged in an archaeological exercise, indirectly emphasizing the idea that we are an accumulation of overlaid strata, each one contaminating the others’ meanings. The artist’s fascination with masks is perhaps tied to the very possibility of losing or hiding one’s face, something that many people and communities must do every day to navigate the structures of class-based, patriarchal, racial, and heteronormative violence that comprise the world. Many have resorted to using a number of masks, reconstructing the anatomy and inventing a new repertoire of gestures to handle norms that discipline, classify, and pathologize bodies and their behaviors—norms that define the possibilities of access and representation available to subjects who historically have been marked as subaltern. 

In recent years, Bedriñana’s work has also featured a noticeable return to the domestic space and parental relations. In the painting Huérfanas (Orphan Girls) (2020), the artist creates a green setting in which we see three female silhouettes: two little girls and a teenager. The bodies are shown looking at the horizon in an attitude of surprise, as if awaiting an imminent event. These works contain hints of some of the artist’s previous works, where childhood appears not as a safe place and a refuge, but as something that is beyond all control. Using pastels, Bedriñana made in 2015 a series of large scale drawings that revolve around the theme of children at play, forging a collision between the sensation of freedom—an autonomy that one slowly wins for oneself—and the kinds of threats that organize the world. In Cuidados de madre (A Mother’s Care) (2015), five worry-free girls seem to play while two of them carry small bundles that appear to be babies. The way they return the viewer’s gaze creates emotions of tenderness and discomposure. In Naufragio (Shipwreck) (2015), a female figure embraces two young girls in the middle of a raging storm. Bedriñana blurs their bodies to the point of fusing them with the rain and the orange water that appear to cover part of their legs. The sensation that everything is becoming filled with water evokes an unspeakable form of anguish. The exploration of the mother/ daughter relationship has been present in her work since the late 1990s, also taking the form of smaller drawings like Madre (Mother) (2007), rendered in charcoal, where we see three young girls situated around an adult woman lying on the ground, although we have no way of knowing whether she is ill or just playing. Elsewhere, her portfolios of drawings made with colored grease pencils in 2013 and 2016 capture emotions in movement, diffuse, fleeting, that attest to the ways all of us negotiate the place and territory we inhabit. Sensations such as disequilibrium or vertigo appear in tension with the ideals of calm and stability with which we have been taught to identify. 

The creation of installations with fragments and cut-outs has remained an important part of her work. De mi barro (Of My Clay) (2021-2022) presents a combination of feminine silhouettes that are indirectly taken from family memories, although the faces are shown as indistinguishable blotches. One of them displays the image of a girl taking her mother by the hand, urging her to 

accompany her. There is a latent sensation of what the adult presence means from a child’s perspective. The presence of fragments of hands in the work offers a subtle reflection on creative alchemy: hands as tools that permit the creation of new universes, something that also involves companionship, caresses, raising children, and caring for them. The very title suggests the origin story of the human as being modeled from clay, although in this case it includes filial connotations: we are made from the clay of others, and it is to the soil that we shall return. As in her previous installations, Bedriñana projects her concerns, demands, and desires onto this floating group of silhouettes and paper skins stuck on fabrics, coarse cotton cloth, and linens which arise from their own clay—their own body. 

Reclaiming one’s own body also involves recognizing it as a public space and a place in constant dispute. As the feminist philosopher Judith Butler reminds us, “Although we struggle for rights over our own bodies, the very bodies for which we struggle are not quite ever our own. The body has its invariably public dimension. Constituted as a social phenomenon in the public sphere, my body is and is not mine.” (2006, p. 41). The author is not trying to ignore bodily autonomy, but to emphasize the role that certain norms play in social life, which makes the lives of certain bodies livable while many other people experience dynamics of violence, extraction, devastation, and plundering on a daily basis. 

Bedriñana’s works are portals that reveal emotional states and call attention to broader social structures. There is also a constant sensation of estrangement: her atmospheres raise questions regarding affective equilibrium, interpersonal exchanges, mental health, and our bonds with our personal memories. The artist creates a conflict in painting: she makes the angles, edges, and contours of our bodies speak. Her paintings manage to make an ear sprout from a hand from a blotch from a dress from a stone from a mask. They invite us to recognize ourselves as bodies/borders in a world that punishes deviation. 

Text by Florencia Portocarrero, 2022
Tania Bedriñana. El vestido al revés
Hecho el Depósito Legal en la Biblioteca Nacional del Perú
ISBN 978-612-5062-11-6

PDF Download ❯

Butterfly Wings is an “expanded painting” installation, presented by artist Tania Bedriñana as her graduation project at Kunsthochschule Kassel (Kassel School of Visual Arts) in 2002, which now – twenty years to the day – can be seen at The Dress Backwards, an exhibition curated by Miguel A. López that revisits her production through a perspective that focuses in body representation and kinship.

Ausschnitt

Text by Miguel A. López, 2021

de ❯ es ❯

For several years, Tania Bedriñana’s work has consisted of shaping skin and hair, heads and limbs, shadows and fluids, eyes and tongues, which connect different places and times. Like a magician or an alchemist, she converts a repertoire of simple materials (paper, cardboard, pigments, and emulsions) into living bodies, soft anatomies, and floating and fragmented corporalities. Its physiognomies are, at the same time, inside and outside. A mask that is a dress that is a stain that is a hand that is a leaf that is an ear.
At first glance, her paintings, ceramics, and assemblages may seem intimate and melancholic landscapes, but it is necessary to look again – or stop seeing only with the eyes. There is something uncertain and magnetic in the way it represents as if its lines and silhouettes were open questions about how our human organisms and their affective structures become visible today. Bedriñana makes us doubt the portraits we know of ourselves: as if those images –especially those derived from photographic coding– were nothing more than fiction or theater; that is to say, a pure normative convention that produces hierarchies in the ways of seeing our bodies and showing our emotions. And given the insufficiency of these images to account for ourselves, the artist has assumed the task of reclaiming and restoring the uncomfortable sensations and strange edges that conventions have expelled from the representation of life.

In her hands, art is technology to produce anatomies that escape capture. There are no permanences, but mutations. Her work has sometimes been interpreted as an exploration of the infantile or of dream universes, possibly due to the proliferation of faces without age marks as well as chromatic atmospheres as thresholds of dream and fantasy. However, her characters go further: Bedriñana composes existences that are in a battle to escape due to the disciplinary gaze that organizes life – the domesticating setbacks of education or the forms of medical, psychiatric, and legal surveillance over our behavior. The bodies and faces in her works do not show us existential tranquility, nor do they reveal a pathology; on the contrary, the artist disfigures the boundaries between the two. Rather than a symptom of a disease or discomfort, her work is an operation to dislodge the rules that seek to mark some lives as damaged. Bedriñana seems to try to teach us to feel border-bodies in a world that punishes deviation and in a society obsessed with constantly measuring our indices of ’normality‘ through small words or everyday gestures.

It is not surprising that the faces in her paintings lack definite biological features. The eye sockets appear almost always empty, the contours of the skin are incomplete outlines, and the scenes surrounding the bodies are often vaporous, dense but also diluted pigments. Many of her works return us to a previous state of life and matter: gaseous oscillations or liquid atmospheres that refute the anthropocentric arrogance with which we usually perceive our human bodies as closed, seamless, healthy, and impenetrable containers. Some of her pieces take us back in time, even before the idea of history, to imagine osmosis between bodies and other organic substances.

In this new exhibition, the artist brings together works produced mostly in the last two years, which delve into her memory of a recent visit to Peru. The colors take on a singular luminosity and the landscape claims a prominence that it has not had in her previous series, especially shapes that evoke mountains, clouds, rivers, and the force of the wind – such as Andes (2021) or Zigzag (2021). Other pieces inevitably refer to collective mourning, such as Adiós (Goodbye) (2020): three characters attend a wake in the middle of a reddish landscape, surrounded by small clouds, perhaps alluding to a local history of violence whose wounds do not finish closing or perhaps to the most immediate effects of the health and ecological crisis that the planet is going through.

It is also suggestive how some of her paintings, such as Ciempiés desnudo (Naked centipede) (2021) or Piedras y flores (Stones and flowers) (2021), suggest stratigraphic diagrams where the layers of colors seem to dig into the skin. Bedriñana paints like someone doing an archeology exercise, indirectly underlining that we are an accumulation of superimposed layers that contaminates its meaning. Possibly the artist’s fascination with the mask is precisely associated with the possibilities of covering ourselves with layers and losing our faces, something that many people must do daily to navigate the multiple forms of patriarchal, racial, and sexual violence that make up the world. Wearing different veils, reconstructing the anatomy, and inventing a new repertoire of gestures has been how many have managed to cross the rules that discipline, classify and pathologize bodies and their behaviors. Norms that also define the possibilities of access, speech, and representation that subjects have in certain spheres.

The exhibition also includes some pieces from earlier moments, both cutouts painted on paper and linen and pastel chalk drawings. The works occupy the house like lost relatives who meet again to rehearse unexpected choreographies. The artist registers emotions in movement, diffuse, in-flight, which show how we all negotiate with the place and territory we inhabit. Sensations such as imbalance or vertigo appear in tension with the ideals of calm and stability with which we have been taught to represent ourselves.

Bedriñana touches and speaks the edges, the angles, and the contours. An ear that is a leaf that is a hand that is a stain that is a dress that is a mask.

Translation: Galería del Paseo

Flucht vor dem Eingefangenwerden

Seit mehreren Jahren besteht Tania Bedriñanas Arbeit darin, Haut und Haaren, Köpfen und Extremitäten, Schatten und Flüssigkeiten, Augen und Zungen, die unterschiedliche Orte und Zeiten miteinander verbinden, eine Form zu verleihen. Wie eine Magierin oder eine Alchemistin verwandelt sie eine Palette an einfachen Materialien (Papier, Karton, Pigmente und Emulsionen) in Körper voller Leben, in weiche Anatomien und schwebende und fragmentierte Körperlichkeiten. Ihre Physiognomien sind zugleich innen und außen. Eine Maske ist ein Kleid, das ein Fleck ist, der eine Hand ist, der ein Blatt ist, das ein Ohr ist.

Auf den ersten Blick mögen ihre Gemälde, Keramiken und Montagen wie intime und melancholische Landschaften erscheinen, aber man muss erneut hinsehen – oder aufhören, nur mit den Augen zu sehen. Es liegt etwas Ungewisses und Magnetisches in ihrer Form der Darstellung, als wären ihre Linien und Silhouetten offene Fragen darüber, wie heutzutage unser menschlicher Organismus und seine emotionalen Strukturen sichtbar werden. Bedriñana lässt uns an den Porträts zweifeln, die wir von uns selbst kennen: als ob diese Bilder – besonders die fotografisch kodifizierten – nicht mehr wären als eine Fiktion oder Theater, das heißt, eine rein normative Konvention, die Hierarchien hinsichtlich der Art und Weise schafft, wie wir unseren Körper sehen und unsere Emotionen zeigen. Und da diese Bilder nur mangelhaft Aufschluss über uns selbst geben, hat die Künstlerin die Aufgabe übernommen, die unbequemen Gefühle und seltsamen Randerscheinungen zurückzufordern und wiederherzustellen, welche von den Konventionen aus der Darstellung des Lebens verdrängt wurden.

In ihren Händen ist die Kunst eine Technik zur Gestaltung von Anatomien, die vor dem Eingefangenwerden fliehen. Nichts ist von Dauer, alles mutiert. Ihr Werk wurde zuweilen als ein Erforschen von Traumwelten oder des Kindlichen interpretiert, vielleicht weil sich häufig alterslose Gesichter finden sowie farbige Atmosphären, die gleichsam Schwellen zu Traum und Fantasie zu sein scheinen. Aber ihre Figuren sind mehr als das: Bedriñana gestaltet Existenzen, die darum kämpfen, vor dem disziplinierenden Blick zu fliehen, der das Leben organisiert – die Rückschläge, die uns unsere domestizierende Erziehung versetzt, oder die medizinische, psychiatrische oder rechtliche Überwachung unseres Verhaltens. Die Körper und Gesichter ihrer Werke zeigen keine existenzielle Ruhe, aber offenbaren auch keine Krankheit. Ganz im Gegenteil: Die Künstlerin verwischt die Grenzen zwischen beidem. Ihr Werk ist weniger Ausdruck eines Leidens oder Unbehagens als vielmehr ein Loslösen von den Normen, die manche Leben als kaputt einordnen. Scheinbar versucht Bedriñana uns dazu zu bringen, Körper zu spüren, die am Rand der Normalität stehen. Und dies in einer Welt, die die Abweichung bestraft und in einer Gesellschaft, die besessen davon ist, ständig unseren ‚Normalitätsgrad‘ anhand kleiner alltäglicher Wörter oder Gesten zu messen.

Es überrascht nicht, dass die Gesichter in ihren Gemälden keine definierten biologischen Merkmale besitzen. Die Augenhöhlen scheinen fast immer leer, die Umrisse der Haut sind unvollständige Linien, und die die Körper umgebenden Szenarien sind oft dunstig, bestehend aus teils dichten, teils verwässerten Pigmenten. Viele ihrer Werke nehmen uns mit zurück in einen Zustand vor dem Leben und der Materie: gasförmige Schwingungen oder flüssige Atmosphären, die die anthropozentrische Arroganz widerlegen, mit der wir unsere menschlichen Körper gewöhnlich als geschlossene Behälter wahrnehmen – ohne Risse, gesund und undurchdringlich. Manche ihrer Werke gehen zurück in eine Zeit, als noch nicht einmal das Konzept der Geschichte existierte, und wir stellen uns die Osmose zwischen Körpern und anderen organischen Substanzen vor.
Die meisten Werke dieser neuen Ausstellung der Künstlerin entstanden in den letzten zwei Jahren und fördern Erinnerungen an eine kurz zuvor erfolgte Reise nach Peru zutage. Die Farben entfalten eine besondere Leuchtkraft und die Landschaft übernimmt eine zentrale Rolle, die sie so in früheren Serien nicht spielte – besonders Formen, die an Berge, Wolken, Flüsse und die Kraft des Windes erinnern, wie Andes (2021) oder Zigzag (2021). Andere Stücke verweisen zweifellos auf eine kollektive Trauer, wie beispielsweise Adiós (2020). Gezeigt werden drei Personen bei einer Totenwache mitten in einer rötlichen Landschaft, umgeben von kleinen Wolken: vielleicht eine Anspielung auf die gewaltsame Geschichte des Ortes, deren Wunden noch nicht verheilt sind, oder auch auf die direkten Auswirkungen der Gesundheits- und Umweltkrise, die derzeit den Planeten heimsucht.

Es ist außerdem vielsagend, wie einige der Gemälde, wie Ciempiés desnudo (2021) oder Piedras y flores (2021), mehrschichtige Diagramme andeuten, deren Farbschichten sich in die Haut zu graben scheinen. Bedriñana malt, als wäre die Malerei eine archäologische Übung und unterstreicht so indirekt, dass wir eine Anhäufung übereinander angeordneter Schichten sind, deren Bedeutungen sich überlappen und dadurch verfälschen. Die Faszination der Künstlerin für die Maske liegt vielleicht genau in der Möglichkeit, uns mit Schichten zu bedecken und das Gesicht verschwinden zu lassen – etwas, was viele Menschen tagtäglich tun müssen, um die vielen Formen patriarchalischer, rassistischer und sexueller Gewalt zu umschiffen, aus denen die Welt besteht. Durch das Tragen verschiedener Schleier, die Rekonstruktion der Anatomie und das Erfinden eines neuen Repertoires an Gesten haben es viele geschafft, die Normen zu überwinden, die die Körper und ihre Verhaltensweisen disziplinieren, klassifizieren und pathologisieren. Normen, die auch die Zugangs-, Mitsprache- und Repräsentationsmöglichkeiten von Individuen in bestimmten Bereichen bestimmen.

Die Ausstellung enthält auch einige frühere Stücke, sowohl bemalte Ausschnitte aus Papier und Leinen als auch Zeichnungen mit Pastellkreide. Die Werke besetzen den Raum wie verschollene Verwandte, die sich wieder treffen, um unerwartete Choreographien zu proben. Die Künstlerin hält Emotionen in diffusen, flüchtigen Bewegungen fest, die zeigen, wie wir alle mit dem Ort und dem Territorium, das wir bewohnen, in Verhandlung treten.
Gefühle wie Gleichgewichtsverlust oder Schwindel erscheinen ihrerseits in einem Spannungsverhältnis mit den Idealen der Ruhe und Stabilität, mit denen wir uns für gewöhnlich selbst darstellen, wie man es uns gelehrt hat.

Bedriñana berührt und spricht über die Ränder, die Ecken, die Kanten und die Umrisse. Ein Ohr, das ein Blatt ist, das eine Hand ist, die ein Fleck ist, der ein Kleid ist, das eine Maske ist.

Übersetzung: Katrin Allgaier

Escapar de la captura

Por varios años, el trabajo de Tania Bedriñana ha consistido en dar forma a pielesy cabellos, cabezas y extremidades, sombras y fluidos, ojos y lenguas, los cuales conectan lugares y tiempos distintos. Como una maga o una alquimista, ella convierte un repertorio de materiales sencillos (papel, cartón, pigmentos y emulsiones) en cuerpos con vida, anatomías blandas y corporalidades flotantes y fragmentadas. Sus fisionomías son, al mismo tiempo, adentro y afuera. Una máscara que es un vestido que es una mancha que es una mano que es una hoja que es una oreja.

A simple vista sus pinturas, cerámicas y ensamblajes pueden parecer paisajes intimistas y melancólicos, pero es necesario mirar de nuevo –o dejar de ver solamente con los ojos. Hay algo incierto y magnético en la forma que tiene de representar, como si sus trazos y siluetas fueran preguntas abiertas sobre cómo se hacen visibles hoy nuestros organismos humanos y sus estructuras afectivas. Bedriñana nos hace dudar de los retratos que conocemos de nosotros mismos: como si esas imágenes –especialmente aquellas derivadas de la codificación fotográfica– no fueran más que una ficción o un teatro; es decir, pura convención normativa que produce jerarquías en las maneras de ver nuestros cuerpos y mostrar nuestras emociones. Y ante la insuficiencia de esas imágenes para dar cuenta de nosotros mismos, la artista ha asumido la tarea de reclamar y restituir las sensaciones incómodas y los bordes extraños que las convenciones han expulsado de la representación de la vida.

En sus manos, el arte es una tecnología para producir anatomías que escapan de la captura. No hay permanencias, sino mutaciones. Su obra ha sido interpretada algunas veces como una exploración de lo infantil o de universos oníricos, posiblemente por la proliferación de rostros sin marcas de edad así como de atmósferas cromáticas a modo de umbrales de sueño y fantasía. Sin embargo, sus personajes van más allá: Bedriñana compone existencias que están en una batalla por escapar por la mirada disciplinaria que organiza la vida –los reveses domesticadores de la educación o las formas de vigilancia médica, siquiátrica y legal sobre nuestro comportamiento. Los cuerpos y rostros de sus obras no vienen a manifestarnos una tranquilidad existencial, tampoco a revelar una patología; por el contrario, la artista desfigura los límites entre ambos. Antes que un síntoma de un padecimiento o malestar, su obra es una operación de desencaje de las normas que pretenden marcar algunas vidas como averiadas. Bedriñana parece intentar enseñarnos a sentir cuerpos-bordes en un mundo que castiga la desviación y en una sociedad obsesionada por medir constantemente nuestros índices de ‘normalidad’ a través de pequeñas palabras o gestos cotidianos.
No sorprende que los rostros en sus pinturas carezcan de rasgos biológicos definidos. Las cuencas de los ojos aparecen casi siempre vacías, los contornos de la piel son trazos incompletos, y los escenarios que rodean los cuerpos son a menudo vaporosos, pigmentos densos pero también diluidos. Muchas de sus obras nos devuelven a un estado anterior de la vida y de la materia: oscilaciones gaseosas o atmósferas líquidas que refutan la arrogancia antropocéntrica con la que habitualmente percibimos nuestros cuerpos humanos como contenedores cerrados, sin fisuras, sanos e impenetrables. Algunas de sus piezas nos hacen retroceder el tiempo, antes incluso de la idea de historia, para imaginar osmosis entre cuerpos y otras sustancias orgánicas.

En esta nueva exposición, la artista reúne obras producidas en su mayoría en los últimos dos años, las cuales hurgan en su memoria de una reciente visita al Perú. Los colores cobran una luminosidad singular y el paisaje reclama un protagonismo que no ha tenido en sus series anteriores, especialmente formas que evocan montañas, nubes, ríos y la fuerza del viento –como Andes (2021) o Zigzag (2021). Otras piezas remiten inevitablemente al duelo colectivo, como Adiós (2020): tres personajes asisten a un velorio en medio de un paisaje rojizo, rodeados de pequeñas nubes, en alusión quizás a una historia local de violencia cuyas heridas no terminan de cerrarse o acaso a los efectos más inmediatos de la crisis sanitaria y ecológica que atraviesa el planeta.

Es también sugerente cómo algunas de sus pinturas, como Ciempiés desnudo (2021) o Piedras y flores (2021), sugieren diagramas estratigráficos en donde las capas de colores parecen excavar en la piel. Bedriñana pinta como quien realiza un ejercicio de arqueología, subrayando indirectamente que somos una acumulación de estratos superpuestos que contaminan sus significados. Posiblemente la fascinación de la artista por la máscara esté asociada precisamente a las posibilidades de cubrirnos de capas y extraviar el rostro, algo que muchas personas deben hacer cotidianamente para navegar las múltiples formas de violencia patriarcal, racial y sexual que componen el mundo. Portar distintos velos, reconstruir la anatomía e inventar un nuevo repertorio de gestos ha sido la forma en que muchos han logrado atravesar las normas que disciplinan, clasifican y patologizan los cuerpos y sus comportamientos. Normas que definen también las posibilidades de acceso, habla y representación que tienen los sujetos en determinadas esferas.

La exposición incluyen también algunas piezas de momentos anteriores, tanto recortes pintados en papel y lino como dibujos en tiza pastel. Las obras ocupan la casa como familiares extraviados que se reencuentran para ensayar coreografías inesperadas. La artista registra emociones en movimiento, difusas, en fuga, que dan cuenta de cómo todos negociamos con el lugar y el territorio que habitamos. Sensaciones como el desequilibrio o el vértigo aparecen a su vez en tensión con los ideales de calma y estabilidad con que nos han enseñado a representarnos a nosotros mismos.

Bedriñana toca y habla los bordes, los ángulos, los filos y los contornos. Una oreja que es una hoja que es una mano que es una mancha que es un vestido que es una máscara.

Text by Augusto del Valle Cárdenas, 2020

Una de las interrogantes, cada vez más urgente, es aquella que abre el horizonte de indagación respecto de los artistas peruanos residentes, en la actualidad, en el extranjero. Artistas que, con una actividad sostenida en el país de adopción, poseen desarrollos muchas veces ignorados en el Perú ¿Cómo se vinculan los sentidos comunes de las estéticas que estos portan al salir del país con aquellos otros propios de los nuevos contextos en los que estos deben instalarse?, ¿qué nuevos gestos adoptan?, ¿cómo negocian, en su fuero interno, con las nuevas experiencias que, a veces, señalan hacia horizontes de futuro al principio inesperados e inimaginables?
Tania Bedriñana (Lima, 1973), es una artista peruano-alemana, cuya formación inicial transcurrió en la Facultad de Arte de la Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú (PUCP), pero que, desde fines de la década de 1990, se especializó en Alemania.

Cortar el aire: recorte contemporáneo de Tania Bedriñana es una exposición hecha sobre la base de catorce grupos de objetos/personajes que dejan ver una producción elaborada por la artista en Alemania, entre los años 2003 y 2019.
Mientras cada grupo adopta un nombre diferente, algunos de estos aluden, por ejemplo, a una idea fragmentaria de los cuerpos humanos o no humanos (cabeza, dermis, torso-árbol, etcétera); otros, avanzan sobre ciertas características tanáticas de los cuerpos (sobreviviente, funeral de verano, Blutdiamanten); para, finalmente, llegar a la orilla de lo enigmático (Revers, Grund, etcétera). Probablemente, esta división en grupos sea episódica y solo asistimos a una manera circunstancial de ordenar su producción con objetos/personajes que, quizá, solo formaban parte originalmente de alguna instalación o de otro conjunto más estable; y, sin embargo, este mismo hecho es buen índice de la fuerza del trabajo de Bedriñana.

Y así, en Repertorio, 2003-2008, (Fig.1) se puede encontrar una selección de cut out expuestos con anterioridad; esto es, diversos personajes/objetos, en cuya elaboración se ha usado distintas impresiones digitales, para intervenirlas con acuarela y otros pigmentos. A veces, no se ha usado dichas impresiones digitales, pero, en todo caso, se ha usado en su lugar soportes de papel y tela con aplicaciones de lápiz y otros materiales. Entiendo que muchos de estos cut out, fueron diseñados en Berlín entre 2003 y 2008. Así, los que podemos ver en la sala Juan Acha del Museo de Arte de San Marcos ahora, en 2020, se convierten en «avatares» de aquellos otros. El cut out es, literalmente, recorte. Y tal como los vemos, en el caso específico de Repertorio, dichos recortes están sobre una plataforma rectangular.
Configuran, de esta manera, un universo singular de organismos y entidades. Un dato importante a tomar en cuenta es que, aunque se trata de una plataforma que en el espacio de sala puede ser observada por los cuatro costados, rodeándola; sin embargo, en este caso solo ofrece un lado al observador que quiera posicionarse para mirarla. Uno definido según una verticalidad buscada.

Por tanto, cada recorte —de los cerca de cincuenta que vemos en esta plataforma— está marcado por una dirección espacial en la que se reconoce el arriba y el abajo. Y, gracias a ello, se hace comprensible cada figura, según se trate de una cabeza, un torso, labios, una sombra, un vestido, etcétera, aunque a veces ocurren algunas excepciones. No creo estar cometiendo un error si enuncio, en este momento, que en todos los casos es el cuerpo femenino aquel que está siendo interpelado. La excepción sería aquella figura masculina que, en la esquina superior izquierda de la plataforma, parece estar tomando un descanso, luego de haber realizado alguna rutina deportiva.

Si las imágenes de esta plataforma marcan un universo orgánico sui generis configurado en el proceso de trabajo de la artista, proceso que da como resultado personajes/objetos, los mismos que son luego expuestos a partir de constelaciones variadas en salas de exhibición de ciudades como Berlín, Paris, Nueva York y Lima, entre otras, cabría preguntarse por el sentido de dicho universo. Universo que se puebla de elementos que luego pueden organizarse de distinta manera como, por ejemplo, lo dice Gabriela Germaná, explícitamente: «Los fragmentos son conectados y forman diversos personajes, los que van adquiriendo una personalidad determinada, una especie de vida en un mundo propio que va apareciendo a la vista mientras se configura en base a diversas asociaciones, contenidos y significados. Son instalaciones que nunca se cierran como objeto determinado, viven en un estado de latente cambio (…) muchas veces incluso en el momento del desmontaje se han producido nuevos ensamblajes. Y es por ello que, una vez terminada la exposición, los elementos son cuidadosamente organizados y conservados en el taller de la artista, a manera de repertorio, con la posibilidad de aparecer en otro escenario, con diferentes roles y sentido».

Quizá valga la pena, entonces, observar una pieza producida recientemente y, de este modo, hacer comparaciones que nos orienten para formular alguna hipótesis que comience a contestar las preguntas iniciales de este breve ensayo. Se trata de Drama girls, 2019, (Fig.2), en la que se reconoce hasta cinco siluetas femeninas diferentes. Las dos primeras y la última (de izquierda a derecha del observador), dejan ver una continuidad con el trabajo anterior de Repertorio y, en retrospectiva, apuntan hacia la tendencia de la artista de ofrecer recortes de cuerpos femeninos infantiles. Otros dos recortes de este conjunto —la tercera y cuarta silueta—ofrecen, por separado, propiedades de interés para nuestra hipótesis, puesto que, aunque con esto adelanto opinión, dichas formas parecen apuntar hacia desarrollos futuros en el trabajo de Bedriñana. Y así, la tercera silueta —cuya apariencia de mujer adulta se complementa con su tocado enigmático—, apunta quizá de un modo sorprendente hacia el surgimiento de nuevas entidades acaso con atributos mitológicos. Otro tanto ocurre con la cuarta silueta que aparenta, más bien, ser una silueta femenina indefinida. En esta podría asomarse, por evocación, alguna figura «primitiva» como la venus de Millendorf, o alguna otra. Si bien el sentido de Drama girls —como la mayoría de las piezas que la artista adrede plantea—, se disemina en horizontes abiertos a cualquier interpretación, resulta clave señalar que el drama al que alude el titulo es estrictamente femenino ¿Y cuál podría ser sino el propio de la «subjetividad» femenina?

Tránsito y proceso

La exposición Personanormal en la galería Forum de Lima, en el año 2007, significa un primer momento en el proceso de trabajo que, Bedriñana, plasmaría finalmente en Repertorio. Una situación de tránsito que la historiadora del arte Gabriela Germaná enuncia, hábilmente, como «Lógica de la inestabilidad». La ocasión se muestra propicia para retomar alguna de las preguntas que abren este ensayo.

Alejandro Alayza para referirse a la manera como Bedriñana —alumna suya en la Facultad de Arte de la PUCP entre 1990 y 1995— afrontaba su proceso de trabajo durante sus años de escuela, nos dice: «[N]arraba todas sus experiencias. El medio siempre fue la imagen; la figuración era para ella mostrar sus pulsaciones, sus deseos o sus intuiciones. Yo andaba asustado, pues el acto de pintar la había tomado toda entera, desde la cabeza a los pies»2. Resulta pertinente aquí enunciar, aunque sea de paso, algunas características del discurso estético de la Facultad de Arte de la PUCP. Asociado, en un primer momento, al «espiritualismo» de su fundador, Adolfo Winternitz (1906-1993), dicho discurso colocaba su énfasis en el aprendizaje de un alfabeto visual de la forma y el color, como «expresión» de la subjetividad del artista.
Alfabeto que, día a día, al enriquecerse por la experiencia de aprendizaje tendría que mostrar, necesariamente, un mundo interior poblado de elementos existenciales. Para la década de 1990 y luego del fallecimiento del maestro Winternitz (ocurrido en 1993), la Facultad, poco a poco, se ve en la necesidad de enfrentar un proceso de cambios. Por otro lado, en el Perú, la década de 1990 misma, se encuentra escindida por el proceso de la llamada Pax Fujimorista, ocurrida a partir de setiembre de 1992, con la caída de Abimael Guzman, cabecilla del grupo subversivo PC- Sendero Luminoso, que le había declarado la guerra al Estado peruano desde mayo de 1980. En este contexto, los cambios en el lenguaje visual del arte contemporáneo en el Perú, demoran en introducirse, y estos ya son visibles solo a partir de la I Bienal Iberoamericana de Lima, en 1997. Por resumirlo de manera esquemática: del ensimismamiento que corresponde, por ejemplo, al auge del autorretrato en la pintura local, entre varios de los artistas compañeros generacionales de Bedriñana auge que, en los rostros muestran los residuos del gran miedo de ciertos sectores de la sociedad peruana que se sientieron amenazados en ese momento, se transita hacia nuevas estéticas. Estéticas en las que, el instalacionismo jugará un papel liberador. Entretanto, en 1999, se puede ver a Bedriñana ya en Alemania, en la Universidad de Kassel.

El hallazgo de un personaje

Ahora, si uno regresa a Drama girls (Fig.2) y escoge la segunda silueta contando desde la derecha, uno encuentra una figura frontal femenina con características específicas de interés para este breve ensayo (Fig.3). El corte exterior de esta forma visual, invita a que uno centre su atención, tanto en el torso como en el rostro. De ambos «fragmentos» —torso y rostro— pueden apreciarse «avatares» en Repertorio. Llamo «avatar» a cada nueva presentación de algún fragmento/objeto/personaje en cada nuevo contexto de exhibición. En un detalle de la plataforma (Fig.4), en la zona de arriba se observa un torso femenino como elemento independiente, mientras al centro y debajo de la misma plataforma, se observan diseños de rostros de niñas, algunas con ojos y otras sin ojos —o, incluso, con alguna forma vacía en el lugar en donde ellos deberían estar—. La fuerza de este personaje, ya desarrollada plenamente en las obras de Bedriñana correspondientes en los últimos años, permite plantear algunas hipótesis respecto a la lograda estabilidad de este lenguaje visual. Y así, aquella figura frontal femenina de Drama girls, en la que se juntan torso y rostro, evoca una figura infantil. Las líneas punteadas, al dibujar el cabello de la niña, se alinean con el borde del recorte. Y, sin embargo, un punto en lo que sería la concavidad vacía para cada ojo, hace que el personaje desprenda, sin duda, una vaga aura tanática. Así mismo, los grandes labios de la niña, soportan una colección de puntos cuya lectura visual señala, otra vez, en dicha dirección.

Precisamente, Enfant terrible, es el nombre de una segunda exposición en Lima, en 2012, en la galería del ICPNA de Miraflores. En esta, a través de dibujos y cerámica, surge una figura semejante. Si la niña es «terrible», en algún sentido por aclarar, los dibujos de Bedriñana remiten a un universo infantil, acaso onírico, en el que la «subjetividad» femenina aparece, todavía, atrapada. «Aquí se crea un mundo con una curiosa densidad atmosférica que emana del lado oscuro del ser»3, nos dice Ferenc Jádi. Y agrega: «La gracia de sus personajes infantiles nos lleva al mundo de niños más bien rebeldes, los enfants terribles; aquellos que en la vida real no le temen a nada; los que son atrevidos y caprichosos. Los infantes en la obra de Tania Bedriñana transitan en una zona de frontera, viven al borde de la gracia, el resentimiento, la valentia y el descaro».

Cortar el aire, 2019 / 2020

El hallazgo de esta niña, no solo en Drama girls y Repertorio, sino como estabilización de un proceso de experiencia a través del dibujo y la pintura, específicamente, en el cut out (recorte) contemporáneo, grafica un coherente horizonte de futuro. Bedriñana asume una suerte de autoexilio cuya casa, podría decirse, es el ser del lenguaje visual. De las catorce constelaciones de recortes de Cortar el aire, en la sala Juan Acha del MASM, llama poderosamente la atención aquellas instancias en las que el mundo infantil, es sobrepasado por un universo de luces y sombras. Por un mundo adulto que retoma el trabajo mural con colores rebajados entre ocres, rojos y amarillos. Y así, en Los iluminados de la sala de estar, 2005-2019, (Fig.5), el mundo adulto de la madre, tal y como también aparece en Drama girls (Fig.2), en la tercera y cuarta siluetas ya aludidas (contando desde la izquierda), en la que de pronto se aprecia a una mujer con tocado, pero también aquella otra, indefinida.

Si los contextos de exhibición marcan la aparición de nuevas constelaciones en el arte de Bedriñana —París, Lima, Bélgica y otros—, también el viaje, visto como cambio en el contexto de trabajo/producción adquiere un sentido particular. En los actuales tiempos de globalización —pero también de conflicto internacional— el lenguaje visual puede convertirse en la casa de identidades acaso fluidas, en momentos en que también las estéticas locales —andinas, amazónicas, híbridas y urbanas, etcétera— marcan direcciones de descolonización respecto del mainstream. En dicho flujo, también los procesos de trabajo con la forma se diluyen en horizontes de futuro que, en el caso de Bedriñana, apuntan hacia modos etimeros de aparición de aquello que surge más acá o más allá de los bordes, de los límites de la pintura, el dibujo, y del espacio tomado por un potente site specific.

Text by Kris Douglas, 2019

The exhibition The ahh-ness of things takes as its point of departure the multifaceted notion of “mono no aware”, a Japanese aesthetic concept that translates plainly as “the pathos of things”. This expression of thought was first articulated in Heian period literature (794 to 1185), but over subsequent centuries has become an all but ubiquitous component of contemporary Japanese cultural thought and tradition. Given its deeply intricate and philosophical makeup, one could venture to refer to mono no aware as an inner mood or feeling, privileging a special type of emotional connection to our surroundings and the occurrences of daily life. In this way, it cannot simply be understood as “the pathos of things” or “awareness of environment”, but is linked to a complex uderstanding of ephemerality and the acceptance of impermanence. Within a philosophical framework such as this, there is a dynamic present that is neither overtly positive or negative, but a space that is emotionally navigated by a connection or understanding of a “middle ground” of sorts, in which a situation or circumstance can be simultaneously celebrated yet imbued with melancholy. It is within this structure that the artists included in The ahh-ness of things explore the world around and in us, utilizing painting, sculpture, video, drawing and performance to highlight both the connection and the dependency between beauty and a sense of fleetingness. 

Although the nine artists included in the exhibition come from diverse locations around the world, the associated works begin to develop connections and establish a dialog with each other, building and elaborating on the prevailing theme in their own individual manner. Explorations of seemingly dichotomous subjects such as power and vulnerability, shame and satisfaction, isolation and contentment, stability and volatility, or intention and coincidence all interweave to present to the viewer a unique means to understand and interpret both the inner and outer landscapes that the artists present to us. Through the observation of these works, the viewer can begin to make deeper connections between themselves and our wide-ranging cultural systems, revealing and commenting on various themes and beliefs that influence and drive our existence. The exhibition speaks to many subjects from the intensely personal to the overtly political, all with a certain quietness or calmness paired with a sense of movement or action. This can manifest itself in an aesthetic and material presence—in the physical nature of the works themselves—and in metaphoric possibilities, the manner in which we interpret and internalize the inherent themes and subjects contained therein. As a result, we are left to contemplate the space between these binary propositions, and subtly embrace the gentle sadness of things.

Text by Dr. Christine Jádi, 2019

es ❯

In her solo-presentation UMBRA at Socorro Polivalente Berlin-based Peruvian artist Tania Bedriñana shows a site-specific installation, for which she uses different modes of artistic production like cut-out, painting and wall drawing. It will probably be the last show on the Socorro premises before the imminent demolition of the building, allowing Bedriñana to take full advantage of the architectural space. 

Including found wall material, like stains, scrapes, and scratches, into her large-scale installation, she associatively arranges her figures, which are cut from paper or textiles and painted with oil and watercolour. The moment in which something emerges from the surface, lingers there or disappears again is the mystery of painting, which Tania Bedriñana radically tries to unravel. She applies her paint in layers, rubs it into the paper or fabric and thus strains the surface until a matte or glossy patina has developed. The painted surface can be seen synonymous with the skin. “In every moment,” describes Georges Didi-Huberman this phenomenon, “the artists run the risk of skinning the flesh of their ‘subjects’, of the ‘figure’ or face….” The repeated treatment of the picture’s texture and material, however, allows the artist to retrieve the figuration from the paint’s substance and chroma. Particularly in revealing the emerging process of her art, Bedriñana approaches the picture as an event. Her focus is on an authentic, expressive creative work, which is rooted in her person and her biography. 

A central part of the installation UMBRA forms a large fabric, upon which the fragmented figures have been painted, drawn, or applied as cut-outs, rendering the flat canvas into a three-dimensional object. In some parts she even pierces the wall’s plastering and thus opens up a new, formerly hidden dimension. The term umbra refers to the figures’ shadows, hidden behind the upper layers of the treated fabric. Often associated with the mysterious, eerie dark of the unknown, shadows appeal to our inner fears, our existential angst, which is rooted in a feeling of uncanniness and melancholy. There is, however, also another reading of shadows possible, which focuses on their ephemeral airiness. A shadow is closely linked to the solid figure or object of its origin, as its physical imprint as well as its figurative representative: it serves as a dual symbol of presence and transience, of past and present, of memory and loss. The ancient Greeks believed that in death one’s soul leaves the body behind like a shadow, called eidolon, which then was transferred to the realm of the shades. And in Western art history a cast shadow is believed to be the origin of painting: according to the ancient myth of the Greek modeller Butades of Sicyon, his daughter drew upon a wall the outline of her lover’s shadow, which he then modelled in clay, thus, inventing the very first picture of man. In the eighteenth and nineteenth century cutting portraits, so-called silhouettes, profiles, or shades, became a popular artistic method of portrait-making. All these examples illustrate how the shadow of a person came to represent the very person itself and how in its absence his or her imprint becomes revitalised in art. Indeed throughout the history of painting artists like Rembrandt, Caravaggio, and Holbein have applied the cast shadow to add to their figures an animated presence. 

In Bedriñana’s installation UMBRA the single figure and the various female body parts do have a rather distinct presence. There is, however, an all-encompassing correlation recognizable that animates the room. In this respect it is related to Pre-Columbian cultures, like the ancient murals of the El Brujo Archaeological Complex. Having visited the site before its restoration Bedriñana was deeply impressed and remembers especially the colours of the Peruvian Hairless Dogs, whose skin mirrors the colours of sand and sea characteristic of the North of Peru. Dating from preceramic times the figurative graffiti and reliefs cover the site’s surfaces, thus, adding to the vivid impression of the different rooms and chambers. According to the Japanese author Tanizaki Jun’ichir? the beauty of a room “depends on a variation of shadows, heavy shadows against light shadows.” Beauty, therefore, cannot be found in the thing itself but in the “magic of shadows,” in the play of light and darkness which one object against another creates. 

There certainly is playfulness perceivable in Bedriñana’s cut-outs. Indeed the source of her pictorial inventions is the childlike being, its grace, directness, and joyful play. Similar to children, who tend to loose themselves in playing, the artist looses herself in her art. It is the free and unconscious state of doing that she tries to achieve while drawing, cutting, and arranging her cut-outs. The act of cutting varies between delicate draughtsmanship on the one hand and aggressive violation on the other. Again we can find a parallel to the play, which unites seriousness and cheerfulness, being at times even cruel or ironic. This can be observed in the installation’s depicted scenes and fragments, but the figures’ actions remain mysteriously vague and in the end beyond words. Bedriñana is not interested in an illustration of a narration or the realization of a concept. She rather tries to capture the moment of appearance – however volatile it may be.

Umbra – un proyecto específico

En su exhibición individual UMBRA en Socorro Polivalente, la artista peruana Tania Bedriñana residente en Berlín, muestra una instalación de sitio específico, para la cual utiliza diferentes modos de producción artística como el cut-out (recorte), la pintura y el dibujo sobre pared. Probablemente será la última exhibición en las instalaciones de Socorro antes de la demolición inminente del edificio barranquino, lo que permitirá a Bedriñana aprovechar al máximo las condiciones materiales de las paredes encontradas, sobre las que la artista organiza asociativamente y a gran escala, sus figuras -recortes en papel o tela, pintados con óleo y acuarela. 

El término umbra se refiere a las sombras de las figuras, ocultas detrás de las capas superiores de la tela tratada. Las sombras, a menudo asociadas con la misteriosa y espeluznante oscuridad de lo desconocido, apelan a nuestros miedos internos, a nuestra angustia existencial, que tiene sus raíces en un sentimiento de extrañeza y melancolía. Hay, sin embargo, también otra lectura de sombras posible, que se centra en su ligereza efímera. Una sombra está estrechamente vinculada a la figura sólida u objeto de su origen, como su huella física, así como su representante figurativa: sirve como un símbolo dual de presencia y transitoriedad, pasado y presente, de memoria y pérdida. Los antiguos griegos creían que en la muerte el alma de uno deja el cuerpo atrás como una sombra, llamada eidolon, que luego fue transferida al reino de las sombras. Y en la historia del arte occidental se cree que una sombra proyectada es el origen de la pintura: según el antiguo mito del modelador griego Butades de Sicyon, su hija dibujó en una pared el contorno de la sombra de su amante, que luego él modeló en arcilla. De hecho, a lo largo de la historia de la pintura, artistas como Rembrandt, Caravaggio y Holbein han aplicado la sombra proyectada para agregar a sus figuras una presencia animada.

El momento en que algo emerge de la superficie, permanece allí o desaparece nuevamente: éste es el misterio de la pintura que Tania Bedriñana trata de desentrañar radicalmente. Ella aplica la pintura en capas, la frota sobre el papel o la tela y, por lo tanto, tensa la superficie hasta que se logra una pátina mate o brillante. La superficie pintada se puede ver como sinónimo de la piel. „En cada momento“, describe Georges Didi-Huberman este fenómeno, „los artistas corren el riesgo de despellejar la carne de sus ‘sujetos’, de la ‘figura’ o la cara…“. Particularmente al revelar el proceso emergente de su arte, Bedriñana aborda la imagen como un evento. Se centra en un trabajo creativo auténtico y expresivo, basado en su persona y biografía propia. 

Ciertamente hay una alegría lúdica perceptible en los recortes de Bedriñana. De hecho, la fuente de sus invenciones pictóricas es el ser infantil, en su gracia, su franqueza y su juego alegre. Similar a los niños, que tienden a perderse en el juego, la artista se pierde en su arte. Es el estado libre e inconsciente de hacer que trata de lograr mientras dibuja, corta y organiza sus recortes. El acto de cortar varía entre la delicada delineación por un lado y la transgresión agresiva por el otro.

Nuevamente podemos encontrar un paralelo con el juego escénico, que une seriedad y alegría, siendo a veces incluso cruel o irónico. Esto se puede observar en las escenas y fragmentos representados en la instalación, pero las acciones de las figuras permanecen misteriosamente vagas y, finalmente, más allá de las palabras. A Bedriñana no le interesa la ilustración de una narración o la realización de un concepto. Ella más bien trata de capturar el momento de la revelación de la imagen, por muy volátil que esta sea. 

(Estractos del texto de la historiadora berlinesa Christine Jádi) 

Text by Prof. Dr. Ferenc Jádi, 2012

In her early exhibitions in Berlin and its vicinity, Tania Bedriñana came known as a painter of murals, who prepares her wall surfaces punctually hewing or semi-plastically scraping out material straining the surface excessively to the limit of its identity. She makes the surface undergo a chromatic transformation to a painted body, an actual incarnation of its creation. Similarly, she dealt with the elements of large-sized cut-outs that she composed from extensively treated paper or from specially prepared textiles. This affect-laden mode of production, which visualizes an emerging process, only seems to aim at a narration. In fact, however, the first rough then superfine working technique, which exposes the intimate core (intima) of the surface, testifies the process beyond any narration. Contemplating, Tania Bedriñana questions the actual event: what happened to you, what happened with and among us? Artists of importance answered these fundamental questions of the history of events with the suitable treatment of material, with the formation of a highly individualistic way of creating – in short their own style – and not with illustrating drama or prosody, nor with alluding to narrative content. Not until then the pictorial visible can lead us to the invisible of images, otherwise it would be subordinated to the language of images.

From linear drawings in her earlier works to later oil paintings Tania Bedriñana excessively rubs in the paint until the substantial material of the support starts to fray out, felt, or even almost starts to dissolve. This very much corresponds to the means of production she used for the textiles of her cut-outs, which she penetrated with sharp tools or sandpaper, preparing the coloured incarnation of the surface. This technique raises all narration of a figurative image onto another level of understanding: the level of testimony. Thus, the applied trace of colour is similarly raised onto the level of the martyr. 

On the basis of all these groups of works lies Tania Bedriñana’s expertly draughtsmanship, which is deeply imbued with the nature of this genre’s historic tradition. In the history of draughtsmanship the drawing, creating moving figures, as a testifying witness and forerunner pointing the way ahead is sacrificed in the preparatory drawing of a painting. Degrading the trace in drawing to a passive eyewitness and, thus, turning the actual tractum into the histor, the painting becomes the actual trace, which cloaks the artefact like a vestis. In fact, it becomes a martyr, hero and victim at once. Here, all those traces become visible which reveal the artist’s passions, his lows and highs, or his fall, his loud scream and his quietness in the final work of art. The process of creating, which makes visible the image with all pictorial power, confronts, however, any seeing viewer with the question of the image’s meaning beyond the obvious and throws him directly into the artist’s world. Probably, artists and philosophers have always known that painting most easily could deteriorate to an art of illusion. This was never a threat to draughtsmanship since its non-imitational character was evident for those who look at a drawing with the necessary sensitivity. When the emancipated panel painting became relatively autonomous in the Renaissance the artist’s drawing came to be considered as a testimonial of artistic authority. Until today the graphic revelation of an artistic talent and the unquestionable of individuality are the artists’ most dangerous weapons. In fact, the bareness of the drawing forces even the most cunning artists in the history of art to reveal their armouries. In the graphic creation works of enduring value are separated from the ephemeral of history; the famous temporary or fashionable and seemingly important works from the important works of epoch-making value.

In presenting selected drawings in this exhibition, Tania Bedriñana gives evidence for the technical and imaginative source of her creative production and competes with those who enriched as well as drastically questioned this genre with their works. Here she stands for an immanent radicalism with all its consequences. But what is this radicalism in realizing a specific drawing act? Habitual recognition that emerged from Western avant-garde Modernism understands the term “radicalism” in art as a new materiality, an extreme reduction of form or superficial expressiveness and hardly ever as radicalism of expression. Thus, in Modernism sensation, a figure’s formal or nominal aspects, technical refinement, aestheticism, the shocking, and even Kitsch were more appreciated than those works that contain an eidetic awareness. Tania Bedriñana’s graphic radicalism, which adds a delicate intimacy to the image and profoundly questions its calm and silence, intensely and vigorously visualizes that which lies beyond language and this world. Her work proves that any attempt to picture a miracle is doomed to fail. If, however, under the pressure of the mind’s determined productivity the imagination enables a passionately animated realization of the fictional, an image miracle might happen.

In Tania Bedriñana’s art there is an aspect of production that with its theme of textural expression and its pleasing aesthetical mode of thinking recalls the universality of childhood. The way children behave towards themselves and towards others, how they are able to transform their affects and emotional upheavals gracefully into emotional states or gestures, how they are taken up with their expressions and how they are able to question the evident and us as adults with our conventions – all this amazes and enchants us. Through grace the child forges a link between the visible and the spiritual, performing a mental process that is similar to the creative process. In the sensual perception and firmness during the application process an inner world might appear. Taking an unintended position leads the self to the other in the world as well as to the others. It also means, however, recollection, self-reflection, and contemplation. Thus, the child ventures out to an external space, fills it with real experiences as well as guilt until this space of being (dasein) becomes too small and the child starts to seek more space within it. The child fills this space further with fears and worries, desires and wishes until this world threatens to change into a labyrinth of logic and metric. In contrast, the child’s inner world remains a boundless world of possibilities where the sensuality of imagination is realized with silent wisdom of the individual will. Continuously, Tania Bedriñana is inspired by the sensual severity of the children’s play and the presence of their being-together. In her drawings, the grace of the children figures leads us into the world of these rather stubborn children, the enfants terribles. Their reality is fearless; they are bold and badly behaved. They are on the verge of grace, resentment, presumption, and boldness. While standing, sitting, laughing, and looking they are in motion but are merely moved inwardly. Tania Bedriñana explores the borderline of expression, too, expressing the emergence of an emotional phenomenon as desideratum, a fulfilment. Her figures want to know; they want to find the source of the mysteries of the world they experience or approach, into which they were thrown.

In good faith children are usually protected from truth. Like a treasure of its inner world the child (even the “learned infant”) conceals under the fine veil of shame that it knows about evil. This worth-preserving act of veiling the truth in images or words, which also merely imply ideas or empty objects, separates the expression from the expressed. In other words, the expression of truth is separated from linguistic or pictorial expressiveness. Tania Bedriñana provides the viewer with a figurative visual thinking that in this dimension leads beyond words to the core of one’s self. All aspects of one’s self are rendered invisible by visibility. If triviality of the obvious is impending, they are estranged and banished to the level of the “I.” We find traces of this process in the genesis of the expression movement as well as in the ideation of the act of expression. The graphic line easily transforms into contour. Thus, the testifying creating line – the trace of the drawing process – is concealed behind deictic intentionality. It is not discovered until the viewer comes to understand aesthetic creation with all its dangers. We should, therefore, concentrate first of all on the artistic realization of the drawings out of the profound flow of drawing and ordering style. 

Wherever Tania Bedriñana uses the subtle affective differences of the tempered line in her linear drawings, she moves on the verge of graphic expression and graphic expressiveness. Linearity, intervals, breaks of a line, gaps, and entanglements are means of creating that bestow a liberating power on the drawing. Here, after every move linearity starts to play with the line’s valence of expression and to form a logical realm for the qualia of an aesthetic topos. In Bedriñana’s art the line’s emotional content is never superficial. The linear flow is based on an inner temporality, on the freedom of an immanent rhythm, which is never metric or calculated but freely structured, containing an animated imagination.

The evident radicalism of these drawings, their profound artistic character draws not upon dramatic effect, sensation, or coquetry but rather upon a radical reduction of expression indicating the complexity of truth beyond narration. On his threshold of shame the viewer apprehends himself, especially repressed elements of his self. The said radicalism, therefore, is based on the negation of expressing immanence with words, on annihilating the obviousness of visibility. Here, a world is created that shows a curious atmospheric density of being’s dark side. Already as a maker of silhouettes Tania Bedriñana searched for atmosphere in her works. A true master in this field, however, she became with her drawings. Atmosphere works with the attraction as such, challenging our senses and demanding our faith. It triggers an intimate sense of reading the traces of being-as-such, the intuitive recognition of the nature of being. In her radical drawing techniques, Tania Bedriñana uses this ability to constitute being at a moment when it shows the non-ephemeral of the ephemeral. Childhood signifies this dimension of human being. Its radicalism of consciousness can be expressed because it leaves inherent and persistent traces in each and everyone. Childhood’s atmosphere, especially the space of possibilities for a child’s play, is characterized by the fact that it operates with figures but can be understood neither by words nor by showing visible forms. It can only be experienced in uncovering the eternal traces of a gone being adding more to that, which can be seen or said. One cannot read relations out of images but conceives them in a synthesis of different moments of being. Tania Bedriñana has the ability to turn relations of indications, appearances, and make-believe figures into art. She places her painted fictions in an indistinct hereafter, which can be seen best in the peculiar relation of light and shadow in the dark drawings or in the expressive attitude of the children’s figures. Are these wise children in her dreams? Angels of a history of nightmares or figures of another world, which are more real than reality and yet unreal in that they add something more to being? This world is incredibly beautiful and yet it is true. Similarly, art created like this creates a world that – despite all resemblances to other worlds – is a world in which the viewer can disappear and encounter just himself or himself as a stranger.

Text by Gunter Reski, 2007

Eigentlich nennt sich so etwas wohl Cut-outs. Das klingt aber viel zu grafisch und als sei da irgendwas in Photoshop freigestellt worden. Die Papierarbeiten von Tanja Bedrinana wirken eher wie behutsam archäologisch freigelegt. Die Kantenführung kennzeichnet eine irritierend große unbeholfene Selbstverständlichkeit. Der Menschenkörper zeigt sich hier meist in offen (an der Wand) arrangierten Teilstücken, ohne dass man je an Verletzung oder lebensbedrohliche Zerstückelung denken würde. Man vermisst in keinem Moment den menschlichen Körper als Ganzes. Die getrennten Teile des Ganzen ergeben viel mehr an gesamten Möglichkeiten. Ja, dieser Arm oder jenes Leibteil hat sich vollständig zu Recht verselbstständigt, wie sein altertümlicher Anschein mit augenscheinlich langer Dauerhaftigkeit zu verstehen gibt. Schnell gealtertes Modevokabular wie „posthuman“ oder „Körperbaustelle“ werden hier locker durch eine bezaubernd archaische Anmutung eingefangen und überholt. Das ist jedoch nur ein Teilaspekt, und fängt schon wieder an systematisch zu klingen. Es gibt mitunter auch schemenhaft gemalte Figuren als Ganzes. Intakt wirken sie dadurch auch nicht. Eher wie eine letzte Versammlung als Gesamtes kurz vor Verabschiedung der alsbald freigesetzten Einzelteile. Alles guckt dich immer direkt an. Als wärst du auch so eine bestückt vertraute Wand oder malerisch hingehauchter Teil derselben. Die gemalte Anmutung flirrt zwischen papierner Versteinerung und leicht erhaben verlebten Schattenwesen. Wir sind da. Uns hat keiner gerufen. Wir bleiben noch lange. Und werden auch nicht rufen.

Text by Gabriela Germaná, 2007

de ❯ es ❯

Change is one of the main characteristics of the passage of time; change is movement and instability. Tania Bedriñana’s work is intrinsically related to this. On the one hand, the artist shows the need to express herself in an almost immediate way, relaying what she conceives. On the other hand, she has the consciousness that only the passage of time allows her to transform constantly the components of her work, as well as detailed treatment of material, in search of an inward logic.

Tania Bedriñana’s last three installations, “Grund”, “Ser/Res” and “Personanormal”, are composed of large cut-outs, painted using oil paint and emulsions, soaked and scraped off, all the while representing various parts of the human body (heads, trunks, arms, legs). These are arranged on a wall to create large-scale installations, in which elements are connected and form a palette of characters, which acquire a distinct personality. What appears takes on a life of its own while it takes shape according to different associations, contents and meanings. These installations are conceived as perpetual works-in-progress; they remain in a state of constant flux. When setting the installation up, new possibilities of assembly become apparent. For this reason, when the exhibition is finished, the pieces are carefully organized and kept in the artist’s studio, together, presenting the possibility that the same pieces could be, someday, re-assembled in another context as a different composition.

The use of treated cardboard, which is uniquely porous, allows Tania Bedriñana to create numerous finishes and textures where a heavily dilluted oil slides, and stains, scrapes and slight lines of drawing are impregnated. It is important to emphasize that there is a conscious rejection of the clear finish that is common in more classical painting. If a fragment presents a finish in which one can notice the intricacies of the lines, shades and lights, immediately it is turned over and what it is on the back becomes a new discovery that is inherent to her work: the paper is stained by oil, while there is also the stain of the first impulse of the hand on the paper. What is there is anything but coincidental.  

Architectural space is, in this type of work, not only a frame or a background that contains the work of art, but, indeed, part and parcel of the composition, in an intimate dialogue that shapes the essence of the installation. The layout and the relationships between the characters also depend on where they are, and the walls form part of the work, incorporating the imperfections found in the surface. Stains on walls are not cleaned, but for example, are used like washes in a watercolour. Hollows form shapes, and lines appear through fragments of characters or objects. Forms manifest themselves almost by chance, only revealing their exactitude later.

These are intimate works that evoke feelings, images and memories that refer to human behaviour. Tania Bedriñana explores her personal experiences and, through the characters in her work, expresses her thoughts about stages of the mind and the way these processes influence human behaviour. To achieve this, she takes her memories, reality and fiction, scenes of aggression and vulnerability, infant memories, dreams and nightmares apart. Above all, however, feelings remain registered in her mind, as states of mind, like the feeling of disappearing, or fragility, or more tangible feelings like scars as a consequence, for example, of a tattoo or allergy. One sees, for example, a woman’s face with dirty combs on her head, conveying a sense of disgust or a woman biting an apple that it is placed in her hands, is associated with feelings of anxiety anxiety. 

It is as if Tania Bedriñana was constructing a parallel world to show different private and personal aspects that survive everyday life, appearing from the surface of unconsciousness. She feels the need to exteriorize these aspects, trying to capture them at the very moment they emerge. Rather than the representation of a particular topic, it is about inaccurately defined experiences, subtle questions that remain registered, almost without noticing, in the body and the soul.

Translation: Deborah Phillips

Die Logik der Unbeständigkeit

Der Wechsel ist charakteristisch für den Lauf der Zeit, Wechsel ist Bewegung, Unbeständigkeit. Das Werk von Tania Bedriñana hat ganz besonders mit diesen Konzepten zu tun. Einerseits ist es der Künstlerin ein Bedürfnis, sich fast unmittelbar auszudrücken und so im präzisen Moment das Wahrgenommene umzusetzen. Andererseits ist ihr bewusst, dass nur das Vergehen der Zeit ihr die konstante Umwandlung der Bestandteile ihres Werkes sowie eine genaue handwerkliche Arbeit erlaubt, auf der Suche nach einer inneren Logik für ihre Arbeit

Die letzten drei Folgen, die Tania Bedriñana fertig gestellt hat, „Grund“, „Ser/Res“ und „Personanormal“ bestehen aus großen cut-outs oder aus Papier ausgeschnittenen Figuren, bemalt mit Ölfarben und Emulsionen, eingeweicht und gekratzt, in Form von Fragmenten menschlicher Körper (Köpfe, Oberkörper, Arme, Beine), die in großen Installationen an der Wand befestigt sind. Die Fragmente sind miteinander verbunden und es entstehen verschiedene Personen, die einen bestimmten Charakter annehmen, ein Leben führen in ihrer eigenen Welt, die vor unseren Blicken erscheint auf Grund verschiedener Assoziationen, Inhalte und Bedeutungen. Es sind Installationen, die nie zu einem abgeschlossenen Objekt werden, sie leben in einem Zustand latenten Wechsels, so dass sich oft sogar während der Montage neue Zusammenstellungen ergeben haben. Und deshalb werden die Elemente auch nach der Ausstellung sorgfältig geordnet und in der Atelier der Künstlerin aufbewahrt, als eine Art Repertoire, mit der Möglichkeit, in einer anderen Umgebung mit anderen Rollen und Bedeutungen wieder zu erscheinen.

Tania Bedriñana kann dem von ihr verwendeten, sehr widerstandsfähigen Karton, den sie nach seiner Porösität aussucht, ganz verschiedene Endbehandlung und Texturen geben; auf ihm verfließt eine sehr verdünnte Ölfarbe und Flecken, Kratzer und schwach gezeichnete Linien werden sichtbar. Wir haben es, das muss betont werden, mit einer bewussten Ablehnung einer im klassischen Sinne definierten Vollendung zu tun. So nimmt die Künstlerin z.B. ein Fragment, das eine Endbehandlung aufweist, die Arbeit mit Linien, Farbtönen, Lichteinfall usw. zeigt, und dreht es um, und was sich auf der Rückseite befindet, wird zu einer Entdeckung, die ihrer Arbeit viel mehr entspricht: das Papier hat das Öl der Farbe aufgesogen und auf der Rückseite einen Ölfleck hinterlassen, die Spur des ersten Impulses der Hand auf dem Papier; es ist kein Zufall, dass dieser Fleck da ist.

Der architektonische Raum ist nicht nur ein Rahmen oder Hintergrund, der das Werk ausstellt, beide treten in einen engen Dialog, durch den die Bedeutung der Installation erst hergestellt wird. So hängen die Position und die Beziehungen der Personen auch von dem Ort ab, an dem sie sich befinden, und die Wände werden in das Werk integriert, indem die dort vorgefundenen Mängel einbezogen werden: die Flecken nicht renovierter Wände werden z.B. als große Wasserflecken genutzt, die Löcher bilden Formen, die Linien bilden Fragmente von Personen oder Objekten. Die Formen erscheinen fast zufällig, aber werden danach mit großer Präzision bearbeitet.

Es handelt sich um ein Werk mit Bekenntnischarakter, das Gefühle, Bilder und Erinnerungen weckt, die im Zusammenhang mit dem menschlichen Verhalten stehen. Tania Bedriñana erforscht ihre persönliche Erfahrung und zeigt mit den Personen ihres Werks ihre Gedanken über geistige Prozesse und die Art und Weise, wie diese auf das Verhalten der Menschen Einfluss nehmen. Hierzu benutzt sie Teilstücke von Erinnerungen, aus der Realität oder der Fantasie, Szenen voller Aggression und Verletzlichkeit, Erinnerungen aus der Kindheit, Träume und Albträume. Aber es sind vor allem Gefühle, die in ihrem Bewusstsein bewahrt werden, das Gefühl des  Verschwindens oder der Zerbrechlichkeit, oder mehr körperliche Empfindungen, wie „Verletzungen“ der Haut, verursacht zum Beispiel durch Tätowierungen oder Allergien. Die Personen verweisen auf dieses gesamte Universum: das Gesicht einer Frau mit Kämmen im Haar verbindet sich mit einem Gefühl von Missstimmung, eine Frau, die einen Apfel abbeißt, den sie in den Händen hält, erzeugt einen Zustand der Unruhe.Es ist, als wenn Tania Bedriñana eine parallele Welt schafft, um eine Reihe von intimen und persönlichen Aspekten sichtbar zu machen, die die Alltäglichkeit überdauern, die aus dem Unbewussten kommen und bei denen sie die Notwendigkeit verspürt, sie mitzuteilen. Dabei versucht sie, diese in dem Augenblick zu fassen, in dem sie auftauchen. Mehr als um die Darstellung eines bestimmten Themas handelt es sich um Erleben, das keine präzise Definition hat, subtiles Geschehen, das in Körper und Seele fast unmerklich seine Spuren hinterlassen hat.

Übersetzung: Karin Erlenbach (Goethe Institut Lima)

La lógica de la inestabilidad

El cambio es una característica del paso del tiempo, el cambio es movimiento, inestabilidad. El trabajo de Tania Bedriñana está especialmente ligado a estos conceptos. Por un lado, la artista muestra la necesidad de expresarse de manera casi inmediata, materializando al instante lo que concibe. Por otro lado, tiene la conciencia que sólo el transcurso del tiempo le permite la transformación constante de los componentes de su obra, así como un minucioso trabajo material, en la búsqueda de una lógica interna para su trabajo.

Las tres últimas series realizadas por Tania Bedriñana, “Grund”, “Ser/Res” y “Personanormal”, están compuestas por grandes cut-outs o figuras recortadas en papel, pintadas con óleo y emulsiones, remojadas y raspadas, en forma de fragmentos de cuerpos humanos (cabezas, torsos, brazos, piernas), que son montados sobre la pared en grandes instalaciones. Los fragmentos son conectados y forman diversos personajes, los que van adquiriendo una personalidad determinada, una especie de vida en un mundo propio que va apareciendo a la vista mientras se configura en base a diversas asociaciones, contenidos y significados. Son instalaciones que nunca se cierran como objeto terminado, viven en un estado de latente cambio, es así que muchas veces incluso en el momento del desmontaje se han producido nuevos ensamblajes. Y es por ello que, una vez terminada la exposición, los elementos son cuidadosamente organizados y conservados en el taller de la artista, a manera de repertorio, con la posibilidad de aparecer en otro escenario, con diferentes roles y sentido.

El uso de un cartón bastante resistente, que es elegido según su porosidad, le permite a Tania Bedriñana dar numerosos tratamientos de acabado y textura, en él se desliza una pintura al óleo bastante diluida y se impregnan manchas, raspaduras y ligeras líneas de dibujo. Hay, debemos resaltarlo, un rechazo consciente al acabado definido de la pintura clásica, así por ejemplo, cuando un fragmento presenta un acabado en el que se nota el trabajo de líneas, tonos, luces, etc., inmediatamente lo voltea y lo que hay detrás se vuelve todo un descubrimiento más acorde con su trabajo: el papel ha absorbido el aceite del óleo dejando en la parte posterior la mancha de la grasa, la mancha del primer impulso de la mano sobre el papel, no es una casualidad que esté allí.

El espacio arquitectónico no es sólo un marco o fondo que contiene la obra, ambos se integran en un estrecho diálogo, que es el que configura el sentido de la instalación. De este modo, la disposición y las relaciones de los personajes también dependen del lugar en el que se encuentren, y las paredes son integradas al trabajo, interviniéndolas en base a las imperfecciones encontradas en su superficie: las manchas de paredes no restauradas, por ejemplo, son utilizadas a manera de grandes aguadas, los huecos configuran formas, las líneas se conforman en fragmentos de personajes u objetos. Las formas aparecen casi casualmente, pero luego conllevan un trabajo de gran precisión.

Se trata de una obra de carácter intimista, evocativa de sensaciones, imágenes y recuerdos relacionados al comportamiento humano. Tania Bedriñana explora en sus experiencias personales y, a través de los personajes de su obra, representa sus reflexiones sobre los procesos de la mente y la manera como ésta influye en la conducta de las personas. Para ello toma fracciones de recuerdos, de realidad y ficción, escenas de agresión y vulnerabilidad, remembranzas de infancia, sueños y pesadillas. Pero son sobre todo sensaciones las que quedan registradas en su mente, estados anímicos como el sentimiento de desaparecer o de fragilidad, o sensaciones más corporales como las “heridas” en la piel producto de, por ejemplo, tatuajes o alergias. Los personajes remiten a todo este universo: el rostro de una mujer con peines en la cabeza está asociado a un sentimiento de disgusto, una mujer mordiendo una manzana que lleva entre las manos se relaciona con los estados de ansiedad.

Es como si Tania Bedriñana construyera un mundo paralelo para mostrar una serie de aspectos íntimos y personales que sobreviven a la cotidianidad, que afloran del inconsciente y que siente la necesidad de exteriorizarlos, tratando de atraparlos en el instante en que aparecen. Más que la representación de un tema determinado, se trata de vivencias que no tienen una definición precisa, cuestiones sutiles que se quedan registradas, casi sin notarlo, en el cuerpo y en el alma. 

Text by Prof. Alejandro Alayza, 2007

es ❯

As a student in Lima, her work was marked by a curious insistence to narrate the entirety of her experience. She did so visually, expressing each beat of her pulse, her desires and intuitions. 

I was kind of scared since I realized that painting had completely taken her over.

I recall a smudgy drawing, realized using charcoal… I also remember some large oil paintings, all of them very doughy, and some works in pastel. All of these recollections came to mind when I saw her recent work: a whirlwind from afar, chockfull of delicate tenderness. Yet, at the same time, there is also immense physical interaction between the image and the space in which each element of the composition is placed. Remembrance is part of the past, but it is also infancy when is separated from its own bounds, transported to another dimension. Tania has discovered the fragility of art visual’s condition and the contingency of humanity. It is no longer merely an element, but, indeed, inherent to the nature of her images. 

I do not have words to express my admiration for how she simplifies the human condition and makes it palatable! This is due to how she succeeds in finding her own intimacy in each work and manages to express it in each piece.  

Tania perceives being an artist as the neccesity of showing the entirety of the greatness of space, not only what we directly perceive, but also the place where we dream, desire and possess. She strives to portray the essence of experience without losing the strength of subtlety.

Personanormal

Su trabajo fue, durante sus años de estudios en Lima, de una insistencia curiosa: narraba todas sus experiencias. El medio siempre fue la imagen; la figuración era para ella mostrar sus pulsaciones, sus deseos o sus intuiciones. Yo andaba asustado, pues el acto de pintar la había tomado toda entera, desde la cabeza a los pies. Era un dibujo pastoso, mayormente hecho con carbón vegetal. También sus grandes óleos eran todos muy pastosos, al igual que sus trabajos en pastel. 

Todo esto viene a cuento por las últimas imágenes suyas que he visto: van de una vorágine a una distancia inmensa, llenas de ternura delicada; pero, y parece ser el sino de esta muestra, también son de una inmensa interacción física de la imagen y el espacio en el que habitan. El recuerdo es ayer, pero también es infancia al desprenderse de su propio ámbito y transportarse a otra dimensión. Tania ha descubierto con claridad la fragilidad de la condición de la plástica, la contingencia de lo humano; pues ya no es solo un elemento, sino que es inherente a la condición de sus imágenes. Algo así como el agua es al pez.

¡Qué más puedo decir sino expresar mi admiración por ver cómo simplifica la vida! Es porque se representa con intención de llegar a su propia intimidad.

Ser artista es para Tania: intentar mostrar unida (opuesta a un mundo fragmentado) la grandiosidad del espacio; no solo aquel en el que habitamos, sino también aquel en el que soñamos, deseamos y tenemos, desde la sinceridad de la vivencia y la fuerza perenne de la sutilidad.

Text by Harm Lux, 2006

de ❯

Paper bodies, scattered across the white walls of the small polygonal attic studio, fill the space. Subtle differences in the handling of the paper, but also the kinds of paper are characteristic of Tania Bedrinana’s work; one becomes quickly aware of the importance of the sensual to this artist.

My eyes wander back and forth between the works in space, between the work and the artist. I ask myself, whom does she in-corporate into her works? Are they self-portraits, and if so, from which position does she bring herself to bear in them, which memory-images does she take up, which ones assume definite shape and appear in the work?

In her installation work, the spatial and sensual components predominate, the presentation as such. The way in which the artist has treated the paper and given it shape determines the first impression. This procedure leads one shape to tell, first and foremost, a story; another wants to “breathe” first; yet another, for instance, emphasizes first its sculptural form, and only then, by virtue of the holes present in it, that which is missing.

But ought I even to ask which of these works begins by telling its story? It is known that visually strong works, those which at first elude intellectual grasp and categorization, inscribe their image more lastingly; they “stick” the most. That which at first finds no place in our memories, that which maintains itself in suspension, does in the end find a basis for its categorization; and because we do not in the beginning have a name for that which floats freely, we call it an “accident” … which then exerts the greatest influence on our everyday lives!

After its spatial and sensual positioning, does Tania Bedrinana’s work steer our perception to the “skin” or rather to the composition; does it direct us to perceive at first the small individual shapes, or parts of the installation as such? Upon extended meditation, it seems as though the internal connection of the ideas behind the works is articulated best through the fragmented presentation of images.

Tania Bedrinana’s bodies float in front of the walls of the space. By virtue of this spatial expansion, she departs from the classical pictorial frame of reference, departs from the representation of light of painterly technique and metaphorical emphasis. In her works, the artist endows these bodies that embody the human being with a position we know best from social contexts; as though “small islands,” they float within a great structure, the oeuvre, in front of the walls of the studio / exhibition space. It is tempting to ask whether this opening-up, this act of deconstruction brings a greater individual freedom into play. Or do the old rules continue to determine the game and, at the same time, the value? Or again, does Tania Bedrinana emphasize with this “insular” positioning that we operate increasingly out of a state of solitude?

Upon extended contemplation of the work the fact stands out that the value of a work resides foremost in its interaction or act of negotiation with its vis-à-vis. It thus positions itself with respect to the other, and makes its individual contribution to the overarching narrative. From within their frames, expanded by painting, human beings, mythical creatures, and animals relate to each other. One could say that Tania Bedrinana is aware that relating to one another, in the sense of “mutual solidarity,” is the fundamental precondition of survival. The artist engages in a subtle and muted play here, for this joint storytelling, this sense of joint obligation to a matter of concern only slowly reveals its name; especially because the individual works originate in diverse worlds (from dreams, myths, reality) and so only slowly condense into form. We would do well, too, for our own and especially for the work’s sake, not to ask ourselves immediately what “cognitional gain” it contains. For perhaps the surplus value of this work finds its name first in empathy.

Moreover, we might ask ourselves-perhaps I bring up the question a little late, in this context-why we have a general predilection for the corporeal in art. Are individual stories best highlighted in corporeal visualization? Do we prefer to read our (hi)story from outwardly features?

In her work, Tania Bedrinana remains close also to the female body, from the cleansing power to the masquerade, from the red pain to the diamond. It happens frequently that related works receive quite different meanings. From one root grow the ramifications that are to enable new connections, but also to draw filiations. In another work, a woman who is turning her back to us, the spine and the lungs merge into one plexus of hair, into an emblem of fragility, merging with that of the dependence on clean oxygen.

During my visit to her studio, Tania Bedrinana repeatedly mentioned the importance of dream visions for her and her work, and their influence upon it; images that originate in her childhood (created in the reading of fairy-tales), but also images from the past few years, especially memories from movies. Perhaps this helps to explain Tania Bedrinana’s spatial expansions: can this realization of her dream-fragments-fragments from a fictional and illusory world-even be strained into one frame; will it yield to pressure, resolving into disambiguation and definiteness? Hardly.
In our conversation, she frequently called her works “skins,” shapes that are characterized by fragility and by metaphorical inscriptions. The legs function as markers in space, like customs officers at a border, witnesses to what passes before them. In another work, the mother surrenders her son to the beast, thus saving an entire village.
We had probably best conceive of Tania Bedrinana’s work as a “cadena,” a spatial chain, floating in front of the walls of the space; and yet every member quietly relates to the other, out of a knowledge that there is no life without the other, the neighbor, and that community and concatenation are the preconditions of a yet greater individual freedom.

Translation: Gerrit Jackson

Von Inseln und Empathie

Papierkörper, verteilt über die weißen Wände des kleinen mehreckigen Dachstudios, füllen den Raum. Das Werk Tania Bedrinanas ist durch eine subtile Differenzierung im Duktus, aber auch durch die Papiersorten selbst gekennzeichnet, schnell wird man sich bewusst, dass der Künstlerin viel am Sinnlichen gelegen ist. 

Meine Augen wandern zwischen dem Werk im Raum, dem Werk und der Künstlerin hin und her. Dabei frage ich mich, wen sie in ihre Arbeiten einbringt: Sind es Selbstportraits, und wenn ja, aus welcher Position heraus bringt sie sich ein, an welche Erinnerungsbilder knüpft sie an, welche von ihnen nehmen Form an und erscheinen im Werk?

In der installativen Arbeit überwiegen die räumlichen und sinnlichen Komponenten, die Präsentation an sich. Die Art und Weise, wie die Künstlerin das Papier bearbeitet und geformt hat, bestimmt den ersten Eindruck. Diese Arbeitsweise führt dazu, dass die eine Form als erstes eine Geschichte erzählt, eine andere möchte als erstes “atmen”, eine andere wiederum betont z.B. zuerst ihre Skulpturalität und dann erst durch die in ihr präsenten Löcher das Fehlende.

Soll ich aber überhaupt danach fragen, welche dieser Arbeiten als erstes zu erzählen beginnt? Man weiß, dass sich visuell starke Werke, diejenigen, die sich zunächst unseren Gedanken und der Einordnung entziehen, längerfristiger einschreiben, am längsten “hängen bleiben”. Das, was in unserem Gedächtnis zuerst keinen Platz findet, was zunächst davon lebt, dass es in der Schwebe bleibt, stößt langfristig doch auf Einordnungs-Gründe, und weil wir es (das Freischwebende) anfänglich nicht zu benennen wissen, nennen wir es “Zufall”… dieser nimmt dann einen enormen Einfluss auf unseren Alltag!

Lenkt Tania Bedrinanas Werk nach der räumlich-sinnlichen Positionierung unsere Wahrnehmung auf die “Haut” oder eher auf die Komposition, lenkt es die Wahrnehmung zuerst auf die kleinen individuellen Formen oder auf Teile der Installation an sich? Bei längerer Betrachtung scheint es, als ob sich die Zusammengehörigkeit – der hinter den Werken stehenden Gedanken – am besten durch die fragmentarische Bildpräsentation artikuliert.

Tania Bedrinanas Körper schweben vor den Wänden des Raumes. Durch diese räumliche Erweiterung bricht sie mit den klassischen malerischen Bezugsrahmen, bricht mit der maltechnischen und metaphorisch pointierten Wiedergabe von Licht. Die Künstlerin gibt in ihren Arbeiten den Körpern, die den Menschen verkörpern, eine Position, die wir am besten aus gesellschaftlichen Zusammenhängen kennen; wie “kleine Inseln” schweben sie in einer großen Struktur, dem Werk, vor den Wänden des Studios / Ausstellungsraumes. Man ist versucht, zu fragen, ob durch diese Öffnung, ob durch diesen Akt der Dekonstruktion eine größere individuelle Freiheit ins Spiel kommt. Oder bestimmen die alten Regeln noch immer das Spiel und zu gleicher Zeit auch den Wert? Oder aber betont Tania Bedrinana mit diesen „Insel”-Positionen, dass wir vermehrt aus dem Alleinsein heraus operieren? 

Bei längerer Betrachtung des Werks fällt auf, dass der Wert einer Arbeit vor allem in der Interaktion oder Ver-handlung mit dem Gegenüber liegt. Dadurch positioniert es sich in Hinsicht auf den anderen, und liefert seinen jeweiligen Beitrag zur Gesamterzählung. In ihren malerisch erweiterten Rahmen beziehen sich Menschen, Fabelwesen und Tiere aufeinander. Man könnte behaupten, dass Tania Bedrinana sich bewusst ist, dass das Sich-aufeinander-beziehen im Sinne einer “gegenseitigen Solidarität” die Grundvoraussetzung darstellt, um überleben zu können. Die Künstlerin spielt hier ein feines und leises Spiel, denn das Zusammen-eine-Geschichte-erzählen, Zusammen-an-etwas-arbeiten, Sich-zusammen-einer-Sache-verpflichtet-fühlen benennt sich nur langsam, vor allem, weil die individuellen Arbeiten aus diversen Welten stammen (aus Traum, Fabel, Realität) und sich daher erst langsam verdichten. Auch täte es uns, aber vor allem dem Werk, gut, wenn wir uns nicht sofort fragen würden, was es an “Erkenntnisgewinn” beinhaltet. Denn vielleicht benennt sich der Mehrwert dieses Werks zuerst durch die Empathie.

Weiterhin könnten wir uns auch fragen – vielleicht werfe ich die Frage in diesem Kontext ein bisschen spät auf -, wieso wir in der Kunst im allgemeinen ein Faible für das Körperliche haben. Lassen sich die individuellen Geschichten am besten durch körperliche Visualisierungen hervorheben? Lesen wir unsere Geschichte am liebsten am Äußerlichen ab? 

In ihrem Werk bleibt Tania Bedrinana auch dem weiblichen Körper sehr nahe, von der reinigenden Kraft bis zur Maskerade, vom roten Schmerz bis zum Diamanten. Es passiert öfters, dass verwandten Arbeiten jeweils ganz andere Bedeutungen zufallen. Aus einer Wurzel heraus wächst die Verästelung, die neue Bindungen ermöglichen, aber auch Fäden ziehen soll. In einer anderen Arbeit, in der uns eine Frau den Rücken zukehrt, verschmelzen Rückgrat und Lungen, werden zu einem sinnlichen Haargeflecht, werden zum Sinnbild für Fragilität, verschmelzen mit dem der Abhängigkeit von sauberem Sauerstoff. 

Während des Atelierbesuchs erwähnte Tania Bedrinana mehrmals die Bedeutung und den Einfluss von Traumbildern auf sie und auf ihr Werk. Bilder, die aus ihrer Kindheit stammen (entstanden durch das Lesen von Märchen), aber auch Bilder der letzten Jahre, vor allem Erinnerungen an Kinofilme. Vielleicht hilft das, Tania Bedrinanas räumliche Erweiterungen zu erklären: Kann die Umsetzung ihrer Traumfragmente – Fragmente einer fiktionalen und illusionären Welt – überhaupt in einen Rahmen gepresst werden, darf man dieser eine Eindeutigkeit und Definitivität abzwingen? Wohl kaum.

Im Gespräch benannte sie ihre Arbeiten öfters als “Häute”, Formen, die sich durch Fragilität und metaphorische Zuweisungen auszeichnen. Die Beine funktionieren als Markierung im Raum, wie der Zöllner an der Grenze, Zeuge des Vorbeiziehens. In einer anderen Arbeit liefert die Mutter ihren Sohn an die Bestie aus, dadurch ein ganzes Dorf schützend.

Es ist wohl das beste, wenn wir Tania Bedrinanas Werk als eine “Cadena”, als eine räumliche Kette auffassen, die vor den Wänden des Raumes schwebt, und in der doch jedes Glied still auf das andere Bezug nimmt, wissend, dass man ohne den anderen, ohne den Nachbarn nicht auskommen kann, wissend auch, dass das Kommunitäre und die Verkettung Voraussetzungen für eine noch größere individuelle Freiheit sind.

Text by Michael Markwick, 2006

String Theory is a theory in physics that is tied to a more commonly known Theory of Everything. Through physics, research is being done to search for a theory that unites all things in our existence. Interestingly, in this exhibit, there is little science, but we do grasp a unified theory behind the work of the Dutch American artist Michael Markwick, and the work Peruvian artist Tania Bedriñana. If there is a String Theory or Theory of Everything, in these installations and paintings it lies in fear, anxiety, loss of identity, the alien, foreigner, and perhaps violence and vulnerability. It might also be looked at as a darker view of the present: our theory of everything, or all that seems to string us together, is our destruction of our communities. 

In this drawing installation Michael Markwick chooses a graphic line in which he plays with the notion of a drawing „string“ or „line.“  Here, somewhat abstract but iconic forms flow through the space: bleeding organs, cities, and planets fall from the sky, reality literally is turned upside down. A skull peers out from underneath a form, while a noose hangs ready in open question. The work culminates into a ceiling of growing cloud-like, and body-like forms, the bones cleaned from digestion; the viewer may notice the remains about to be dropped on them. Cosmic and yet grounded heaven and hell are merged and difficult to separate. In contrast to the graphic drawing in the front space, the back room offers a series of paintings on transparent vellum. These paintings are light, fluid, and yet iconic, conjuring feelings of bombs, clouds, tents, and horizon lines. His theory is open and growing; we are asked to formulate our own conclusions.  Yet death waits around nearly every corner in this work. The words, „playful eschatology“ come to mind. 

Tania Bedriñana’s work contrasts the work of Markwick by shifting to delicate painting and collage techniques. The hanging works are physically tied with various strings, suspended from the ceiling and interconnected with subtle drawn lines. Each figure painted has its own character, holding onto masks, losing them, or wearing them to take on new identity. Strings of narrative also take form in the installation and interestingly we see that a  sort of game is played, both by the Peruvian artist in her placement, but also perhaps in the process of creation, in which found objects are used in their making.  She has strung together painting and found objects to create a powerful vision of vulnerability and terror. 

Her figures grow when the viewer goes around the corner – naked and closer to life size. The viewer is now on level with the characters, witness to their reality. Tania uses the room’s damage in her drawings, integrating them into her story – holes serve as open wounds, rescue is far from possible. The figures assume power and are determined to overcome a landscape where wolves are running wild.

Text by Vera Beyer, 2002

de ❯

Paintings are rectangular. So are walls. In this case, the wall becomes a painting. Figures go beyond this surface, beyond the edges of the picture, becoming part of the walls‘ surface. The white in them becomes part of the background. In back of them, however, is what they emerge from. The space between these figures suggests depth. Yet this depth is contained within a wall’s surface. The spatial play created in the space between figures opens up the ‚un-depth‘ of the wall for viewers to behold. This is the space that painting inhabits, a space that seems to be both in front of, and behind that wall. This is how painting alters how viewers perceive space: as soon as a viewer enters the space where the paintings can be viewed, they are in that painting, playing a role in it. This interaction between spaces is also reflected in how video functions: it is seen on a projected surface that appears to be on another plane than the wall, taking up space.

One can, eventually, no longer distinguish between fades and real movement in space. This idea is familiar from films that are made entirely out of series of photographs. Such films evoke what occurred in the time that elapsed, seen, in this instance, in individual, self-contained images of a moment in time. Yet, in this instance, the pictures are drawings; these are images that require time to be realised. Traces of memory, and the reconstruction thereof, ergo the passage of time, become visible in each, individual picture. It is never complete, never really finished. A picture takes time. Time passes during the period in which a picture is made as well as in the series that reflects a specific development. It is not, therefore, a matter of whether one is discussing an individual picture, or a series of a number of images. A painting is, actually, a lot of pictures at once.

Paintings expand into space and time stretches into paintings. It is impossible to determine where a painting stops and where another starts, whether in space or in time, because a painting is infinite…

Translation: Deborah Phillips

Bilder gehen nicht zu Ende

Ein Bild ist ein Rechteck. Eine Wand auch. Hier wird die Wand zum Bild. Die Figuren überschreiten, überlaufen, übergehen den Rand eines Bildes und besiedeln die Fläche der Wand. Ihr Weiß wird zum Grund; zum Hintergrund vor dem sich die Figuren abzeichnen, aus dem sie heraustreten, von dem sie sich abheben – oder auch zum Vordergrund, hinter den sie zurücktreten. Zwischen den Figuren in ihren Größenverhältnissen spannt sich ein Raum auf, der Eindruck von Distanz entsteht. Figuren stehen in der Tiefe der Wand. Das räumliche Spiel, die räumliche Distanz zwischen den Figuren eröffnen einen Raum in der Untiefe der Wand. Die Malerei nimmt den Raum ein. Sie spielt sich vor und, scheinbar, hinter der Oberfläche der Wand ab. So erstreckt sich Malerei in den Raum des Betrachters – der Betrachter ist, sobald er den Raum betritt, im Bild – figuriert im Bild, spielt eine Rolle darin.

Dieses Spiel der Überlagerung von Raumebenen spielt auch das Video aus, dessen Projektionsfläche, bezeichnenderweise aus der Wand herausgelöst, im Raum steht. Die Tiefe der Fläche wird so allerseits offensichtlich. Denn tief ist diese Fläche. In ihr stapeln sich unzählige Zeichnungen – überlagern sich, als sei es ein Daumenkino: tiefere Schichten bleiben im Auge, wenn andere sie schon überlagern. Ein Grund überlagert den nächsten, Figuren verschwinden im Hintergrund. Eine Figur hat verschiedene, wechselnde Gründe. Film unter die Zeitlupe genommen. Überblendungen sind von Bewegung kaum mehr zu unterschieden. Im Prinzip kennt man dies aus Filmen die sich aus Photographien zusammensetzen. Dort erfindet die Erinnerung ihre Geschichte in der Zwischenzeit – zwischen einzelnen abgeschlossenen Momentaufnahmen. Hier jedoch handelt es sich um Zeichnungen. Ihre Entstehung nimmt Zeit in Anspruch. Die Spur der Erinnerung, und deren Rekonstruktion, kurz der Lauf der Zeit, ist hier schon im Einzelbild sichtbar. Es ist nicht vollständig, nie fertig. Ein Bild dauert. Zeit vergeht in Verlauf eines Bildes sowie im Laufe der Bilder. So ist nicht zu sagen ob es sich um die Entstehung eines oder vieler Bilder handelt. Ein Bild sind viele Bilder.

Bilder erstrecken sich in den Raum und die Zeit erstreckt sich ins Bild. Es ist nicht festzustellen wo ein Bild aufhört und wo ein anderes anfängt – weder im Raum noch in der Zeit. Das Bild geht nicht zu Ende.