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biofunmy · 5 years

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Francisco Toledo, Celebrated Mexican Artist and Arts Philanthropist, Dies at 79

By then, many of Mr. Toledo’s works were selling for hundreds of thousands of dollars, and the wealthier he became, the more he spent on philanthropy in Oaxaca. He converted his large colonial-style house into the Graphic Arts Institute, opening it for research and exhibitions of European and Latin American masterpieces of engraving, etching and drypoint. To make way for it, he moved a few blocks away to an adobe house almost bereft of art and furniture. There he would wear the white rough-cotton tunic and trousers and leather sandals of Oaxacan campesinos, or peasant farmers, his thick, black hair askew and his face flecked with gray stubble.

Mr. Toledo, who was known to smile or laugh only rarely, saved his humor for his civic campaigns. When the Oaxaca municipal government tried to sell a 17th-century convent to a hotel chain, he got permission from the local Roman Catholic diocese to paint many of the city’s churches with “for sale” signs, provoking an outcry that led the government to abandon the project.

The same Toledo tactics doomed a proposal to turn a 30-acre former orchard adjoining the magnificent Santo Domingo Church into a luxury hotel and parking lot. Instead, the property became a botanical garden displaying the varied native flora of Oaxaca.

Mr. Toledo is survived by his third wife, Trine Ellitsgaard, a Danish weaver. Survivors also include his five children, Jerónimo López Ramírez, a renowned tattoo artist; Natalia Toledo Paz, Mexico’s undersecretary of cultural diversity; Laureana Toledo, a photographer; Sara López Ellitsgaard, head of the Graphic Arts Institute of Oaxaca; and Benjamín López Ellitsgaard.

In his 1996 interview with Town & Country magazine, Mr. Toledo outlined a typical day for him. He spent mornings in his studio. At midday, he met with local people seeking his support for new civic projects. And after lunch, he was back in his studio, working until late in the evening.

“After all,” he said, “if I don’t sell more art, there won’t be any new projects.”

Elda Cantú contributed reporting.

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strangeumbrellassite · 7 years

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Bound by a love of strange umbrellas, we organize special evenings of improvised music, films and art. Curated by Steve Beresford, Blanca Regina, Jack Goldstein and Pierre Bouvier Patron Doors at 7.30 pm Performances at 8 pm Performances: Mandhira de Saram/ Jack Goldstein/ Arthur Sajas/ Pierre Bouvier Patron: Music and 16mm film Blanca Regina, Tania Chen and Karel Doing: Voice, piano, electronics, objects, 16mm Steve Beresford, Clive Thomas, Tomi Osuna Cello, piano, electronics, visuals Elaine Mitchener Voice Klaus Bru, Saxophone and electronics Films: Alex Reuben, Film: Mistakes 6min, UK, 2000 Leandro Taub, Film: 'Universal Story of the Swimming Pool' 6min Matthias Kispert, Film: Dark Pool, 5min Laureana Toledo, Film: Mexicali Boogie Woogie, 2001 2min Tickets ‎£7

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luzagla · 7 years

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Un lugar que me gusta visitar y relajarme en la CDMX es el jardín de este espacio. Se disfruta del arte, lo verde, café y comida. Esta es una de mis piezas favoritas de ahí y es de Laureana Toledo 🐙 (at Museo de Arte Moderno de México)

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nofomoartworld · 8 years

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Art F City: Museum Punk Show in Need of A Sound Guy

Gardar Eide Einarsson, “Always Carry A Bible / All Cops Are Bastards,” 2007

Punk. Sus rastros en el arte contemporáneo Museo Universitario del Chopo Curated by David G. Torres Until March 26th, 2017

Featuring: Tere Recarens, Martin Arnold, Johan Grimonprez, Federico Solmi, Dan Graham, T.R Uthco, Ant Farm, María Pratts, Iztiar Okariz, Chiara Fumai, Raisa Maudit, Fabienne Audéoud, Eduardo Balanza, TRES, Raymond Pettibon, Die Tödliche Doris, Mabel Palacín, Christian Marclay, Guerrilla Girls, Brice Dellsperger, Jordi Colomer, Pepo Salazar, Juan Pérez Agirregoikoa, Jota Izquierdo, Israel Martínez, Aida Ruilova, Antonio Ortega, Luis Felipe Ortega, Daniel Guzmán, Jimmie Durham, Mike Kelley, Tony Oursler, João Louro, Paul McCarthy, João Onofre, Santiago Sierra, Yoshua Okon, Miguel Calderón, Nan Goldin, Enrique Jezik, Guillermo Santamarina, VALIE EXPORT, Kendell Geers, Laureana Toledo, Sarah Minter, Semefo, DR. LAKRA, Gardar Eide Einarsson.

MEXICO CITY– I’m struggling to watch Aïda Ruilova’s 2009 video “Meet the Eye,” in which the actress Karen Black alternately attempts to seduce and crazily berate Raymond Pettibon between rapid edits. She’s wearing babydoll-style makeup, which gives her a subtly Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? vibe, and I’m hooked to the melodrama. But I have no idea what the argument is about, because I can barely hear the audio track over the sound of gunshots, a faint electroclash song playing somewhere, countless indistinguishable noises, and the invitation “Let’s go for it!” being repeated in a grating child’s voice.

The gallery is an ADHD nightmare. It contains not one, but two talking Mike Kelley works and several videos by other artists. In one, the Spanish performance artist Itziar Okariz is pissing on a parked car in the middle of New York City. On the other (source of the electroclash track) I catch a glimpse of what appears to be a dead-eyed princess dripping with cum.

By the time I turn back to Ruilova’s piece the loop has ended. My questions are unanswered. The curatorial strategy here leaves me with so many more.

From Raisa Maudit’s 2012 “FART: Global Art Fair”

Punk. Sus rastros en el arte contemporáneo, now on view at Museo Universitario Del Chopo, is sort of a mess. That’s not to say the work here isn’t good—it’s great—but the show is an overwhelming, over-stimulating experience that’s often draining when it should be wholly inspiring. I can’t think of another exhibition I’ve been to in which I’ve loved nearly every artwork yet couldn’t wait to get the hell out of each gallery. Maybe that abrasiveness is deliberate? The experience did, after all, remind me of trying to have one-on-one conversations with dear friends while a noise musician performs on the other side of a party in a squat. If the past 35 years have rendered audiences numb to “shocking” artworks, perhaps subverting museum-caliber curatorial conventions is the last punk gesture.

That’s a thought I might not have had, were it not for the fact that (I think) I entered the exhibition backwards. The galleries are stacked in a concrete box addition inside the museum—an airy 1902 glass pavilion that, appropriately, was home to Mexico’s famous punk market “El Chopo” until the late 80s. I started from the top floor, the library, where punk memorabilia is arranged in vitrines, more or less chronologically alongside didactic text. This part of the exhibition, at least for me, was surprisingly enjoyable. The text places punk in an art historical context, citing Dada, the Situationists, John Waters’ films, and Warhol’s factory as conceptual forefathers. Alongside the familiar narratives of the CBGBs scene and parallels in London, the curators discuss Spain’s Movida Madrileña—one of my favorite, under-historicized moments in subculture—the Spanish-speaking world’s more recent equivalent of the experimental Weimar Republic years. I got an undeniable thrill from seeing a video of all-female Basque punk band Las Vulpess’ cover of “Now I Wanna Be Your Dog” enshrined in a museum (in Spanish, the song translates to “I like being a slut”, and its broadcast on television sparked a debate about censorship, gender, and “decency” in Spain’s relatively new socialist democracy). From photos of drag icon Divine to punk band Eskorbuto, never had I felt more cool nerding out in a museum. Importantly, the show ties the influence of both European and anglophone punk to Mexican subculture in the 80s and 90s. That’s a topic I’m glad the show gave me an introduction to. (Indeed, I’d like to revisit Sarah Minter’s hour-long video “Alma Punk” from 1992 in a less overwhelming context. It’s a candid DIY document of Mexico’s punk scene from that era.)

Enrique Ježik, “La fiesta de las balas,” (The Bullet Party) 2011.

If the academic and “precious” vitrines of punk history and artifacts were unexpected, the gallery beneath it seemed like a contemporary assault on the culture of display—quite literally. The aforementioned gunshot sounds are from an Enrique Ježik sculpture, “La fiesta de las balas,” 2011. The piece comprises three bulletproof glass display cases, evocative of Damien Hirst works, riddled with craters from bullets. They’re installed in their own room, like a shooting range, but the sound from the shooting recording reverberates through half the museum. The piece stuck with me beyond my initial reaction (a teen boy destruction fantasy) as a commentary on both the cult of art object worship, and the futility of resisting it. Like Warhol’s “Shot Marilyns”, the piece’s value lies in it doubling as a record of the violence committed against it.

But “La Fiesta de las balas” also points to two of the exhibition’s most glaring problems: it’s one of the few works here that actually should be experienced as a physical object, and it’s loud as hell. There are only a few other sculptural works in the show, and at least half of them involve an audio or video component that’s competing with other sounds in an echoey gallery.

Still from Brice Dellsperger’s “Body Double 16“

And sound is a big, big problem for a show that’s overwhelmingly based on video. Don’t get me wrong: nearly every video here is fantastic. I spent untold hours diligently viewing relatively short works such as Raisa Maudit’s 2012 “FART: Global Art Fair” (in which the artist parodies the gallery/artist relationship in a tiara and semen during a fake interview with herself) or Ant Farm’s 1975 “The Eternal Frame,” in which the artists reenact the assassination of JFK, complete with drag Jackie O. But in such a busy exhibition, to expect visitors to sit through Dan Graham’s hour-long “Rock my Religion” is asking a bit much. If you’re curating a program with more time-based-media than a museum has hours, perhaps a gallery exhibition isn’t the way to go. I couldn’t shake the impression that Punk would’ve made a fantastic screening series and publication, with perhaps a much leaner gallery install where noise-emitting sculptures had more space to breathe. It felt like a missed opportunity for content with so much potential for event-based programming and critical writing—especially considering the museum has its own movie theater.

It’s frustrating to view video works when they’re all looping at different rates in a gallery context. There’s a rich history of subversive cinema as a collective viewing experience, and so many of these works would be better on the big screen. I am thinking especially of Brice Dellsperger’s “Body Double 16.” It’s short, but screams for cinematic treatment. In the piece, Dellsperger assumes a variety of characters in drag, committing various acts of violence against the other characters he’s also playing. The artist recreates scenes from A Clockwork Orange and Ken Russell’s Women In Love with surprisingly beautiful cinematography that makes the punk/masochistic content so much stranger.

Pepo Salazar, “Yoga Alliance,” 2015.

It’s one of many highlights lining the ramp gallery (which is either the entrance or exit, depending on the route one takes). There’s really too much excellent work here to talk about it all—but I’d be remiss for neglecting Pepo Salazar’s assemblage “Yoga Alliance,” which is arguably one of my favorite artworks of the past few years. It comprises a digital print of bald Britney Spears, from her very public meltdown a decade ago, and a black wig hanging from the piece. It has a very “Punk’s not dead” (rather lurking in unexpected places) vibe, and the physical wig almost reads like an invitation to the viewer to join in the rebellion.

Install view with Die Tödliche Doris, “Das Leben des Sid Vicious,” 1981 (L); Christian Marclay, “Record Players,” 1983-84; and Guillermo Santamarina, “Frei vom jedem Schaden!” installation of albums thrown like a discus at the wall in the background.

Descending the ramp, through more video projections, the last piece I encountered (or the first for viewers who start from the bottom up) was Catalan artist Jordi Colomer’s “No Future.” The video follows an old car mounted with an electric sign bearing the titular text as it drives across European cities. The piece is from 2006, and as the “NO? FUTURE!” message crossed a likely expensive, Calatrava-looking bridge, it felt eerily prescient. Filmed just before the global recession and the political turmoil that ensued, Colomer seemed to know that punk would suddenly become relevant anew. If The Decline of Western Civilization is accelerating, at least somebody is still having a little fun while we’re along for the ride.

Jordi-Colomer-No-Future-2006

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planboaxaca · 3 years

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- . Manuel García Arte Contemporáneo Fundada en el 2000 MG arte Contemporáneo se planteó como un espacio de ruptura sobre la hegemonía de la Escuela de Arte Oaxaqueño, al presentar artistas y proyectos expositivos que cuestionan las identidades fijas, uniformes por medio de planteamientos heterogéneos, plurales que posibilitan una cultura y arte en Oaxaca múltiple. Actualmente coordinan el proyecto Murguia Portal Benito Juárez 110 Altos , centro histórico @mg_artecontemporaneo @proyecto_murguia Artistas Dr Lakra Ramón Sanmiquel Toño camuñas Laureana Toledo Carlos luna Taka Fernández Bayrol Jiménez Luis Hampshire Israel Nazario Antonio Turok Alfonso Barranco #manuelgtaciartecontemporaneo #siemprehayunplanb #thereisalwaysaplanb #oaxacadiverso #oaxacacreativo #oaxacacomunidad #oaxacaradical #invertirenideasdelfuturoahora #apoyaatuartistalocal #supportyourlocalartist #arteenescaladomestica #contemporaryartcollector #colectividadradical #crucespolinizados #oaxacanart #artlandapp #newmodern #dailyart #livingwithart #artadvisor https://www.instagram.com/p/CSCDs4fLTPz/?utm_medium=tumblr

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mujerdecarneyverso · 7 years

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#tallerdetaquimecanografía #tumbona #aura estrada #Gabriela Jáuregui #Laureana Toledo #Mónica de la Torre

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anarchfilmproject-blog · 10 years

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vimeo

Laureana Toledo Please Be a Particle of This Explosion

Laureana Toledo responds to a selection of Frances Richard's Anarch:

Please be a particle

of this explosion

#Laureana Toledo #Frances Richard #Anarch #Anarch. Film Project #futurepoem #poetry #film

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vincentvegaiii · 5 years

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Hecho en México LAUREANA TOLEDO EN LA ROCK AND ROLL PUBLIC LIBRARY …PERO A VECES RIMA @museojumex #museojumex #art CDMX #arte #mexicocity #ciudaddemexico (en Museo Jumex) https://www.instagram.com/vic_vega_araujo/p/BvmY1MzhE25/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=28os3fqeetlc

#museojumex #art #arte #mexicocity #ciudaddemexico

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biofunmy · 5 years

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Francisco Toledo Embodied the Activist Soul of Oaxaca

In his later years, the master artist Francisco Toledo, who died Thursday at 79, developed a fondness for making kites.

He decorated them with stencils of grasshoppers, turtles and shrimp, and prints of elephants with monkeys and skeletons, exhibiting a playfulness that simmered below the surface of much of his work and life.

But even in its most whimsical states, Toledo’s art was never too far removed from the social causes of the day. In December 2014, from his studio in Oaxaca, Mexico, he made a series of kites adorned with portraits of the “43,” or the 43 college students who were missing — disappeared allegedly by criminal and state forces in the neighboring state of Guerrero that year.

The students were mostly indigenous young men, and their presumed deaths shook the country. Toledo flew kites at demonstrations held in the students’ honor, and encouraged others to do the same as long as the 43 remained missing.

[Read the full obituary for Francisco Toledo here.]

“You always thought he was one of those people who was going to live forever, he was such a tremendous voice for the arts in Mexico,” said Pilar Perez, an independent curator and gallerist who exhibited Toledo’s kites at the Oficina de Proyectos Culturales in Puerto Vallarta in 2015.

Cuauhtémoc Medina, the chief curator of the Museo de Arte Universitario Contemporáneo in Mexico City, said in an interview Friday that Toledo was “the prototype of the artist-activist for his region of the world.”

Made in Oaxaca

The man himself cut an innocuous figure: thin, white-bearded, dark-skinned and usually dressed in trousers and huarache sandals, the workaday attire of fellow indigenous men in Oaxaca.

But the artist’s presence was ubiquitous on the often contested streets of Oaxaca de Juárez, the capital city of the state in southern Mexico. For the place, he was a singular champion, and very much its product.

Oaxaca is fiercely political, and in cultural terms, most distinct from the national whole. It is the birthplace of both the gilded-era dictator General Porfirio Díaz, and the 19th century’s great reformist president, Benito Juárez, sometimes informally described as Mexico’s Abraham Lincoln. (Toledo once told Reuters that his father wanted him “to be Benito Juárez.”)

Born in 1940, Francisco Benjamín López Toledo was a Zapotec “istmeño,” or one from Mexico’s Isthmus of Tehuantepec (an identity he claimed and also inherited from his parents). He grew up partly on the Veracruz state side, where he encountered many of the animals and myths that would later populate his work.

He moved to Mexico City to study art, and then returned to Oaxaca, where the movements on hand would be aplenty. Indigenous Oaxacans routinely rallied against development projects that they argue hinder or alter their way of life.

Whether it was a fight to stop a McDonald’s on the city’s central zócalo, or advocacy work for the area’s ethnic indigenous subgroups, including the Mixtec, Mixe, Triqui and his native Zapotec, Toledo showed up. One obituary in a Mexican newspaper called him “Oaxaca’s greatest defender.”

To museum-goers, he was beloved for his paintings, prints and drawings — surreal yet expressionist fragments of daily life in the Oaxacan country. He sprinkled his work with echoes of shamanistic myth and the ancient histories of Mesoamerica. He drew from European influences, but rarely veered from Oaxaca, conveying the sensuality and natural richness of the state.

“He talked the talk and walked the walk,” said Odilia Romero, a Oaxacan community organizer and Zapotec interpreter in Los Angeles, which is home to the largest concentration of Oaxacans in the United States.

“He put the name of Oaxaca and the indigenous pueblos of Mexico on high in the world. He always stood in solidarity,” she added.

That activism extended to his adult children, who include the visual and tattoo artist Jerónimo “Dr. Lakra” Toledo; the artist and writer Laureana Toledo; and Natalia Toledo, a leading poet in the Zapotec language. Each, in their own way, have matured into advocates and ambassadors for Oaxaca like their father.

The Legacy He Leaves

Beyond the streets and the museum halls, Toledo built a robust physical infrastructure for the arts in his home, starting in 1972 with the opening of the Casa de Cultura de Juchitán, which he founded with the poet Elisa Ramírez. Later, the unofficial center of Toledo’s philanthropy became the Instituto de Artes Gráficas de Oaxaca (or IAGO), an institute and library that remains an active incubator of young indigenous artists and writers in Oaxaca.

Since Thursday night, mourners and well-wishers have been gathering there, according to local accounts, bringing flowers and gifts to help send Toledo into the afterlife.

“I hope a lot of us could follow in his footsteps,” Ms. Romero said. “Defending our land, standing up with indigenous people in solidarity, especially in these times of extractivism, where they’re taking our land, our mezcal, our water, our clothes, our food.”

With Toledo, never forgetting one’s roots seemed synonymous with action on behalf of the common good, said Sandra de la Loza, an L.A.-based artist and a friend of one of his children.

“Toledo was a maker — a maker of artwork that dealt with the realms of deep historical ancient memory and indigenous cosmology,” Ms. de la Loza said. “But he’s also someone who was deeply rooted in a place. In his case, it was Oaxaca.”

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