Curator: Lara Marmor
3.11.16 - 6.1.17
A mass made of hundreds of kilos of metal threads is suspended in space: it is the cloud of a leaden sky, the smoke of a pile of burned garbage, a hurricane of compact walls, the smoke of an industrial chimney that spreads over our heads. Andrés Waissman takes the space to assemble a monumental construction. The artist presents a radical version of his works made of wood chips. Unlike previous works where the material is deployed on a frame in front of the viewer, this time it builds a huge conglomerate in the upper part of the room.
This work could be thought of as a consequence of a rethinking of painting as an isolated space from the viewer. This reconfiguration of the aesthetic experience ensures a forceful approach to the reality that the artist wants to share, because the lush corporeity of the work
inevitably it touches us.
The expansion of the thin metal strips invites us to experience chaos in a corporeal way, it has the power to intensify our awareness of being in the world, but being - in contact with the roughness and cold of metal - in a dramatic way in middle of a pre or post apocalypse state.
The use of a material such as shavings, which is nothing more than pure industrial waste, expresses the artist's desire to share his vision of certain circumstances of the time. It is the expression of the aridity and spiritual dispossession that sometimes invades us. The representation of a tangle, a
A crowd that moves aimlessly, a stain that clouds ideas Does it express the failure of politics?
If art often works as a refuge, this work is not exactly a place of shelter. George Bataille in 1930 wrote “One of these days, it is true, the dust, because it persists, will begin to triumph over the maids, invading with immense rubble the abandoned buildings, the deserted docks: in that distant time nothing will survive to save of night terrors, for whose lack we have become such good accountants ... "
While the thick gray mass is suspended, the rust is detached and the dust particles fall as if they were ashes or vestiges of a civilization that seems to be falling apart. Although of course ... after overcasting the sky always clears up.