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)