Reverences to hallucinated realism

In the beginning was the Word. Thus, like the Gospel According to Saint John of the New Testament, the exhibition in the Cronopios room of the Recoleta Cultural Center begins. There, in what we might think of as the narthex of a church —that welcoming space between the exterior and the interior of a basilica—are located all the pages of the book Carroña última forma (Carrion, the Last Form), which gives the exhibition its title, by the Argentine poet Leónidas Lamborghini . A beginning in the key of reading what will come a few steps later.

Lamborghini's emblematic text, written in the turbulent local context of 2001, proposes a wandering that, in its form, deconstructs and reconstructs meanings, spaces, and language. Complex and striking in its visuality (poetry since Mallarmé has recognized the plasticity of blank spaces and words to produce new meanings), it speaks of carrion as that which persists , as a possible configurative form; therefore, of an aesthetic and an ethic.

Because this exhibition of 38 works and 11 great artists, curated by Carla Barbero and Javier Villa , constitutes an essay to think about the past, present and future of a society, based on a selection of artists who overlap generationally from the 1930s to the present.

“Carroña última forma is organized as a spatial experiment that pivots on the ambivalence between iconoclasm and image veneration . A paradox that runs through the forms of hallucinated realism, where excessive material explorations don't seek to represent the world, but to make it explode. In these works, the image doesn't illustrate; it raises the volume,” Barbero and Villa write.

The spatiality of the great hall suggests the journey of a pagan worshipper, if I may use the oxymoron. Between iconoclasm and veneration, words and images constantly amplify meanings and create new ones from the possibilities of the intermediate spaces. The architectural design of the hall, preserved and emphasized by the curators, combined with the exhibition layout, is reminiscent of the floor plan of a basilica church.

Carrion, Last Form is an illuminating proposal for understanding the interaction between art, society, and politics within a local timeline. Located at the beginning of the "central nave," we see a dazzling altar with a triad of works, at the apex of which is Raquel Forner 's La Victoria (Victory) from 1939. This painting depicts the dismembered body of a naked woman with a sculptural appearance (somewhere between a classical Venus and the iconography of Jesus crucified), amidst small surrounding scenes of despair and execution. Below her, on this altar with a circular base, are Antonio Berni 's Torture and War (War) , both from 1976. These two assemblages (unseen to the public until two years ago) confront us with the sinister, physical suffering, and cruelty. We could think of an altar of horror , especially of history and memory.

Along the way, we are presented with large wooden supports from behind, like the pews of a church upon entering. To view the hanging works, we must turn our heads. On one side are the paintings of Verónica Gómez and, on the other, the works of Santiago O. Rey, both looking at the artistic references located on the altar. Gómez proposes fantastical, grotesque characters and the representation of bodily organs, from his series Metaphysical Achuras , creating a universe where metaphor is reproduced between references to art history and diverse narrative forms. Santiago Rey 's paintings intertwine assemblage, visual narration, and social criticism through a composition that at first appears poetic.

Upon reaching the "altar," the route forks. To the right, we find Marcia Schvartz 's installation "Berniadas " (2001), featuring newspaper clippings, cardboard, paint cans, spatulas, garbage bags, and other waste generated by consumerism, as a tribute to Berni and a testament to the political, economic, and social crisis of the early 20th century. Or "El ambiente" (The Environment ) (2014), a work between the economy and institutional violence. From there, another area opens up with Tobías Dirty 's collection, framed within issues of gender, sexuality, the underground, and pagan practices, as the curators indicate. Throughout, politics is present, even in the literal meaning of some of his work titles, such as "Tragedia de Cromagnon" (Cro-Magnon Tragedy) and "Ley de Convertibilidad" (Convertibility Law), with that "sensual and monstrous" imagery.

Throughout the exhibition, clear and precise texts about the artists are offered. To the left of the altar, an emancipatory and feminine triad unfolds: Maresca/Stern/Meloni. The curators recreated Liliana Maresca 's work Public Image - High Spheres (1993), which took place at the Centro Recoleta and ended on the Costanera Sur. The large black and white photographs depict the artist's body, some of it nude, amidst the faces of contemporary political figures and military personnel from the last dictatorship. The images are placed among rubble, resembling the ruins/waste of the country's politics and society. "The body as a catalyst for social trauma in Argentine art," the curators point out. These are followed by Grete Stern 's giant photographs from her series of photomontages based on women's dreams from the 1940s, which brought together art history and gender perspectives in a surrealist vein at an early stage. While Verónica Meloni 's video “embodies urban and gender tensions in public space.”

Past and present. And the future? This exhibition, as the curators maintain, turns up the volume. Let's listen, because "it's up to us to invent the near future," Lucrecia Martel recently said. "A future we like, let's try to invent a future that isn't just the apocalypse (…)" the filmmaker emphasized.

We read in Lamborghini's text: "Things don't end if they aren't ended" (each letter written vertically on a line). Where to begin? The Cronopios room is a possible starting point. In a display case, we still find materials from The Manuscript May Also Be Missing —exhibited for the first time in Argentina—by Osvaldo Lamborghini (Leonidas's brother), where the experimentation between writing, drawings, collages, photographs, and paintings multiplies and imagines other combinations. Starting here would be a powerfully creative first option.