11-02-2019

(Español) Relatorías. Encuentros Laav_ 18

Sorry, this entry is only available in Español.

Investigaciones híbridas: entre lo académico y lo museístico. Elena Sánchez Nagore.

Relatoría gráfica. Coral Bullón

Relatoría gráfica. Zoe Hernández

Encuentros Laav_ 18. Pablo Coca


Investigaciones híbridas: entre lo académico y lo museístico. Elena Sánchez Nagore.

Febrero 2019

La universidad y el museo. Alguien allí presente las definió como dos estructuras monstruosas sometidas a la lógica capitalista, lastradas por las políticas antiguas de la vieja modernidad y aisladas en sí mismas. No era el más esperanzador de los escenarios para arrancar los Encuentros Laav_18. Museos y Universidad. Investigar en un espacio híbrido, que pretendían precisamente tender puentes entre las dos instituciones a través de la participación ciudadana y de la experimentación audiovisual, pero dejaba claro que existía un muro por romper y un camino por construir.  

El Laboratorio de Antropología Audiovisual Experimental[1] del Museo de Arte Contemporáneo de Castilla y León convocó en noviembre de 2018 a docentes, investigadores, artistas, galeristas y estudiantes[2] para quebrar ese muro e imaginar ese camino. A partir de notas tomadas durante esas jornadas, este texto pretende rescatar algunas de las ideas que salieron a relucir en la reunión, en la que se trató de dar respuesta de forma colectiva a varias preguntas clave: ¿Es posible llevar a cabo una investigación desde el ámbito académico que se desligue de lo textual? ¿Ofrece el museo ese campo de libertad a la universidad? ¿Qué podría hacerse para romper la dinámica estanca que aleja a las facultades de los centros de arte, aunque sea desde la utopía?

La hipótesis de un espacio común

Las tensiones entre el arte, la ciencia y los espacios de legitimación vienen de lejos, y adquieren especial visibilidad hoy en museos y universidades, organismos que, al tiempo que alientan la innovación y el descubrimiento en sus respectivos campos de conocimiento, demandan un sometimiento al canon. Ambas instituciones se rigen por sus propias reglas, a veces contradictorias, y ponerlas a dialogar, como era el propósito de los Encuentros Laav_18, no parecía sencillo. Ni siquiera las facultades de Bellas Artes, Educación, Comunicación Audiovisual y Antropología, representadas en la reunión para construir en común, comparten entre ellas los mismos objetivos y metodologías. El reto consistía, entonces, en encontrar una vía en la que los saberes y herramientas de cada disciplina pudieran enriquecerse mutuamente, revirtiendo en el museo al mismo tiempo que el museo revirtiera en ellas. Esbozar un marco compartido para la investigación social, abierto a las comunidades y enfocado al trabajo colectivo, para acercarse a la realidad a través de la creación.

Como recuerda Néstor García Canclini[3], “construir espacios en los que el saber y la creación puedan desplegarse con autonomía es una de las de las utopías más enérgicas de la cultura moderna, desde Galileo a las universidades contemporáneas, de los artistas del renacimiento hasta las vanguardias”. Por lo antagónico de sus propósitos, los procesos que constituyen la modernidad están condenados a entrar en conflicto y a convivir con crispación, sometidos siempre a presiones que chocan entre sí relacionadas con la sofisticación, la difusión, la autenticidad o el rendimiento económico. Al artista se le pide independencia, pero a la vez se requiere su encaje en la maquinaria. La academia exige rigor, pero busca trascender. Los centros de arte desean conectar con el público, pero con frecuencia siguen siendo percibidos como espacios cerrados. Estas y otras cuestiones afloraron en los encuentros Laav_18, donde se revisaron algunas de las causas que obstaculizan que facultades y museos acompasen sus ritmos.  

Tal y como se constató en los encuentros, el sistema de investigación de la universidad, jerárquico, competitivo, autorreferencial y sometido de forma permanente a la validación de la ANECA[4], dificulta que profesores y alumnos se desvinculen de la lógica del currículum para involucrarse en proyectos externos, en este caso museísticos. Cuando las carreras profesionales se miden en congresos y papers resulta complicado trabajar al margen de la meritocracia y los índices de impacto. Los créditos ECTS[5], que cuantifican la productividad en horas, no ayudan. Tampoco lo hacen las exigencias del mundo exterior, que condicionan los proyectos académicos o la oferta de titulaciones a su encaje en el mercado.  

En el campo concreto de las Bellas Artes, los ponentes subrayaron que existe una fuerte división entre teóricos y creadores, abonada por la disparidad de las leyes académicas y museísticas, que entorpece el desarrollo de propuestas originales y la ruptura de esta dicotomía forzada. En el de la Antropología, subsiste cierta iconofobia[6] que tiende a relegar las imágenes a una mera función ilustrativa e impide que las investigaciones visuales sean mayoritariamente aceptadas como un formato del todo válido para la transmisión del conocimiento científico. El texto, ya sea en el catálogo de una exposición con su necesario ISBN o en un artículo indexado que razona la metodología empleada en un trabajo etnográfico experimental, todavía manda en la universidad. No obstante, los enfoques híbridos propician el nacimiento de ideas nuevas que permiten avanzar. Como propuesta para desarrollarlas, el Laboratorio de Antropología Audiovisual Experimental invitó a utilizar el museo como espacio para la investigación social.  

El trabajo del Laav, un posible puente entre dos mundos

Desde su creación en 2016, el laboratorio del Musac combina herramientas artísticas y de las ciencias sociales para trabajar con comunidades en proyectos de investigación. Sus trabajos, enfocados a la autorrepresentación de los colectivos que participan en ellos, incorporan metodologías pedagógicas, etnográficas y audiovisuales, pero a la vez se sirven del arte para acercarse a lo real. En ese cruce de perspectivas se han gestado en los últimos años grupos de trabajo como La Rara Troupe, Teleclub, Puta Mina, Libertad u Hostal España. Proyectos colaborativos que generan textos y vídeos y que, pese a abordar temas tan dispares como la salud mental, la cultura rural, la memoria minera, la guerra civil o las personas mayores, comparten una apuesta común por la narración crítica, polifónica y experimental.   

Para quienes hemos abordado la antropología con herramientas audiovisuales desde el ámbito académico, como es mi caso, las propuestas del Laav resultan inspiradoras como ejemplo de obras reflexivas y sociales que pueden llevarse a cabo desde fuera de la academia aplicando tanto técnicas que proceden de ella como recursos ajenos. Es el caso de la película Puta Mina (2018)[7], cuya versión definitiva se estrenó en el Musac durante los encuentros tras haber girado por varios festivales. Nació por iniciativa de la antropóloga Conchi Unanue apoyada por el Laav, pero se diseñó y construyó por las personas que intervinieron en ella como una obra de autoría compartida. A través de las conversaciones entre varias mujeres mineras de la cuenca del Gordón (León), la cinta saca a la luz las vivencias y recuerdos de quienes jamás bajaron al pozo a faenar, pero que sin embargo convivieron a diario con ese duro oficio, hoy en extinción, que marcó la vida de la comunidad durante medio siglo. Se trata de un relato femenino crudo, incómodo, contrahegemónico, alejado de las frías crónicas de los periódicos sobre el desmantelamiento de la industria del carbón, pero también de las narraciones de los propios mineros, hombres, a veces esquivas con la cara menos amable y heroica de la mina y la lucha obrera.

Cuando se proyectó en León pudo adivinarse su impacto por el clima que se generó en el patio de butacas. Hubo personas que abandonaron la sala y otras que tomaron la palabra para compartir su emoción y agradecimiento. Superando la simple representación binaria del Otro través del género, parecía que Puta mina había conseguido revertir una pequeña parcela de poder, en este caso narrativa, que era a la vez muy específica y local. Y lo estaba haciendo desde el museo. Quizás, pese a la desconfianza inicial que generaba la capacidad de esta institución para conectar con la calle y desbordar sus márgenes, había motivos para el optimismo. Quizás, ese deseado encuentro entre lo antropológico, lo artístico y lo colectivo no quedaba tan lejos.

Algunas propuestas para avanzar

Como se puso de relieve durante los Encuentros Laav_18, toda etnografía es en sí colaborativa, ya que siempre sale a buscar el objeto de estudio fuera de la institución. También existe una relación antigua entre la antropología y los museos, en la que la primera ha suministrado a menudo material a los segundos. Por ello, las metodologías de la disciplina pueden ayudar hoy a estudiar qué artefactos son los que entran en los centros expositivos y, sobre todo, cómo se producen.

Aunque por lo general las facultades de antropología y los museos se desenvuelven en ecosistemas cerrados y resulta difícil mezclarlos, existen iniciativas que tratan de buscar convergencias. Además del Laav, en los encuentros se mencionó la Muestra de Antropología Audiovisual de Madrid, que cada año proyecta una selección de películas con vocación etnográfica en el Museo Nacional de Antropología. Organizada por el Instituto de Antropología de Madrid en colaboración con este centro, se desarrolla en un espacio abierto al público que facilita el acceso a quienes no están necesariamente vinculados a ninguna de las dos instituciones. En su última edición incorporó además una sección dedicada a trabajos audiovisuales realizados por estudiantes, permitiendo el visionado y el debate en torno a obras de creadores no profesionales, trabajos de alumnos o ensayos fotográficos y audiovisuales gestados dentro de la academia que normalmente no encuentran en ella su cauce para ser difundidos.

En ese sentido, en los Encuentros Laav_18 se convino que la universidad puede superar la rigidez de su burocracia y de sus canales de transmisión tradicionales y servirse de la flexibilidad del museo para dar visibilidad a sus proyectos. También ayudar a diseñar propuestas específicas destinadas en origen a su exhibición fuera del campus desde distintas áreas del conocimiento, como el arte, la antropología, la comunicación audiovisual o la educación. El contexto propicia, sin duda, un campo de libertad extra no necesariamente reñido con el rigor.

Sin embargo, ninguna de estas opciones, que devuelven desde la universidad al museo lo que este les brinda en forma de información, archivos y espacios, contribuye en última instancia a liberar del todo la investigación social y artística de la institucionalización. Los ponentes invitados recalcaron que los comisarios de los centros de arte han de justificar sus proyectos ante sus financiadores de maneras muy concretas, mientras que el sistema de acumulación de méritos por el que se rige la academia induce a profesores y alumnos a participar en actividades computables y a excluir el resto por una cuestión de falta de tiempo. De alguna manera, los procesos acaban siendo mediados por normas que se dan la espalda. Como se expresó en los encuentros, si se desea una transformación esta debe venir desde dentro, buscando resquicios en las estructuras oficiales de legitimación que permitan revertir el trabajo colectivo invertido entre todos los eslabones de la cadena creativa.

Afortunadamente, es posible que la colaboración entre museos y universidades cristalice de muchas maneras. Más allá de las muestras y las proyecciones, quizás los formatos más habituales en los que se produce ese acercamiento entre los dos mundos, en los Encuentros Laav_18 se propuso canalizar ese esfuerzo común a través de encuentros de intercambio de saberes, grupos de investigación multidisciplinares o espacios nómadas de exhibición que salgan a la calle. Se barajó el diseño compartido de cursos de extensión universitaria y de cursos en línea masivos y gratuitos[8] como una forma de propiciar la apertura de los contenidos desde la docencia, al tiempo que se recordó la importancia de dar forma a posibles talleres tras escuchar las demandas de las comunidades participantes en vez de someterlos a esquemas concebidos a priori. También desde una perspectiva pedagógica, se instó a que los proyectos de antropología audiovisual establecieran lazos con la educación no solo universitaria, sino secundaria, en la línea seguida por el grupo de trabajo Libertad, que involucró a adolescentes en un trabajo de memoria histórica empleando herramientas de vídeo analógico. Todo parecía conducir, en definitiva, a huir de estructuras rígidas y mostrarse permeable a escenarios imprevistos para explorar lo colectivo, aunque estos apenas estén esbozados. Tras asistir durante dos días a la exposición de sugerencias, ideas e incertidumbres, quienes acudimos en noviembre a León nos fuimos con la certeza de que no había una sola fórmula de experimentar, sino múltiples.

Ni las investigaciones sociales de carácter audiovisual que surgen al abrigo de la universidad ni las que se gestan desde el museo se libran de momento de su adscripción al texto. La justificación teórica sigue siendo requerida en ambos contextos, incluso cuando estos se hibridan, pero eso no impide que este tipo de trabajos se desarrolle y continúe explorando vías nuevas de representación cultural que se desliguen de la palabra escrita. Mi experiencia personal como autora del primer TFM[9] audiovisual dentro del Máster en Investigación en Antropología y sus Aplicaciones (UNED), que en principio no contemplaba este formato como soporte de entrega, fue complicada pero satisfactoria. El reto nos animó a Sara Sama, mi directora, y a mí a buscar la manera de que este proyecto pudiera ser evaluado como el resto en un entorno no necesariamente especializado, lo que exigió la elaboración de un texto teórico adicional en el que se detallaban los objetivos, retos y metodología empleados. Pese a las dificultades, pudimos llevar a cabo la tarea con éxito, lo que nos demostró que existen formas de revertir los obstáculos y maneras gratificantes de sacar adelante investigaciones híbridas. Puede que los espacios en las que estas tienen cabida sean todavía escasos, pero quizás ese sea el estímulo para continuar imaginándolos.   

NOTAS

[1] El Laboratorio de Antropología Audiovisual Experimental, coordinado por Chus Domíngez, creador audiovisual, y Belén Sola, responsable del Departamento de Educación y Acción Cultural del MUSAC, es un espacio para la investigación y la creación desarrollado desde el DEAC MUSAC.

[2] Entre los ponentes invitados a los Encuentros Laav_18 figuraban, entre otros, Diego del Pozo, artista, productor cultural y profesor en la Facultad de Bellas Artes en la Universidad de Salamanca; Víctor del Río, ensayista y profesor de Teoría del Arte en la Universidad de Salamanca; Alberto Santamaría, poeta y director del Departamento de Historia del arte/Bellas Artes en la Universidad de Salamanca; Olaia Fontal, profesora en la Facultad de Educación de la Universidad de Valladolid; Lorenzo Bordonaro, doctor en Antropología y artista; Sara Sama-Acedo, profesora de Antropología en la UNED; y Javier Fernández, director de cine y profesor asociado en el Dpto. de Comunicación Audiovisual de la Universidad Carlos III. El texto recopila ideas aportadas por todos ellos e incorpora algunas nuevas.

[3] García Canclini, N. (1990). De las utopías al mercado. En Culturas híbridas. Estrategias para entrar y salir de la modernidad. Capítulo I (pp. 31-63). México. D.F.: Grijalbo.

[4] Agencia Nacional de Evaluación de la Calidad y Acreditación.

[5] European Credit Transfer System.

[6] Castaing-Taylor, L. (1996). Iconophobia: How Anthropology Lost It at The Movies. Transition No. 69 (1996), pp. 64-88.

[7] Puta mina (2018) fue desarrollado por Laura Alonso, Raquel Balbuena, Chus Domínguez, Mari Fernández, Áurea González, Belén Sola, Cristina Turrado, Conchi Unanue, Mercedes Ordás.

[8] MOOC (Massive Open On-line Course)​ o CEMA (Curso En línea Masivo y Abierto), en castellano.

[9] Sánchez Nagore, E. (2016) Vida social de un graffiti (Trabajo Fin de Máster). Facultad de Filosofía UNED.


Elena Sánchez Nagore es licenciada en Comunicación Audiovisual por la Universidad de Navarra y máster en Investigación en Antropología por la UNED, donde obtuvo la medalla de la Facultad de Filosofía al mejor expediente académico. Trabaja como periodista y editora en prensa, donde ha coordinado proyectos editoriales para diversos medios, entre ellos El País en la actualidad. Fotógrafa y camarógrafa ocasional, como investigadora le interesa el cruce entre la etnografía y el arte.


Coral Bullón.

Febrero 2019


Coral Bullón (Ávila, 1995) tras terminar la carrera de Bellas Artes en Salamanca, se sumergió en las cuestiones teóricas acerca del arte y actualmente realiza un máster de Filosofía por la especialidad en Estética en esa misma ciudad. A pesar de centrarse en la investigación – en arte contemporáneo, fotografía y feminismos, entre otros temas – también realiza proyectos artísticos de manera individual y colectiva.


Zoe Hernández.

Febrero 2019

Clicar sobre la imagen para acceder al archivo pdf.


Zoe Hernández, nacida en Zamora, manifestó su inquietud por lo artístico a una temprana edad, lo que la llevó a comenzar su formación en la Escuela de Arte y Superior de Diseño de su ciudad natal. Estudiante ahora de la facultad de Bellas Artes de la USAL, continúa sus estudios en el área de escultura con especial interés en lo experimental y la poética de lo intrascendente.


Encuentros Laav_ 18. Pablo Coca.

Febrero 2019

Durante los Encuentros Laav_ que organizó el MUSAC de León el 23 y 24 de noviembre de 2018, se produjo un intenso debate sobre algunos de los aspectos que atraviesan el espacio del museo desde la perspectiva de la antropología visual. Entre los temas debatidos en ambas sesiones, apareció de manera recurrente el problema de la investigación como parte del proceso de producción de conocimiento en la contemporaneidad.

No cabe duda que existe una profunda preocupación sobre este hecho tanto en museos como en el ámbito académico, aunque por diferentes motivos. Esta cuestión tiene que ver con la propia génesis del conocimiento y los procesos de legitimación del saber, una realidad compleja que tiene además numerosos matices. Este texto es fruto de la reflexión colectiva surgida durante estas jornadas.

La investigación es una actividad intelectual, reflexiva y sistemática que trata de analizar o comprender alguna situación o problema específico de una realidad compleja. No obstante, ante los diferentes posicionamientos, es necesario plantear una serie de interrogantes sobre qué significa investigar en la contemporaneidad, qué otras maneras de investigar existen más allá de la académica (producción artística, cultural, proyectos comunitarios, etc), si los museos deben ser contemplados como centros especializados en esta materia o si la producción artística puede ser considerada investigación.

Responder a estas preguntas no es sencillo y, en cierta medida, forma parte de un debate mucho más complejo sobre la legitimación de la producción del saber. Además, la investigación se enfrenta a numerosos problemas como la falta de financiación, tanto pública como privada, el reconocimiento como centros de investigación de espacios ajenos a lo académico y el complejo condicionante de las temporalidades de estos procesos, ya sea de índole administrativa-burocrática, institucional o de los agentes implicados.

En los últimos años, los museos han anhelado su declaración como centros de investigación. Las labores de conservación, estudio, exposición y difusión del patrimonio material e inmaterial que marcó el ICOM en el año 2007, no parecen suficientes para que estos espacios sean reconocidos en esta labor.

Nadie parece dudar del enorme potencial que presentan los museos en esta tarea, dado que cuentan entre sus muros con factores determinantes: los artefactos culturales, sus públicos y comunidades de aprendizaje, además de una intensa actividad susceptible de formar parte de este tipo de procesos. Si esto es así, no se entiende su falta de consideración como centros de investigación, como tampoco se comprende que la práctica artística no sea reconocida como una actividad indagatoria.

En cualquier caso, parece que nadie del sector cultural queda plenamente satisfecho con esta situación. Existe, por tanto, una suerte de crisis sistémica de la cultura, en la que sus agentes parecen estar instalados en un malestar continuo.

El proceso de “producción” de conocimiento ya intuye una concepción propia de la economía de mercado. En el caso de la Universidad, inmersa en las lógicas del capitalismo cognitivo, ha tendido en los últimos años hacia un modelo de economía neoliberal que ha privatizado incluso la producción del conocimiento, favoreciendo la división del trabajo, entre teoría y práctica, entre teóricos y productores. Esta situación ha sumido a sus profesionales a una intensa e interminable tarea de contribuir con sus aportaciones a esta maquinaria de creación del saber, de superproducción curricular. Nunca antes hubo tantos proyectos de investigación y publicaciones académicas que han llegado, incluso, a saturar el mercado científico.

El panorama de muchos museos no es mucho más optimista, más si cabe desde la crisis económica que ha favorecido la externalización de numerosos servicios, algunos tan importantes como la educación, que tanto ha contribuido a la producción y gestión del conocimiento en estas instituciones. Además, los museos se enfrentan desde entonces a grandes problemas de financiación, lo cual repercute en la investigación. Estos centros están sometidos a los vaivenes políticos que, en muchas ocasiones, buscan una rentabilidad cortoplacista, no con el fin de crear las estructuras necesarias de accesibilidad a los ciudadanos, sino para multiplicar exponencialmente el número de visitantes como parte de una estrategia política.

La Universidad ha ostentado el monopolio en materia de investigación, al menos en el campo de las humanidades y de las ciencias sociales. Las relaciones con los museos se han establecido tradicionalmente desde una supuesta jerarquía del conocimiento. De hecho, no son pocas las ocasiones en que desde el ámbito académico se ha puesto el punto de mira en los museos: públicos, artefactos, autores y políticas expositivas. No obstante, habitualmente han dejado al margen de los procesos de indagación a sus profesionales, seguramente por el carácter endogámico del ámbito académico, el desinterés por parte de los investigadores de incluir a otros agentes culturales, la ausencia de una tradición en este tipo de colaboraciones o la falta de reconocimiento de los museos como centros de investigación.

Si esto es así, por qué los museos no plantean investigaciones sobre sí mismos. Tal vez, la pregunta no sea la adecuada, sino, más bien, qué tipo de indagaciones se realizan desde dentro de la institución. Los museos no desarrollan los mismos modelos de investigación que las universidades, porque difieren de estas en el contexto, los recursos, las vías de difusión o en las dinámicas de sus profesionales. Por tanto, tal vez sea el momento de reivindicar otras formas de investigar que dependan más del contexto y no tanto de una forma de concebir la propia epistemología de la investigación.

En cualquier caso, no es el mejor escenario que ambas instituciones, al menos cuando hablamos de investigación, se sitúen en diferentes niveles respecto a la producción del conocimiento. Durante el debate quedó clara la postura de sus participantes, la apuesta por explorar vías de colaboración que favorezcan un enriquecimiento mutuo.

Museos y universidades deben plantearse la construcción de vías de colaboración que se traduzcan en proyectos de investigación entre iguales, sin relaciones jerárquicas. Por tanto, en primer lugar, se debe problematizar el propio concepto de investigación en el marco del sistema económico en el que estamos inmersos.

Tal y como se apuntó al principio del texto, son muchos los interrogantes que surgieron durante estas jornadas y pocas las respuestas, si es que estas existen. El debate puede ayudar a establecer puentes entre agentes e instituciones, favorecer proyectos de colaboración o generar alianzas estratégicas donde implicar no solo a los profesionales del ámbito universitario, museístico o creativo, sino también al territorio, al contexto local y, por supuesto, a sus comunidades. Museos y universidades deben ser aliados en esta empresa. Pese a los inconvenientes, debemos pensar en plural, en comunidad, en colaboración y, tal vez, sea el momento de repensar otras formas de investigar.


Pablo Coca eslicenciado en Historia del Arte, Doctor en Educación Artística y profesor del Área de Didáctica de la Expresión Plástica de la Universidad de Valladolid. Ha sido Coordinador del departamento de Investigación y Educación del Museo Patio Herreriano de Arte Contemporáneo Español (2008-2018), de los Departamentos de Educación y Acción Cultural de los museos provinciales de Castilla y León (2008-2010) y responsable educativo en Valladolid del programa expositivo “Constelación Arte” de la Junta de Castilla y León (2005-2010).


 

30-01-2019

The School for the Deranged. La rara troupe, story of a journey. Belén Sola Pizarro

Riot at the psychiatric hospital,
the weather man was hanged for forecasting
hail, lightning, thunder and howling wind.
The Convention of the Deranged has met
The Convention of the Deranged has decided that
tomorrow will be sunny and fine.

Kortatu

January 2019


Key words: mental health, art education, art museums, community art, self-representation, affective politics, audiovisual.


 

The year was 2012. The place: León, the capital of a northern Spanish province and with a population of just 130,000. Its public health system ran a psychiatric hospital on the outskirts, the Santa Isabel Mental Health Hospital, which had a small supporting network through primary and psycho-social[2] care centers. Meanwhile, the León Association of Relatives and Friends of the Mentally ill (ALFAEM) was gaining in strength on the basis of a protective discourse that drew funding for the creation of supervised flats, residences and other resources for people diagnosed with a mental disorder.

Bearing several voice recorders and small home video cameras, we began by giving presentations at the hospital and different mental health centers, teaching those who approached us the main aims that we had set for the project. These we explained as a workshop which taught how to use audiovisual media in order to narrate our own life experiences in the first person.

We started the workshops at Santa Isabel Hospital and within a few weeks we realised that we were running a characteristic risk with this type of approach for a museum that attempted to work with people and in the context of reality: we were being used as an occupational resource by the hospital or by those who approached us, who often had no interest in the audiovisual format and who showed an unwillingness to speak from the first person. The approach included radio programs with guests, dedicated songs or discussions with medical teams and other healthcare professionals, despite our efforts to broadcast something different that went beyond customary radio formulas.

In a few months, we decided to leave the hospital and started to work in a stable, continuous manner at the museum. We regarded this as a neutral[3] space for those from the hospital or ALFAEM centers. It was “a space without a diagnosis”, as one colleague said afterwards (Sola, 2015, p.234, paragraph 5). The museum therefore became a space that convened from the “normality” of an artistic workshop, for which diverse people “enroll”: local artists, students, those known through their other activities at the museum, and others who learned of the workshop from the experiences of users from the hospital or the ALFAEM or even the medical teams themselves.

It was then that the project took its first unexpected turn; the desire arose in us to remain together, to continue with the workshop but considering what we “could do” and therefore what we as diverse people “could be” if we continued to meet and work collectively. This gave rise to the group of people who would become the driving force of La rara troupe. It stemmed from the desire to share a space of truce and to break with our daily diagnoses, marking out paths that are not only connected with mental illness but also with the social dissatisfaction that brought us together. 

We named the workshop Yo/nosotrxs (I/We) to express not only the illustrative but also the communicative purpose of the act of making audiovisuals. But beyond projective proclamations, the bodies that came together were able to generate the confidence that we belonged to something that was still to be done and especially something that was to be done by us. This was perhaps the feeling that encouraged us and surrounded us at meetings and that ran cross-sectionally through all the workshop’s actions in this second year. 

In this first stage, the methodological approach was the exchange of video-letters, first between us and later with other groups outside León. These exercises achieved their purpose; they returned a state of equality to the different voices that had been stripped of all authority for being small, invisible or confused. We became aware of the minimal differences that existed in our desires and fears, opening ourselves up to the modesty of feeling bad, knowing that this is what happens to you as a consequence of the feelings and reflections that come out from the images, as a result of the depth that a silence or the histrionics of a laugh might possess.

Video-letters: Autumn 2012

Video-letters: Spring 2013

Video-letters: Autumn 2013

 

Yo/nosotrxs became a space made possible by the coexistence of those who otherwise could not coincide in the same space. We had won a battle: the right to be together, to create a “community of alienated bodies[4]”. However, this was not enough for us; we also needed to obtain the means to create, investigate and produce knowledge from our encounters and do so in our own way. Listening to another person and recognizing him or her, this was to be the first step to coming together, renouncing inclusivist correction because, according to Aracil (2016): “the reason or idea of inclusion plays the leading role in most clinics and therapies for the mentally ill. It is as a victimizing practice which aims to neutralize the know-how of the other”. At our meetings, the fact that we were together involved deactivating victimized individualities through the enhancement of the vulnerable, anomalous, sick or rare, opening up a space for the knowledge of the bodies who suffer and starting to work from a common starting point; expertizing life, politicizing discomfort, inscribing it in the accumulation of disregard for contemporary ways of life.

In 2014, the workshops were extended and the activity exceeded the working day in the museum. We met to record, enjoy a coffee, chat about the weekly meetings, the difficulties we encountered with certain colleagues or the ideas that occupied us. We proposed texts to read together and guests whom we would like to welcome[5]; we started to feel that the diversity that we embodied was covered by the skin of a shared drum and we started to breathe and generate residues while we experimented with our own limits and desires. The resonances were multiple but we needed to narrate them collectively. 

Fin de línea (2014)

 

At this time, we decided to call ourselves Rara web (Strange Web). The aim was to highlight the meeting space with “les otres”, a virtual window from where we were showing ourselves a world that did not see us but that named and diagnosed us; a new frontier had just been crossed. We were no longer “me and the world”, “me and the outside”, we managed to be plural from the identification of our limits and corporalities.

As Garcés (2011) states, dealing honestly with reality would be, not so much “adding the victims’ vision to the image of the world, but altering our way of looking at it in a deep-rooted way”. Rara web attained that transformed gaze exactly, right from when it was proclaimed in the plural. Moreover, as I said above, I would like to stress the idea that in Rara there are no more “victims”, people who have approached the group at first by “belonging” to a diagnosis have managed to escape[6]; a space with a host of possibilities has been opened from the desire to be others or even better, to be ourselves. 

A new change affected the project, in which Rara web became the group now known as La rara troupe. La rara stopped representing (seeing themselves as) individualities and began to act as a collective body, making their films using everyone’s ideas, implementing affective policies more than ever and putting emotions into play and knowing how to make them circulate creatively (Ahmed, 2015).

Mental suffering is what brings us together and causes intensities that transcend individual limits; it is in pain and discomfort where we anchor the sense of being together and it is from pain and frustration that we feel authorized to produce ways of naming ourselves and addressing ourselves.

On the other hand, this relationship of affections is organized in a circular manner. It appeals not only to identities, which are organized collectively and not hierarchized by professionals or medical diagnoses but to the filmic productions that we make. This is interesting because it affords a relevant place to the audiovisual not only as transmitting tools[7] but as objects that work affectively within the group, becoming links in the affective identification that we establish with them. Returning to Ahmed, it is perhaps enlightening how “in affective economies, feelings do not reside in subjects or in objects but are produced as the effects of circulation” (2015, p.31). This is exactly what happens in La rara, which produces or creates movement around the relational effects (of an emotive type) based on a circular organization between the subjects and the objects that we produce and with which we identify.

We started 2015 with a creative residence as the guests of Azala[8]. This was a week-long experience of coexistence that enabled us to test how far we could pressurize the spaces of collaboration between us. This was a new scenario where private space and common spaces, creative work and each person’s specific moods had to find their place. It was at this time that we began to be called La rara troupe, a name that we intend to keep and that arose from the idea of travel offered by the residence.

The project proposed investigating the idea of troupe as a collective of artists or creators who move together, as a “company” in the original etymological sense of the word, as a body of actors, dancers or technicians etc., as well as the roles each of us play in the collective in order to recognize ourselves in them or to question them. Moreover, we were moving from our reference “institutions” on a daily basis; from our work, from the hospital, shared homes or the museum, so we decided to name the residence des-plazados (dis-placed). In short, the working week together was an opportunity to delve into the notion of the community and the contradictions and frictions that occur in our collaborative work.

We undertook many audio-visual exercises that week, starting with individual presentations and continuing with group exercises. My presentation exposed a concern that had occupied me for some time; my role as “the uncoordinated coordinator” and this is how I expressed it:

Perhaps what Azala taught us as a group were more the differences between us than the similarities; those who wanted to experiment with the camera compared to those who were enjoying the best days of their final years; the liters of coffee and the kilograms of sugar we consumed seemed to ratify the exercise of freedom that many colleagues said they needed.

The days of residence passed with an intensity that our guest/reporter Martín Correa (Sola, 2015, p.297) described:

 (…) La rara is encountering the questions, detecting the collective and individual needs and this is a giant step. In the face of a creative approach, the “what to do” is not only relative to a format or a tool (the “how”). The “what to do” is subject to a need or desire, to a search that is sometimes difficult to detect because we come from a life path marked by an excess of control, where one is almost always told what to do. I said then that I have seen that they have created that context of rest, space of fracture, habitable limit, in relation to the former conditions of oppression: and the needs are becoming visible, those that were there before, but that are now becoming visible, communicating, expressing themselves. It is there, with these first seeds it is necessary to get down to work, compose, create. And that is what perhaps needs to be developed. Many creative processes are focused on the tool, La rara troupe already knows that the tool is both a means and an end for telling something that hurts, something that in many ways “is urgent”, which is like a “scream” from within. La rara troupe has found or has begun to find that “cry” that “is urgent”. Now it is time to continue analyzing formats, tools, ways of telling and building a body for what is tellable. (…) 

Building un cuerpo para lo contable (a body for the tellable) was the yearning contained in the two videos that we projected at the end of our residence:

Des-plazados (2015)

 

The first video created with the camera a choreography of bodies that were under the sign of the hug, as a metaphor for the communion between us. Picnic, on the other hand, was an exercise where the camera was only a guest to the scene of conflict that occurs in a totally unpredictable way.

I would like to think of the first as a video-machine in the sense that the audiovisual tool organizes and puts bodies to work in order to exercise the metaphor of collective work. The second acts as a video-symptom, where the discomfort produced is largely a consequence of not knowing how to shake off our mental states and individual obsessions. In any case, and based on listening to the assessment interviews we conducted, the week in Azala signified for La rara troupe an experience of life and freedom that was unfailingly linked to the creative act.

Personally, I enjoyed listening to a phrase that I said back then in this recording: “I have learned how to accept myself in the group from my professional role [9]. I think this refers to the experience of shifting position, learning to be someone else, knowing how to incorporate learning slowly although this forces you to question yourself and observe yourself in an often obsessive and frustrating manner. Doubting yourself as an exercise to account for yourself, these are two ways of shifting in one’s work that cause pain and fatigue but that I understand as necessary conditions in creative projects where the body is present.

La rara troupe, from that moment, was so named as a group of artistic creation, but it has never renounced its political identity as a think-tank on mental health through the investigation of two issues:

– The generation of contemporary ways of life that make us ill and produce multiple discomforts and that, ultimately, also make us incapable of organizing ourselves collectively.

– The use of vulnerable or precarious lives as part of a normalizing and capacitating discourse that seeks to open up spaces where voices that are said to be ill can be integrated.

This is an odd time enabled us to connect to our daily existence in April 2016. Recording moments discovered at random or explicitly sought, we used our cameras to share time spaces loaded with everyday life. The film expressed the dignity of our vulnerable lives and was intended to show the importance denied by small things, endowing them with interest, which is also a metaphor for our small and precarious but significant and valuable lives.

Son curiosos estos días (2016)

 

A new change occurred at this time, one that was not so much endogenous or self-referential but exogenous or reflexive. This was the ability of the project to imagine a larger space within the museum for research and implementation of creative projects with communities. Since 2016, La rara troupe has been integrated into the Laav_ Laboratory of Experimental Audiovisual Anthropology[10], which was launched in the Educational Department of MUSAC and became the test-tube project from which to learn from the group’s constant experimentation.

In 2017, invited by Alfredo Aracil, we formed part of the exhibition Notes for a Destructive Psychiatry. Here, we proposed an audiovisual exchange with another group from Madrid that was coordinated by the mediation team of La Sala de Arte Joven, the venue for the exhibition. Therefore, two videos were born out of the aim to investigate the construction of a collective body, managing ideas that crossed between performance, rite, fiesta and play.

The first video represents an experience arising from the reading of excerpts from the book Ser o no ser (un cuerpo) (To be or not to be (a body)) by Santiago Alba Rico. We were able, not without great effort, to reach consensus, to assemble in a half-abandoned square of one of those half-finished neighborhoods that exist in any provincial capital and make a paella. The video could be divided into two sections; in the first (until minute 4’45”), we collected images taken on the day we explored the square and in the second, we filmed while we were cooking the paella: in both cases we used the sound from experimentation exercises that we recorded in the space.

The Madrid group responded with a highly dynamic video in which play was highlighted as a collective experience, so we decided to conclude the co-relation by recording a party to provide continuity while enabling us to include a variety of different actions. As a cinematographic reference, we used Tongues untied (Riggs, 1990). This inspired the concluding choreography, subtitled with the text of a colleague, Ángela María, who gave the video its name. The rest was an odd recording of the proposals made by each of us, from a karaoke to a free painting workshop that also involved reading or dressing up.

Apuntes para una psiquiatría destructiva (2017)

 

Apart from these videos, the participation of La rara troupe has signified recognition from legitimate cultural spaces. La rara definitively abandoned its links to the training workshop and began to be a creative space again. This does not come from La rara but rather from the space of artistic legitimation par excellence: the exhibition.

Between the fall of 2017 and the spring of 2018 we experienced some hard times. Some people quit the group permanently and those who remained strived to balance the need for activist demands on the part of many colleagues with the radicalization of the artistic proposal of others. Our latest film, La Humana Perfecta (The Perfect Human), yet to be released, coexists in a few weeks with texts by Félix Guattari and the film Le moindre geste by Fernand Deligny in the context of a reading group and a thought program[11] at the Reina Sofia Museum in Madrid. Beyond the symbolism of an anonymous group defined as “rara” sharing a table with recognized and authorized names from the world of culture, La rara troupe was convened to show itself as a space with accumulated wisdom sufficient to produce and share knowledge. We arrived at this using our own (self) tools created or what is the same, epistemologies located in our discomforts.

La humana perfecta (2018)

 

With this brief tour of the work of La rara troupe I have wished to highlight two things: firstly, the museum’s current role as a privileged place for social research from artistic research methodologies; and secondly, the need to enable spaces for organization in community with subalternized or minorized identities and doing so from the conscious taking of the word and images, the construction of our stories and the creation therefore of our own genealogical narratives.

The School for the Deranged, which is La rara troupe, makes demands and brings into play its life, its emotional states and its discomforts and becomes conscious of a shared alienation. This unites us in a journey where neither medical diagnoses nor neoliberal recipes of social adjustments and pills make people fuller or happier.

I needed six years of Rara to give up on my desire to burn down the museum. Now, I just want to fill it with those who are deranged; it gives back meaning to my work here.

 

NOTES

The first version of this article was originally published in Re-visiones in December 2018. It is a first person narration of the project  “la rara troupe(The Strange Troupe), a space for creation and co-existence between a group of people both with and without a mental illness diagnosis. This space has been conceived and shaped since 2012 in the Educational Department of MUSAC (Castile and León Contemporary Art Museum). We recommend both reading the texts and watching the videos linked in the text.

[1] Chus Domínguez, audiovisual artist. chusdominguez.com

[2] The public Mental Health System has shifted radically from the Francoist asylum or mental hospital to the current semi-private welfare state that was introduced in the 80s.

[3] This does not mean that we think that the museum as an institution is neutral, rather the opposite. As Preciado (2017) says, the museum is a machine that produces subjectivity and reproduction of regulatory codes. 

[4] See video “El cuerpo del delito/The Evidence” in this paper. Minute 4’45.

[5] Another symptom of our forming a research group was the desire that arose in the group about (self) training. This led us to begin to expand our audiovisual meetings by adding texts and guest voices. We started in February 2014 with the Grupo Esquizo Barcelona and since then workshops, talks and meetings, as well as several readings suggested by us, proved key to the growth of La rara troupe. For an exhaustive tour of guests and texts, see raraweb.org/blog

[6] I only provide observations that are directly drawn from the La rara troupe workspace and relationship as I am unable to extend them to other contexts.

[7] The audiovisuals we produce are not intended to be tools of self-expression or an anti-stigma pamphlet but are creations of our own imaginations and, as such, of our subjectivities in the making.

[8] Creation space located in Lasierra, Álava. www.azala.es

[9] https://archive.org/details/2.EntrevistaIdaAzala/3.entrevistas_vuelta_Azala.mp3, min. 38

[10] www.laav.es

[11] http://www.museoreinasofia.es/actividades/fuerza-posible-hacia-poietica-vivir-juntas

 

REFERENCES

Aracil, A.(2016). “Saber-hacer con el otro, La Rara Troupe o la potencia de la anomalía”. En: https://laav.es/saber-hacer-con-el-otro-la-rara-troupe-o-la-potencia-de-la-anomalia-alfredo-aracil/ (Recuperado el 10/06/2018)

Aracil, A. (2017). Apuntes para una psiquiatría destructiva. Catálogo. Madrid.

Ahmed. S. (2015). La política cultural de las emociones. UNAM (ed.). México, D.F.

Garcés. M. (2011) “La honestidad con lo real”. En Álvaro de los Ángeles (ed.), El arte en cuestión. Sala Parpalló, Valencia.

Preciado, P. (2017) “Salir de las vitrinas: del museo al parlamento de los cuerpos”. Vídeo de la conferencia en https://vimeo.com/239484758 (recuperado el 10/06/2018)

Riggs, M. (1989) Tongues Untied. Película documental. 55’. EEUU.

Sola, B. (2015). Prácticas artísticas colaborativas, nuevos formatos entre las pedagogías críticas y el arte de acción: La rara troupe. Tesis Doctoral. ULE.

09-01-2019

About the impossibility of anthropological cinema

Film practice, ritual and mourning. Emotion as a border between the self and us. The researcher and professor Noemí García Díaz, through the exploration of the relationships between art, anthropology and psychology, opens a new way in this project about the possibilities and limits of audiovisual anthropology, “a discipline that has never been consolidated, nor defined, located on the border, in an eternal search for identity. In this unstable transit that has allowed us to hybridize with art we find its maximum interest and potential”.

07-01-2019

The Impossibility of Anthropological Cinema. Andy Davies.

May 2017

 

In Bunuel’s Las Hurdes the voice-over is almost insulting; “here we see another kind of idiot…”. If I understand the film correctly it’s an effective technique, the audience feels complicit, the shame is shared, it’s as if he were saying anthropological film is a shameful business. In a way he’s right and it’s curious that he says it before anthropological film really exists.

Andy Warhol, talking about his films, compares them to watching people in the street. The British talk of ‘curtain twitchers’ who keep an eye on the neighbours and the neighbourhood from the anonymity of their homes. There’s something utopian in this invisible anthropological view of the world, the ‘fly on the wall’ of documentary film, but also something necessarily voyeuristic, without the desire to know it is a meaningless act. And of course it is not a neutral gaze, the neighbours are always talking.

Jean Rouch perfectly understood the deceit and his cinema recognises the importance of the presence of the camera and the film crew. He considers filmmaking an integral part of the anthropological material and yet you wouldn’t say he specifically studies himself but more precisely examines the effect his filmmaking has on those around him. If the anthropologist is part of the anthropology wouldn’t that require a second film crew to film the first and so on infinitely?

After Rouch the cinema of Trinh T Minh-ha investigates in greater depth the personal and the ethnographic. Her films are essays that connect with the tradition of Vigo and Marker. A cinema that underlines the particular and understands the ethnographic almost as if it were a way of knowing oneself, a speculative rather than spectacular cinema.

A generation of contemporary film essayists and artists have transformed this ethnographic essay form into a more overtly political, post-colonial cinema. It’s no longer necessary for the filmmaker to be an anthropologist because the purpose and intention of this cinema is to reveal the abuses and prejudices of the coloniser, the other of the other, that is us. There is an implicit danger in using the exotic to denounce precisely the destruction of the exotic and the easy assimilation of ethnographic images to almost any discourse, essay, documentary or fiction often feels at the very least uncomfortable.

in this context it’s interesting to think about Unsere Afrikareise by Peter Kubelka, made out of images he filmed for a group of Austrian big game hunters during their trip to Africa. The film lasts 12 minutes but Kubelka took 5 years to finish it, learning by memory every scene from the 3 hours of unedited footage and carrying small rolls of film in his pockets for years, film that he was constantly touching and running through his fingers. It’s an anti-colonial film but it was made very slowly, very manually. The result is complex, with many layers that can be connected in different ways. Kubelka doesn’t really believe in artists or professionals and is more interested in the variety and amplitude of experience. He’s a craftsman of the complex and secretive connections between the different elements that go to make up film.

At the other end of the spectrum to Rouch are the films of his contemporary Robert Gardener, an anthropologist at Harvard whose immersive films unapologetically celebrated the beauty and strangeness of ethnographic images. He was less interested in the authentic image and more concerned with the sensations his films produced in an audience. He created a spectacular cinema that was often screened in commercial venues. His work suggests perhaps that you can make films with anthropology or vice versa but not both.

Recently this question has received an interesting reconfiguration through the work of a new generation of filmmakers at the Sensory Ethnography Lab at Harvard where digital technology has facilitated a radically different approach to ethnographic film. In Leviathan small digital cameras register activity on a trawler from multiple angles that would previously have been unthinkable such as from within a net full of fish being dragged through a rough sea behind a trawler. These images have something inhuman that suggests an ethnography of things, of spaces, of machinery and of everything that surrounds us. In a world increasingly full of the most diverse objects imaginable this is perhaps inevitable, but if it is already almost impossible for us to understand another culture how much more difficult is it for us to make sense of the non-human.

It might be possible to see YouTube as a kind of invisible archive of ethnographic cinema. It has the quality of being a homemade ethnography which resolves, to a certain extent, the problems associated with the observations of the outsider. It also has the virtue of being a cinema of cinema, everyone films as they wish, or perhaps understand that they can, and each shot is a register of our own particular version of this cinematic way of seeing the world. But it is an anthropology that is invisible through excess; a traditional ritual, like a wedding, produces thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of audiovisual documents. If Google is not going to employ an army of ethnographers to make these materials more available the most likely outcome is that they will disappear without leaving a trace.

Many projects of participatory cinema, community video or self-representation also escape the traditional separation between ethnography and ethnographer. The further you get from the professionals of the film image and of editing the closer you get to a proper image of a community or a group of people. It’s a process that can produce surprising images and as mobile phones improve it is becoming easier to make these works with increasing autonomy. But the idea we have of what constitutes an interesting or valid image is still very much a construction of the media wether from film, television or newer media and it is difficult to even imagine a cinema that isn’t subject to these rules of representation or an audience that might be interested in watching it.

If a ‘real’ ethnographic film isn’t possible we can at least make a list of the things we find interesting: watching time pass in Warhol, Kubelka’s way of making films, the technically strange in the Sensory Ethnography Lab, the proximity of YouTube or the autonomy of self-representation. These details could be the starting point for something but it’s also interesting what they are not: they aren’t ideas that help us to understand, they aren’t explanations and they are rarely a spectacle. The future of this kind of cinema will more likely be in the slow films, the artesanal, the subtle connections, the impossible images, the invisible and the homemade that have little or nothing in common with anthropological cinema as we know it.


Andy Davies is a video and film curator. Between 1998 and 2000 he worked as a director for exhibitions at the CCCB in Barcelona. From 1998 to 2008 he coordinated Sonar Cinema within the Sonar festival, he co-founded the experimental film program X-Centric at the CCCB and directed the live audiovisual festival Play at La Casa Encendida in Madrid between 2006 and 2013. He has organized several cinema exhibitions such as “Common Sense, Luke Fowler” in La Casa Encendida, Madrid and “Cry when you pass, Laida Lertxundi” in Azkuna Centroa, Bilbao.

07-01-2019

On the Historical and the Ghostly in Visual Anthropology. Javier Fernández.

January 2018

“When the Baal Schem had a difficult task before him he would go to a certain place in the woods, light a fire and recite a prayer. And in this way the task was completed.

When a generation later, his son was faced with the same task, he said: ‘We can no longer light a fire, but we can pray’. And everything happened according to his will.

When the time came for the son of his son to resolve the same task, he said: “We can no longer light a fire, nor do we remember the prayers, but we know the place in the woods, and that is sufficient.” And sufficient it was.

When finally the son of the son of the son was called upon to perform the task, he sat down in his golden chair, in his castle, and said: ‘We cannot light the fire, we cannot recite the prayers, we do not know the place, but we can tell the story of all this’. And, once again this had the same effect as the actions of his forefathers”.


Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism. Gershom G Scholem. Translation based on the original compiled by Scholem and Jean-Luc Godard’s adaptation at the beginning of his film Hélas pour moi.

 

In the Sixties, at the highpoint of the decolonisation process, the accusations that identified anthropology as a necessary collaborator of colonial expansion and questioned it’s validity as an academic discipline intensified. These critical voices, that frequently came from within anthropology, were directed, amongst other things at the tendency in ethnographic monographs to situate the societies being studied in a kind of unchanging limbo outside of time. In short that this was a rhetorical device that refused the possibility of change and at the same time neutralised the importance of the devastating effects of colonialism.

This was a critical thinking that attacked the heart of the discipline and had something in common with those who questioned the idealistic intentions of the “fly on the wall” documentary technique in it’s attempts to register reality. Both positions seemed to ignore the limitations of the observer, whose point of view is always conditioned by their subjectivity (and technical skill) as well as the explicit and implicit relationships of power established between the subject and the object.

How then to interpret history? Certainly interpreting (or making) images, a dialogue or a situation recorded in the present that references historical events, suggests the possibility of new perspectives. Points of view and proposals that demand aesthetic forms capable of approaching the historical -in truth, the past- in audiovisual works that are unquestionably a register of the here and now.

You could say that working with archival images escapes these limitations. But all historical archives are by definition incomplete, and audiovisual archives even more so as they are limited to the relatively recent past and were only created by the very few with access to the economic resources and technical expertise to make recordings. And even then archive images are by no means an inmutable storehouse of the past of and by themselves, they also demand, or require, a historical activation in the present.

In fact we came back to something cinema has always longed for: to film the past with all that this task implies of both the magical and the intangible. A variety of procedures that might begin with the earliest historical reconstructions of the silent newsreels and take us to the work of John Gianvito in Profit Motive and the Whispering Wind. This film tells the story of the violent past of the United States through the traces and inscriptions left on commemorative monuments, and I could also mention Claude Lanzmann or Eduardo Coutinho with their use of oral history, the word and the testimony of the witness.

The Jewish story that introduces this article is inspiring in the sense that, metaphorically, it could be understood as referring to distinct audiovisual strategies that at different times address a historical or mythical event that was never recorded and yet obstinately continues to influence the present. It’s a text I regularly come back to when confronted with my current project that attempts, in the present, to approach the maleable and elusive layers of a history that sometimes overlap, sometimes contradict and frequently dissolve in recounting and interpreting past events.

The episode I am concerned with is the death of Sas Ebuera, the last leader of the Bubi people who resisted the Spanish colonial occupation of Fernando Poo (actually Bioko). In 1903 Sas Ebuera died in captivity after being taken from his home by mercenaries working for the Civil Guard. According to the authors Dolores García Cantús or José Fernando Siale this incident triggered a series of violent conflicts between the local resistance and the Spanish authorities that, in the end, decimated the Bubi population.
There are no photographs or portraits of Sas Ebuera. Only a handful of documents, often contradictory, prepared by the colonial civil service. Texts written by and for the colonial administration in which the veracity of that which is recounted is absolutely irrelevant. They are physical, legible and palpable documents that can be filmed. They are also partial, biased and open to interpretation. The next question that emerges is logical: What about the versions of this event that circulate amongst the Bubis?
Aware that I am arriving more than 110 years late I cross the south of the island looking for people who can tell me what happened between the 26th and the 30th of June 1903. The stories aren’t clear either: there are doubts, contradictions, things forgotten and erroneous data. There is even a woman who claims to have reliable information -with the unquestionable authority of the written word- that sends me back to one of the most popular Spanish versions, an extract from a monograph about the Bubi people.

I am left with the option of returning to the “neck of the woods”. In this case literally (Photo 1). But no luck here either. You can more or less get to the place, but the village where Sas Ebuera lived and was arrested disappeared a long time ago -probably as a result of the policy, imposed from the capital, of grouping small villages together- Where should I place the tripod? In which direction frame the image? What size should it be?


Foto 1

I go back to the oral histories but from another perspective. In the end it isn’t about making a forensic reconstruction of events. Barthes writes: “The closer a document is to a voice the less distanced it is from the warmth that produced it and the greater are the grounds of it’s historical credibility. This is why the oral document is superior to the written document. And the legend to texts“.

Even though none of the Bubi stories agree on the precise details of Sas Ebuera’s death many of them do agree about a curious epilogue: the body of Sas was buried next to a natural spring on the outskirts of Santa Isabel (now Malabo). “It is said that”, contrary to common sense, the spring flows during the dry season and runs dry during the wet season.

I found the spring. It is a physical place, unarguable, that I would have passed by without noticing if it hadn’t been for the “marker” that activated it historically in front of me and my camera (Photo 2). It could be described as “secret”, it is a place of mourning. This is the first real place that is unequivocally historically significant. And yet it’s attraction derives from a legend rather than facts and irrefutable documents. From a story that tells of a phantasmal presence that apparently reveals itself through a seasonal peculiarity.


Foto 2

But it’s not about thinking of the commemorative potential of the place. Referring to places of conflict, Louise Purbrick writes that this operation implies “underestimating the way in which the past is continuously inserted into the present. Places of conflict become powerful representations in their own materiality. They contain the footprints of the dead and show signs of violence. They are contaminated in the anthropological sense of the word“.

Invoking these kinds of places obliges us to enter the unsettling liminal world of ghosts. “A kind of residual insistence, almost material, that interrupts and resists all attempts at negation. This is a ghost, after all: something that has gone, something dead, but that refuses absence: something neither here nor now, but that continues to stain and contaminate the here and now“, as understood by Steve Shaviro, returning again to the idea of pollution. The ghosts resist negation, being sacrificed to the pure historical narrative or deactivated in the simple interaction of facts and dates.

At this point, whilst going over recent recordings, I realise that I didn’t record direct sound and that I need to return to the spring. The silent image is lacking depth, an inseparable part of its “materiality” and, paradoxically, my instinct tells me that to recover this recording in the most literal way -that is mostly the sounds of traffic and street vendors- I get closer to this spectral territory.
In their installation Spirits Still Lucien Castaing-Taylor and Veréna Paravel isolate 686 frames from amongst the 130,000 that constitute the raw material they worked on in the film Leviathan. These images correspond to ghostly apparitions, invisible when played back at normal speed. The capricious play of the sky and the sea, light and shadows that draw faces; vulnerable, fleeting presences that might suggest the bodies of those lost at sea.
Neither their work (I believe) nor my own are talking literally of paranormal phenomena, ghosts don’t manipulate zeros and ones to appear by chance in digital images and sounds registered in Malabo are not psychic sounds. Rather the material properties of audiovisual media, specifically anthropological documentation, activate perceptual responses that allow us to recover fragments of the past -history and inevitably the presence of the dead- in a lived, palpable, thoughtful and moving way.

To summarise, it is oral history, the legend freed of the pretence of factual historical reconstruction, that becomes, finally, my starting point. That allows me to build a model in which the traumatic past is activated through the spectral qualities of visual and acoustic registers that maintain their power even in the digital era.

And it is thanks to this shift in perspective or attitude towards oral history -to continue the Jewish legend we started with: that the history being told produces the same effect as the fire, the prayer or the place- that we can open up our work to other narratives and footnotes. Material that is, in the end, vital in helping us to understand the extent of the impact of decades of colonialism, even now, on those societies that have been subjected to it.
I go over the testimony of the woman mentioned earlier. After browsing through the first pages of the monograph on the Bubis and the text on Sas Ebuera based on Spanish sources the woman continues to turn the pages. She stops at one that has a photograph, the footnote indicates only “a fortune-teller”. The woman points to the photo, pronounces the name of the subject photographed and explains the distant family ties that link her to him, “he died a long time ago”, she signals (Photo 3).


Foto 3

That which in anthropology is a category, cold and interchangeable, in her voice becomes an individual, a name and a unique, untransferable existence. An individual, even if no longer living. A personal history fleetingly elicited that challenges the historical model associated with official, allegedly scientific, documents. This act that provokes, momentarily, a distinctive perspective, almost ghostly, of a past ripped apart by years of colonial administration.

In Vita Nova Vincent Meessen investigates a similar situation. The Belgian artist begins with an image from 1955 in Paris Match that Barthes analysed in his Mythologies. A close-up of an African child soldier in the French army. In Ivory Coast he finds the young cadet, now elderly, and shows him a copy of the magazine. “This is your grandfather”, he tells the grandchildren who surround him. The image is no longer an act of propaganda but becomes a personal document, the history of an individual that emerges from the past to mock the imperial colonial project.

In conclusion, in these lines I have tried to describe, through my personal creative considerations, a few elements that are crucial for my work. And also I suspect necessary for a debate about contemporary visual anthropology: the almost unlimited richness of oral testimony with its words, silences, gestures (and the diversity of perspectives from which we can listen to this testimony). The individual and collective histories that radiate from the places of conflict and the material quality of the audiovisual medium with its paradoxical capacity to recover the disappeared and the extinct through the exploration of its own limits.


Javier Fernández Vázquez is a film director, audiovisual producer and founding member of Los Hijos, a collective dedicated to non-fiction, video art and experimental ethnography. Among his works are the feature films Los materiales (2010) or Árboles (2013) and the short film January 2012 or the apotheosis of Isabel la Católica, which won several prizes at international festivals (Punto de Vista, FidMarseille) and have been projected in numerous centers of contemporary art and formed part of collective artistic exhibitions. His complete filmography has been the subject of several retrospectives (Lima Independiente, Distrital, 3XDOC). Javier works as an associate professor in the Department of Audiovisual Communication of the Carlos III University (UC3M) and belongs to the research group Larga exposition, the narrations of contemporary Spanish art for the “great publics” of the Autonomous University of Madrid (UAM). Previously, he has taught visual anthropology at UNED and experimental film at Escuela SUR. He has also contributed to the programming of audiovisual cycles in CA2M and in Tabakalera Donostia.

07-01-2019

Filmic practice, ritual and grief. Emotion as the border between the self and the us. Noemí García Díaz

The researcher and professor Noemí García Díaz, from the exploration of the relationships between art, anthropology and psychology, opens a new way in this project of collective reflection on the possibilities and limits of audiovisual anthropology, “a discipline that has never become consolidated or defined, being located on the border, in an eternal search for identity. In this unstable transfer that has enabled it to be hybridised with art, we find its maximum interest and potential”.

28-11-2018

Laav_ in Concreta 12, “Cinema to come”

The new issue of Concreta, the research journal about image, dedicated to the project Cine por venir (“Cinema to come”), includes an article about Laav_: An experience of creation and social research in the educational department of a contemporary art museum. An image of the latest production of La Rara troupe, La humana perfecta, illustrates the cover. The presentation of the journal takes place on Thursday November 29 at the Filmoteca of Valencia, with Pere Portabella, Nuria Enguita Mayo (Concreta), Sonia Martínez (Cine por venir) and Sofía Asencio (Sociedad Doctor Alonso).