Category Archives: Art

Roadtrip to Mano del desierto

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Right now I am making my way back to North America, but last week, I fit in a few last-minute tourist trips: the first, a short road trip into the middle of the Atacama, about 75 kilometers from Antofagasta to see a bizarre statue in the middle of nowhere. The second, a weekend in San Pedro de Atacama for relaxation and some immersion in Altiplanic culture for a few days. Now it’s time to hop on a plane and go home to the United States. (But don’t worry… I’m going to keep blogging!)

Last Tuesday a few friends and I drove into the vast desert behind Antofagasta on the historic Pan-American Highway. The highway isn’t exactly well-travelled in these parts. We were one of the few cars on the road; mainly, just a few busses and trucks go up and down these remote desert stretches.

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After driving for a while, out of the absolutely empty sandy landscape that looks exactly like Tatooine (sans Stormtroopers and droids), suddenly a human hand rises as if by magic out of the barren desert.

Our traveling companion, a little Westie named Snowy, instantly hopped out of the car to investigate the strange sculpture. We wandered into the blazing heat and took a few pictures before a couple of semi trucks pulled up, spoiling our view.

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I also ran out into the desert for a few photos in the vast nothingness, which I later posted on Twitter. A few people mentioned that the desert had shrunk me. It does appear to be something out of a Lewis Carroll novel, doesn’t it?

I have not found much information about the Chilean artist who constructed the statue in 1992, Mario Irarrázabal, other than that he liked to sculpt human figures. I’d like to find out why he chose this location, where so few people can witness it. As it stands, it really is not much more than a vaguely interesting stop for bored truckers and a blank canvas for graffiti. Perhaps, as well, a reminder of how small and isolated we all are in such a vast landscape.

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Fine Art (literally) on the Streets of Buenos Aires

Mural by Cuban street artist Jorge Rodriguez-Gerada in the neighbourhood of Colegiales

Mural by Cuban street artist Jorge Rodriguez-Gerada in the neighbourhood of Colegiales (and a taxi cab in front)

How would you like to live in a house that is, quite literally, a work of art? I think I might.

The second walking tour I took in Buenos Aires last month was a street art walk through several Buenos Aires neighbourhoods. I once again loved going off the beaten path into a few more residential neighbourhoods to discover the vibrant gems hidden on the walls of buildings, homes and public spaces.

Exterior of a building in Palermo

Exterior of a building in Palermo

Before I talk about this little adventure, I have to emphasize what a different experience I had in Buenos Aires my 3rd time around. My first two visits were whirlwind trips that really took me to a few very specific, some very touristy, “must see” spots around the city. During the third trip, it was fascinating to also be in the city during the quiet month of January – it really felt like the entire (usually hectic) city was sort of taking a siesta, taking things easy – and I relished in wandering off the beaten paths. Of course, I have still only seen a minuscule portion of the city. Like New York or Paris, you really would need months – no, years – to get a full grasp of this city.

If I had to design an ideal vacation in Argentina, I would have to make it last at least a month: one week in Buenos Aires to see all of the tourist highlights, one week in the rural pampas, one week in another, smaller (but still sizeable  city like Cordoba or Mendoza, and then a final week (or two…) again in Buenos Aires to go off the beaten track. I’ll definitely keep that in mind for when I have a few spare dollars lying around…

A door on a home in Colegiales

A door on a home in Colegiales

Anyways, for my second walking tour, I first had to find a brightly-painted home in the middle of a residential neighbourhood that I’d never been to before. It was the rendez-vous for the group. I asked for directions several times (Starbucks are everywhere, and their employees and patrons were particularly pleasant to me that hot, humid afternoon as they directed me to the right place) but I still managed to get spectacularly lost in the dizzying heat and ended up hopping in a taxi for a short ride (around some construction – that was what had been tripping me up) to the right spot. I then spent four hours with the English-speaking, Argentine tour guide and a group of tourists from around the globe wandering around a the tree-lined sidewalks of neighbourhoods in the city’s barrio norte.

There are a few good street art walking tours to choose from in Buenos Aires, and I just randomly picked Graffitimundo (link here).

Exterior of a shop in Palermo Soho

Exterior of a shop in Palermo Soho

As we wandered from one spectacular mural to the next, our guide also took us through the history of street art, which was different than I expected. When many of us from North America, Europe or Australia think of street “art,” also known as graffiti or tagging, we usually imagine it as an illegal (or at best frowned-upon) activity peppered with shady characters and underground artists. But, go figure, in Argentina – a country that I have grown to generally associate with art, resourcefulness and activism – “graffiti” has been elevated to a higher art form. The magnificently coloured spray painted murals on buildings, homes, and in parks? I learned that all of the murals we saw on the tour were totally legal and in fact most prominent street artists are encouraged by many homeowners, business owners and others to grace their buildings and walls with the technicolor murals.

Exterior of a restaurant, Tegui, in Palermo, Buenos Aires by artist cabaio

Exterior of a restaurant, Tegui, in Palermo, Buenos Aires by artist cabaio

The art form first appeared in Buenos Aires in the 90s, when middle class youth were intrigued by the street art they saw in pictures and on tv shows of cities in the U.S. Artists from all over the world have since visited Buenos Aires to grace its walls with their work. We learned throughout the day that many artists have distinct styles and have evolved through the years. Some artists do commercial graphic design work and reserve their street art escapades as a side hobby, others are artists with studios, yet others are devoted street artists and only work on the sides of buildings, and even others are wannabe artists doodling around, hoping one day to make it big on the scene. We also got a glimpse into the fascinating culture and inner politics of the work and dynamics of painting on the street… there’s definitely much more to it than meets the eye.

Detail of Tegui restaurant building in Palermo

Detail of the Tegui restaurant building in Palermo

If you are at all interested in art or graphic design, I think that a walking tour like this is a must-do in Buenos Aires. It’s a city that has truly fostered its own brand of this constantly evolving art form. I was glad I took a tour because guides took me onto side streets, alleys and tucked-away parks where I would have never known to look. Also, this art form is not always permanent, though many pieces in Buenos Aires have been there for years; nonetheless, street art comes and goes all of the time and my guides were up-to-date about each neighbourhood’s masterpiece du jour.

Building in Palermo Soho

Building in Palermo Soho (and a painted sidewalk, too)

If you don’t have time to take a tour, the neighbourhood of Palermo Soho has a lot of buildings with murals in its alleys (now alleys filled with little art studios and souvenir shops) in the central shopping district near Honduras and El Salvador streets. Many trendy boutiques and studios have commissioned or encouraged artists to paint their exterior walls, and there is even a bar nearby that offers workshops on making stencils and street art.

It was an interesting day and I learned a lot. It made me want to take more walking tours of street art, however, because I felt like I was only getting exposed to just a little bit of that culture in just a few select neighbourhoods. Alas, like I said earlier, Buenos Aires is a big city and I only had a little time. It was a speedy look into a many-layered art culture, but one that was worth braving the heat for nonetheless.

Eva Peron stencil in the bar/studio called "Hollywood in Cambodia", Palermo Soho

Eva Peron stencil in the bar/studio called “Hollywood in Cambodia”, Palermo Soho

Living history in San Telmo


 San Telmo

This past month has been characterized by long, languorous summer days. The heat surrounds us in Chile, radiating off of the concrete buildings and seeping into every corner of my apartment. The intense white sun is mercilessly intensified by the giant mirror of the Pacific ocean. Not much happens in February in Chile, and thus I am left with thoughts and memories from other, more action-filled days of the recent past… and schemes and hopes for the near future.

These endless, blurry summer days were kicked off, for me at least, last month during our week away, in Argentina. Although I knew we wanted to have a more laid back trip to Buenos Aires than I’d experienced other times, deciding to do several walking tours in  high summer was a challenge in its own right. Still, I managed to meander along the tree-lined sidewalks for miles and miles throughout the city in the heat, fuelled by a few iced coffees and gelato along the way, of course.

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Buenos Aires in summer was a strange thing. It was quiet(er than usual), with most of its population having escaped in January to its coastal resorts. This also lent the city – that feels so much like a city from another era any time of the year – an even more peculiar, “time warp” feel than usual. The downtown neighbourhoods, with a lower percentage of its residents present in the summer heat, felt even more like a city that had skipped a few decades.

It was, in that sense, the perfect time to experience one of the city’s oldest, most evocative neighbourhoods: San Telmo.

I booked a walking tour with an American-turned-expat in San Telmo, Rick. Unfortunately for us, we booked the walk on probably the hottest afternoon of the week. For a good three hours we meandered the streets and sidewalks of the shabby neighbourhood, Rick pointing out fascinating street art, places and sights that could otherwise easily (and sadly) be missed by casual passers-by.

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Like many parts of Buenos Aires, San Telmo has an intriguing history. Rick recounted its history to us (I later refreshed my memory on Wikipedia before writing this post … it was a hot day after all, and thus only 1/2 of my brain cells were working!) Briefly, it was one of the first neighbourhoods in the city, home to workers and labourers who built the port city on their backs in the 17th century. It was later settled by Jesuits in the 18th century, who wanted to clean up the neighbourhood, though they left after a few decades. Then, better public infrastructure in the mid-19th century transformed the squalor of the working-class neighbourhood into a place of interest for the well-to-do of the city, who moved in and built palatial homes and buildings, modelled after those in Europe. Unfortunately for them, an epidemic swept through the neighbourhood in 1871, prompting the upper classes to flee the area and settle just north of downton in the “Barrio Norte” (where they can still be found today). They left the neighbourhood to the newly-arrived immigrants from Europe who were working in factories in the area. This multicultural flair can still be sensed in the neighbourhood today: I saw elements that were reminiscent of Italy, Britain, Ireland, France, and Russia. Flamboyant architectural detail on historic homes, churches and other buildings borrows heavily from European homelands but is given an exuberance and flair that I have come to associate with Buenos Aires. It was in this era – roughly from the turn of the last century to today – that San Telmo earned its Bohemian flavour and attracted artists and writers and settlers from around the world.

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It is certainly a neighbourhood that is a product of its past. In fact, I am not sure I have ever visited a neighbourhood -in any city- that in modern times better reflects its staggeringly diverse and tumultuous history. It is still home at once to crumbling, shabby buildings that are in dire need of a fresh coat of paint – and swanky bohemian lofts and apartments built in spectacular old mansions and colonial tenements. Both the less-than-affluent and working classes (who have been here for generations) along and relatively well-to-do expats (who are entranced by its character and history) call this area home. We saw young and old alike meandering the sidewalks and sitting in cafes. It has some of the best art in the city – home to a fabulous Museum of Modern Art that we visited, and buildings decorated in the city’s trademark Filetado Porteño – and many energetic artist co-ops and workshops. On the other hand, it has some of the worst art in the city – in the form of tacky souvenir shops and overpriced antique stores.

It also has a lovely market that we stepped into (where, according to our guide, the best coffee in Buenos Aires can be found), where you can buy both dinner (fresh vegetables, fruits and meat) and some lovely antiques. The wrought iron Belle Epoque architecture of this indoor marketplace was incredible, and there were many good examples of the Filetado Porteño – a graphic style that characterizes signs and store windows, invented in the neighbourhood around the early 20th century. Rick, with his excellent artistic eye, taught us how to identify “good” specimens of Filetado Porteño.

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The city has had to cope with a dark recent history, and that mark has also been left on the neighbourhood. We walked under a highway overpass, where the excavation of a former prison used in the 1970s is currently underway. Small signs underneath this highway explain the building and what it was used for. Humbling, to say the least. It’s easy to get swept up by the present-day bohemian vibe of the neighbourhood and forget what happened not that long ago.

It’s worth mentioning that you have to be careful in this neighbourhood: Rick mentioned to us that it is not unheard of for a camera to be snatched out of your hand as you walk around snapping pictures of the incredible views. Pickpocketing and muggings do happen, and he told us he wouldn’t recommend that a woman walk around alone in the area even during the day. This is in contrast to the reasonably (for a large city) safer neighbourhoods in Buenos Aires, such as Recoleta, Palermo, and even downtown. In other words, tourists might be led into a false sense of security elsewhere in the city and forget to take some common-sense precautions when visiting San Telmo.

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One modern-day development in the neighbourhood is its street art. The (sanctioned) “graffiti” art is practically an institution throughout the city, especially in neighbourhoods like San Telmo that pride themselves in having an artistic vibe, and this neighbourhood had its own characteristic works of street art and artists that frequent the area (which I will elaborate on a bit more in next week’s post).

My favourite overall experience in the neighbourhood was walking past the sleepy cafes and parks once frequented by literary and artistic greats such as Jorge Luis Borges, and seeing the legendary Tango halls of the neighbourhood. These were the places that most felt like we had briefly stepped back in time. I could easily imagine a writer, poet and artist meeting up for an afternoon stroll in the park designed by the Argentine-French architect Charles Thays. It was not a stretch to picture a scene right out of a French impressionist painting playing out in this historic urban setting.

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Our walk ended in early evening, when a dark grey thunderstorm cloud rolled in to give us some respite from the afternoon heat. We retired to an Irish pub frequented by expats. In the spirit of the neighbourhood and like the thinkers and artist who have haunted the streets of San Telmo for decades, Rick, some of his friends and my husband and I enjoyed some happy hour specials in the energetic little pub while comparing photos of the city and its art on our iDevices, pondering and  reflecting upon the day – and expat life in South America in general – as rain and thunder pounded the cobblestone streets outside.

For more information on Rick’s San Telmo Art Walk, you can visit his website.

Alfarena Etnica (Traditional Pottery) in San Pedro de Atacama

Usually when you arrive at a tourist destination – a vacation town, a particularly trendy city neighbourhood – it’s easy to spot local galleries and artists. Artist studios and handicraft markets all vie for the attention of the tourists who have a few bucks burning a hole in their pocket.

If you ever get the chance to visit San Pedro de Atacama, the main downtown (down-village?) thoroughfare, Caracoles (literally, Snails) street has a few unique, interesting and even upscale art galleries and workshops, all worth a visit. But just off of Caracoles on Calama (street) is something a little different and, in my opinion, far more interesting than a typical storefront gallery: an understated space where a potter (or alfarero), who at my estimate stands around 4’10″ tall and warmly welcomes visitors with a big smile, works in an open-air workshop.

On his wood table, he creates pots, vases, figurines, and musical instruments (which he joyfully demonstrated for me by playing a few simple yet beautiful melodies) in the same style that has been made in the region for thousands of years. He told me that he is inspired by the style of the ceramic decorative and domestic objects that are housed in the San Pedro museum, just up the road.

He uses only the clay made from the trademark red Atacamanian desert sand, and most items were not painted or only decorated with simple colours and styles.

The wind musical instruments he carefully shapes out of the clay include a clarinet-like long flute, a cow-horn type instrument and an ocarina, a small, disk-like whistle that you can blow into and, like a flute, produce a variety of notes.

I also admired the charming figures he sculpted out of clay: many were dancing or playing musical instruments. I was worried about safely transporting them back, but despite that concern I vaguely regret leaving them behind because they were so unique.

After spending time gazing at his work in the studio and asking the artist a few questions in my broken Spanish (some were stupid, such as, “what type of clay do you use?” and he, surprised, answered, “the clay from the sand here” … what else? of course they wouldn’t bring in special clay!) and he gladly answering and allowing me to take pictures, he asked me where I was from.

When I told him I was from the U.S., he told me he had been to San Francisco once. We both agreed that it was a nice city. In a twist that proves exactly how globalized of a world we are, this man in the middle of the Atacama desert in his charming open-air workshop, asked me if I knew of the U.S. store Pier 1?  I nodded and said I sometimes shopped there. “I once supplied pots to them,” he said proudly. “I had a lot of people working with me and we sent Pier 1 20,000 pots…”

Needless to say, I decided to buy a clay pot directly from the source. I chose a small vase and a ocarina as a gift for my husband.

Immortalized in Alpaca Thread: Tapestries from the Atacama Region

Tapestry, created by an artist in the region, depicting the desert and the Southern Cross in the night sky. Father Le Paige Museum, San Pedro de Atacama. Artist: Jenny Cárdenas Pérez.

I studied Art History in Canada, and I remember a professor once warning us – as art historians, scholars or critics – to be skeptical of an artists’ agenda. Contemporary artists, it seems – at least in North America – are often guarded and secretive about their work, perhaps wary of how others will treat them or their work if they are too open about it, or perhaps using their guardedness as a part of the art as a whole. (Yeah, I know, this can sound a little nuts… but stick with me.) The point is, we, as observers, can therefore never take the meaning of their work at face value, even if they describe their work to us. Indeed, at a gallery I often visit in Montreal, artists frequently exhibit semi-abstract or abstract work that is obscured with layers of (what seems to be) meaning, offering no descriptions whatsoever of what it stands for or where their inspiration comes from.

How refreshing, then, to discover that many of the artists and artisans here in northern Chile are the polar opposite: from my experience, they seem very open about the meaning of their work and the inspiration behind their pieces, often describing in detail the significance of their work and its place within the larger context of their culture or society. This straightforwardness has allowed me to understand their history and the region of the world they call home with that much more clarity.

During my most recent trip to San Pedro de Atacama, I was pleased to stumble across a special exhibit at the Gustavo Le Paige Museum on embroidery from the region. The small exhibit had about a dozen embroidered pieces by women from the region. It was an exhibit to reinforce the significance and importance of the artistic contributions that this region of the world has offered for centuries.

Table showing some of the materials used in creating the natural dyes for alpaca yarn. Gustavo Le Paige Museum, San Pedro de Atacama.

All of the pieces were made using traditional methods and designs. (Supposedly none of the works reflected techniques or influences after the Hispanic era – that is, after the Spanish and other conquerors infiltrated the land and culture.) The exhibit included a small, informative section describing how the materials are made. The women (all of the artists were women) begin by harvesting the soft wool of alpacas and spinning them into a yarn. The yarn is dyed by hand using natural, plant and animal-based pigments gathered from the desert. (I was surprised that so many colours can be harvested from what on the surface appears to be a mostly barren, orange-red desert!) The use of natural materials and dyes is no modern organic gimmick: it really is how the art has been made for centuries in this region of the world.

Alpaca yarn coloured with natural dyes from the Atacama desert. Gustavo Le Paige Museum, San Pedro de Atacama.

The female artists then use the colourful threads to create spectacular tapestries. Placards next to each work were descriptions, written by the artists, of the significance of their work. Many of the pieces were inspired by their love and pride for their home, native land and communities.

Wandering through the exhibit, I realized what a social and learning activity these women participate in by creating these works of art. In addition, I as a viewer was effectively educated not only on the process itself but of the significance that the land and community holds for these people.

I was enthralled by the unique pre-Hispanic patterns and combinations of shapes and lines. The patterns, which have a surprisingly “modern” feel to them, seem to take on a life of their own as they wind their way through the works.

When imagining each artist painstakingly dying the thread and stitching the design, I felt each work speaks to a careful and thoughtful process, calculated and distinct. It is a craftsmanship and process that is painstakingly learned and passed down through the generations. The significance of the overall result, I felt, was well summed up in the following excerpt by one of the artists on a placard in the exhibit:

“The nicest thing for me is to be a part of the collective… I feel that when I embroider, knit or dye, it opens up a space and time for meeting and shared learning…. We introduce plants in the fabric; plants are medicines, they give us dyes for wool, the earth gives us beauty and colour all of the time… the Water, the life.”

Lo más lindo para mi es el hacer colectivo… siento que cuando bordamos, tejemos o teñimos, se abre un espacio, un tiempo de encuentro, de aprendizaje compartido.… En el tejido están presentes las plantas; las plantas son medicinas, nos dan los tintes para las lanas, la tierra está dándote color y belleza todo el tiempo… el Agua, la vida.

- Veronica Moreno Fernández

Tapestry. Gustavo Le Paige Museum, San Pedro de Atacama. Artist: Carmen López Espinosa.

Tapestry. Gustavo Le Paige Museum, San Pedro de Atacama. Artist: Verónica Ramos Yáñez.

A Human Experience Through the Art of Juan Salva

The artist, Juan Salva, with some of his paintings

Last week, I was invited by a friend to go with her to meet a painter, Juan Salva, at an exhibit of his work in a small gallery here in Antofagasta.

In a brochure from one of his previous art exhibits, Salva, a native of Antofagasta, is described as a maestro with his own unique voice that has a “special regard for northern (Chilean) as well as Latin American art.” (…sin duda, todo un maestro, un especial referente para nuestra pintura nortina y a la vez, latinoamericana.)*

When I first walked into the exhibit space, I was struck by the movement that many of his paintings exuded. Powerful and expressive – yet just barely “there” – figures swayed, swirled and danced within their canvases.

There was a stillness that was also present in some of his work. A few paintings were calmer and more pensive, likewise forcing the viewer to reflect inwardly upon themselves.

The colours were the second thing that struck me about his work. Many were in the rich earthy red and orange tones that I associate closely with the desert region of Antofagasta and the Atacama.

J. Salva

I felt one painting in particular, of a group of figures dancing closely together, seemed to resonate the most with my impressions of this region: it was in the deep orange tones that I associate with the colors of the desert, and the figures seemed to be flowing in a circle. My mind could easily imagine the group of dancers extending outside the space of the canvas, in perpetual movement together.

The artist described this work to us as representative of the collective, or the people becoming one through dance. (To paraphrase. I wish I had his exact quote for you, but at the time I was concentrating on understanding each of his words, a bit of a harrowing task considering my newness to the Spanish language.)

In one of his exhibit brochures, a commenter writes, “It is the voice of the geology of the desert, which is silent, but the painter found it in his translation, something like the silent grief of the animal world expressing themselves in the conscious pain of mankind…. over the years, he has been inspired by the ancient rhythms of religious dances, and if that has been accomplished, it is because he has found an echo in his capacity as a Latin American artist.” (Es la voz de la geologia del desierto, que es muda pero que encuentra en el pintor su traduccion, algo asi como el dolor silencioso del mundo animal expresandose en el dolor conciente de la humanidad…. durante anos, le ha inspirado el ritmo ancestral de los bailes religiosos y si lo ha hecho es porque han encontrado un eco en su condicion de artista latinoamericano.)*

J. Salva

As we wandered around the room, the few paintings that were not in the striking desert earth tones stood out to me. Their colour was not only different, but the figures they portrayed also seemed distinct from the rest. In one, an angular figure was portrayed in a bright pink on one side and a twin figure in a cool, almost neon blue on the other side. I asked the artist about his use of color in this painting and he replied that it was to represent contrast.

Another canvas, in an almost neon green, also stood out. In this, figures seemed to swirl endlessly around the space, almost like a cloud of smoke emerging from a bottle and drifting through a room. When I inquired about this work, the artist mentioned something along the lines that it was a primordial style representation of a loss of consciousness. There was nothing structured in this piece because he wanted to represent how things are experienced in an unconsciousness state. (Again, please note that I am severely paraphrasing.)

J. Salva has travelled to many different countries to exhibit his work and also has created a number of murals that can be seen on the streets of Antofagasta. (One mural he created a few years ago was on the concrete barrier walls along the ocean, and can only be viewed by boat from the water.) His willingness to meet us and to speak with us about his art struck me as special, especially when compared to the relatively secretive nature I have observed in many North American artists: he is clearly open to sharing his work, his point of view and inviting of us to join him in a glimpse into his thought processes.

J. Salva

“His painting is not tied to the past, nor is it avant-guard by any means, its route so far is a spiral ”inward” toward the deep, a safe anger…” (Su pintura no esta atada al pasado, ni es vanguardia a toda costa, su camino hasta ahora es una espiral “hacia dentro” hacia lo profundo, ira seguro…)*

Indeed, I felt that his work was a reflection upon not only the people of his region of the world but on humanity in general. By creating paintings that strategically use colour to evoke feelings, emotions and places; portraying semi-abstract figures that call us to the human state but do not impose one specific representation of a particular person upon us; and by expressing movement (or stillness, or both) in his work, he is able to capture particular moments in the human experience.

I think it is rare for an artist to successfully make the viewer feel involved in what is going on in a painting, but Salva accomplishes this. Not only did I feel I was a witness to moments in a human experience, but also a participant absorbed it, when standing in front of his work.

J. Salva, mi agradecimiento por haberme permitido escribir sobre su arte! My thanks to J. Salva for allowing me to comment on his art for this blog!

*Quotes are by W. V. Maturana, Universidad de Chile, taken from J. Salva’s November 2010 exhibit catalogue, Casa de la Cultura, Antofagasta.

Pedestrian Artists

As I wander around Antofagasta on foot, I am usually trying to not fall into one of the massive holes in the sidewalks (yes, there are massive open utility “pits” randomly scattered along the sidewalks) or step in dog droppings (there are no requirements to clean up your dog’s excrement and if there were, it probably wouldn’t matter since the stray dogs leave plenty behind, too). So it’s surprising that I ever see anything in the city beyond the crumbly pavement or dirt underfoot. When I do, my eye often travels to the incredible graffiti.

No, I’m not being sarcastic. The graffiti here actually tends to be… well, pretty. Or at the very least, interesting. Interesting in the way a painting at the MOMA would be interesting and capture your attention for a good little while.

Detail of a mural I found near the beach last month

This type of artistic graffiti is referred to as street art. While North American cities are no stranger to urban graffiti-turned-”street art,” this form of expression is taken to a whole new level in Antofagasta. Artists create massive, beautiful, intriguing professional-looking murals out of a few cans of spray paint on a weekly basis. Often, the murals attempt to communicate some point of view. What that point of view is is not always clear.

When someone finally decides to paint over the unsolicited art, the artist will simply return to the spot or a new location with a new creative idea in mind and transform the otherwise plain walls into a canvas for all of the city’s pedestrians to see.

Now, I wouldn’t go as far as condoning this type of behaviour, because it does of course result in damaged property and require an expensive clean-up. On the other hand, a fortunate side effect of this phenomenon is that in a place where infrastructure is crumbling and not always properly maintained, it provides a diversion that can be quite visually pleasing and really becomes a unique part of a city’s individual personality.

Street art - sidewalk in Antofagasta, Chile

This type of art – created by the anonymous everyday artist –  is also perhaps the oldest known to mankind and the most omnipresent throughout history. After all, weren’t the spectacular drawings discovered in a prehistoric cave in France essentially the same form of expression?

The obsession with street art is definitely not unique to Antofagasta or Chile: I saw ample examples of street murals in São Paulo, Brasil and in in Buenos Aires a simple walk down a downtown sidewalk will present ample examples of this type of artistic expression. I recently discovered a fantastic English-language blog that sets out to chronicle street art in Buenos Aires, and I highly recommend it for a good introduction overview and some interesting examples of the art form. (Some of the murals that are recorded on this blog are officially condoned by the city — not all street art is subversive.)

Massive murals are not the only types of street art I encounter in Antofagasta or saw in Buenos Aires. Many street artists employ the aid of stencils. The stencils are beautiful representations of famous figures that demonstrate skillful use of negative space. I recently encountered a set of stenciled-on images on the sidewalks near the Parque Brasil in downtown Antofagasta.

Evita - source: BuenosAiresStreetArt.com

In Buenos Aires, I saw countless stenciled-on portrayals of famous Argentinean figures such as soccer players, Che, the historic tango singer Carlos Gardel, Evita and the current president Christina Kirchner. I even saw graffiti of John Lennon (not Argentine, of course, but somehow very popular there still).

Street art is certainly an intriguing form of communication. It transforms the aesthetic of a city space and gives a voice to those whose points of view may otherwise be lost in the crowds of a busy urban center.

Concert for Chilean Artist Violeta Parra

On Saturday, I joined two English professors from my husband’s university at a concert in honour of the Chilean singer, artist, songwriter and legend Violeta Parra. She’s best known for composing the worldwide hit song Gracias a la Vida, (which has been since covered by many artists throughout the world, including Michael Buble).

The concert was performed by an ensemble of Chile’s top pop, rock and hip-hop artists, a symphony orchestra and guitarists (on acoustic, cuatro and the unique ukelele-like charango) under the stars and amidst the spectacular backdrop of the Huanchaca ruins, remnants of an old metal refinery built in 1888.

The concert was presented by Escondida mine as a gift to the city and was free (!) to all who picked up tickets about a week ago.

It was easily one of the most thoughtful concerts I have seen, incorporating Violeta’s hauntingly beautiful music and the talents of contemporary artists. It blended the old – a full symphony orchestra – with the new – electric guitars.

Violeta’s music is distinct, incorporating traditional Chilean instruments, haunting melodies and soulful lyrics. Violeta was an innovative artist and songwriter in the 1950s and 1960s and credited for creating the “nueva canción chilena,” a reinvention of Chilean folk music. Much of her music revolved around the desire to preserve and share traditional Chilean music, incorporating it into her work.

She was not “just” a musician: she was a talented painter and the first Latin American artist invited to exhibit at the Louvre. She founded several cultural centers where musicians and artists could get together. In many ways, her interdisciplinary focus was ahead of her time.

What struck me on Saturday night was the sheer popularity of this concert by all ages. Of course it had some famous contemporary Chilean artists to draw the crowds, but much of the music was well known by the audience. I was struck by the attraction that her music held to so many people in the city. She is truly a part of Chile’s heritage and her legacy is kept alive by beautiful tributes such as this.

One of the younger singers who was at the concert, Francisca Valenzuela, has recently covered one of Violeta’s songs, Run Run. This isn’t a video from the Saturday night concert.

The concert reminded me of what is important about travel: learning about things that you would not have otherwise known. The richest cultural experiences do not come from glamorous museums, tour busses or fancy restaurants. They come from glimpses, like this lovely concert, into what the people love and appreciate about their country.

Eclectic art & visual culture in Buenos Aires

Statue in La Boca

I could easily write a dozen posts on Buenos Aires. And I was only there for a little over five days. It was such a stimulating city and there was so much to absorb that I barely managed to dip my toes into it all before we were whisked over the Andes on the plane back to Chile.

I was overwhelmed by the sights, smells, sounds, feel, and tastes that city had to offer. I can only describe many parts of the city as artistic, intellectual, fashionable, historic, sophisticated, elegant and straight out of a bygone era.

San Telmo, historically an Italian neighbourhood

You can’t help but feel that Buenos Aires is maintaining a firm hold on the relics of its golden period. Much of the stimulating visual culture in the city is, I believe, the legacy of immigrants who came from all over Western Europe (most arrived in Argentina sometime between the 1850s-1950s) and brought with them the distinct aesthetics of their homelands. They proudly emulated and incorporated their visual history into Argentina and have, ever since, been holding onto it. I think that the relative distance and isolation of the country since then allowed its old-world artistic sensibilities to thrive, evolve and be somewhat protected from the audacious melting pot of global culture.

Antiques shopping in San Telmo

I saw some very stylish Porteños – what the city dwellers call themselves – on the cobblestone sidewalks of the city. I get ridiculously giddy over fashion, especially the glamorous, old-world, pretty kind of fashion, so you can imagine how thrilled I was to see men and women dressed to the nines in Buenos Aires. They still “dress for dinner” as one of my friends here in Chile described. Younger women wearing trendy yet sophisticated styles: tight – but not bordering on the obscene – trousers, dressy leather flats, blazers, silk blouses, chunky jewelry, colourful scarves, hair styles in a stylish knots held with barrettes that could have been pulled from Evita’s style handbook. I saw older women with their husbands downtown for a dinner and a show wearing tailored skirts and blazers that could have come straight from a 1940s Chanel boutique, silk scarves and patent pumps. Many men of all ages wore suits that would be right at home on the high streets of Milan.

The palacio de justica

The city had endless blocks of historical buildings, most built between the end of the 19th century through the mid-20th century. Many buildings looked as though they were transported straight from the 8th arrondissement of Paris, the palazzos of Florence or with art nouveau details found on American buildings in cities that boomed in the 1920s, like Chicago. I was also reminded a little of Montreal, as many more modern buildings were built to blend harmoniously with the older architecture. Of course, in all fairness, there were some requisite basic minimalist “lego block” buildings, but as we wandered through the downtown streets our eyes had no shortage of unique and elegant details from a past era to soak in.

And then there are the interiors. There is the attention to detail in most of the city’s historic cafes that we ducked into. Instead of modernizing their cafes, they embraced the past with wooden cafe tables and chairs, turn-of-the-century chandeliers, wood and glass cabinets, and chic red, black and white colour schemes.

Hand-laid mosaic floor in the National Cathedral

The cathedrals seemed to be lifted straight out of Europe and all that we stepped into were impeccably maintained. Can you believe this hand-laid mosaic floor throughout the National Cathedral?

I’ve also never seen so many theatres in one city, and most are still in use for live performances. We toured the famous Teatro Colón, considered to be one of the top five concert halls in the world and certainly one of the – if not the – most glamorous. Even one of the city’s many, many bookstores is housed in an old theatre.

Eclectic shops in La Boca highlight the Fileteado Porteño style

The shops themselves. I could go on about the shopping for hours, but it’s worth mentioning that boutiques themselves all had a unique flavour. Many harked back to an earlier era of beautiful, elegant displays and unique, one-of-a-kind (sometimes hand-made) items.

Of course, I cannot write a post highlighting the art found in Buenos Aires without mentioning Fileteado Porteño, the decorative and popular art that began in the 20th century, originating from Italian immigrants who painted designs on wooden carts. The movement spread into popular culture and was even incorporated into the package designs of mass-produced products such as Coca-Cola and Evian. We saw it highlighted in the city’s touristy Caminito in La Boca, which we explored on a sunny afternoon.

Stained glass dome in the Teatro Colón

And finally, even the politics of the country are visual. We were in the country the weekend of its presidential election, and images of the incumbent presidential candiate (and victor) were everywhere throughout the city.

Argentina has experienced a turbulent history and several extremes in recent decades. It was, in the early to mid-20th century, one of the wealthiest nations in the world and more or less was as developed as the United States at that time. Since then, it has struggled politically and economically, experiencing periods of growth and recession. On the one hand, Argentina seemed incredibly developed and sophisticated to me; on the other, it also has high levels of poverty. Many of its struggling citizens live on the outskirts of the city without electricity, water or paved roads. For that reason, I don’t want to give an unfair impression that the city or country was head-to-toe flawless. Not unlike Chicago, Los Angeles or New York, it certainly has a gritty side.

It was, however, a city that impressed me with its many Porteños who value the arts and place an emphasis on their own visual traditions. Stay tuned, I have much more to share about my impressions of Argentina…

Arts and Crafts at the Mercado

Right now I have a few projects going on during the weeks and am busy planning an upcoming excursion to Buenos Aires, Argentina. I’m looking forward to getting out of Antofagasta. This city may have some hidden treasures, but I need a change of scenery. Of course, I will also be eager to share my Buenos Aires experiences on this blog afterwards.

One unique feature of Antofagasta is that it is a frequent stop for traveling artists and crafts people. I would say that in general there is a strong emphasis on music, arts and crafts here. Many of the aesthetics of the handicrafts reflect historical designs, time-honoured traditions and incorporate locally-found materials.

Making jewelry, particularly out of stones, beads, wood, copper and aluminum is one of the most popular craft skills. However, unlike in the United States where it’s easy to head on over to the local Hobby Lobby and grab a bunch of tools and discount beads, Chileans don’t have massive “big box” arts and crafts chains to get their supplies from. As a result, they often make do using unique combinations of locally sourced materials.

The place I’ve found to buy arts and crafts is in the city center near the large market, or mercado. Outside of the mercado, roaming crafts people set up small stands to sell their wares. Hand dyed scarves and shirts, copper figurines, hand-woven alpaca gloves and hats, wire sculptures, wire-and-stone necklaces, and earrings of all shapes and sizes are some of the objects found there that are regularly for sale.

Earrings made of wire, wood disks, thread and shell fragments

A little over a week ago I walked down to the mercado to see what was available. To my pleasant surprise, I noticed a new vendor set up, selling a gorgeous array of earrings. The earrings were all large and colourful, some were carved wood with paintings on them: others featured shells, string, hammered copper and aluminum, small stones, and what caught my interest: butterfly wings.

I mustered up my Spanish skills and asked him how much the earrings cost. He gave me a rundown on the prices, and proceeded to tell me a little about some of the earrings. Some of them, he said, featured traditional designs of the Mapuche people of Chile. Others featured traditional designs of the native Bolivian people.

I spoke with him a little bit more (entirely in Spanish). He was excited to learn I was from Canada (sorry Americans, it’s usually just less controversial if I simply say I’m from Canada…) and told me he was a native of Brasil but has lived in Bolivia and is currently living in the city of Iquique, a Chilean city a bit north of here. He likes to travel to Antofagasta because he gets more business selling his earrings here than in other cities.

Aluminum earrings hammered with motifs of the people of Bolivia and Chile

He was very friendly and told me all about sights to see in Northern Chile, Bolivia and Brasil.

I felt like I really accomplished and learned something. I had a conversation (in Spanish!) with an individual from this region who enjoys carrying on the traditions of the people of the region through his crafts and seemed genuinely proud that I would take them back to Canada. (If only he knew I’d also feature them online!)

Butterfly wing earrings. These were taken from (already deceased) butterflies in Bolivia

The experience also highlights how important traditional arts are. I am surprised to discover how strongly connected many of them still are to their traditional ways. Sure, they have adopted some North American and Western European habits as a result of their long history with the Spanish, English and Americans, but refuse to leave other aspects of their traditions behind even in the year 2011.