In Conversation With Conceptual Artist Pedro Reyes
Contemporary conceptual artist and traditional stonemason; architect and activist; engineer and craftsman. The cross-disciplinary nature of Pedro Reyes' work - which encompasses performance, installation, video, sculpture, and activism - makes a strong case for multiplicity.
Acknowledging the poetry of form as well as the power of politics, Reyes' work layers complexity, humor, rigor, and design. Reyes lives and works in Mexico City in a brutalist house of his own design.
Rosie Robertson (RR)
Pedro Reyes (PR)
RR: Having first trained as an architect, you now create time-based, conceptual performance art, and sculptural works; was it a childhood dream to become an architect?
PR: As a child, my grandfather was a significant influence because he taught me algebra and mythology at the same time, he would take a Greek or roman myth, and then he would pose a problem in algebraic terms. For instance, a simple arithmetic problem would be: Jason has to kill the hydra, but can only catch two heads at a time; how hard does Jason have to work? What that taught me was that you could have myths translated into a formula, and those myths could change or be rewritten using the same elements that gave me the keys to eventually perform. On the other hand, my father was also a significant influence because he taught me engineering drawing. He did not mean to impress me, but to give instructions for someone to build something. The acknowledgment that "if you can draw it, you can make it" gave me the necessary skills to become a sculptor.
Pieces from ‘Palas Por Pistolas’ — The resulting collection of 1527 deadly firearms was then melted down and turned into garden shovels, which are used for planting trees in schools and art institutions.
RR: Coming from an architectural background, does your artistic practice share a similar relationship with the notions of time, space, politics, and the body?
PR: In architecture, you have to respond to a program, you have to solve a problem, which has stayed with me in my art practice. I expect from my pieces some degree of accountability. I am interested in measuring what that impact can be. It actually took me a long time to start making art pieces for art's sake only.
RR: Your artistic output seems highly collaborative, often coordinating/working with several organizations and individuals who contribute to the overall project. Even working with stone must also require many technicians and craftsmen, particularly on a large scale. As it is often stated, 'art cannot be made in a vacuum' - however, I wonder if there is a part of your artistic practice that is more solitary?
PR: Sculpture has always been a collective undertaking. If you walked in a sculptor studio from the Renaissance or other eras of human history, you would systematically find a group of people working on a single carving due to the heavy labor required to carve stone. I am very much interested in keeping that craftsmanship alive. In the studio, some maestros have many years of experience, and some people who started to learn the craft are now on their way to becoming maestros themselves. However, there is a lot of thinking process that must happen in solitary, for me that is mainly distilling thoughts that may be vague ideas that I have found in old books and that I keep in notes, and then at night, I translate into drawings, and those drawings will lead to new works. Drawing is certainly something that requires me to be alone.
RR: You have collaborated with your partner, fashion designer Carla Fernandez. Does having an intimate relationship and in-depth knowledge of each other's work inhibit the work, or does it speed up the process thanks to the 'couples’ shorthand' that inevitably forms in intimate relationships?
PR: Yes, I collaborate with Carla on many projects. We know how to let each other do what they do best, which helps us move projects forward. What is most important, however, is to share a cause and be concerned with a social or political issue. Because when you do some kind of activism, solidarity is essential, even if it is the companionship of a single person, it makes a world of difference.
RR: Your work includes video, sculpture, performance, activism, and installation - does the freedom to work in any medium feel freeing or overwhelming?
PR: Augusto Boal warned us about the "Che Guevara Syndrome," because as Che Guevara made a revolution in Cuba, then he went on emancipating countries and went to Angola and almost got killed, and then went to Bolivia and was killed there. So, the warning is that you have to be careful about the number of revolutions you undertake; if you embrace too many, you may not be able to complete much.
Feeling overcome by the news and the 24-hour news cycle is commonplace - particularly in the current political climate of polemics, outrage, and misinformation. Though it was made in 2013, your work Colloquium is an elegant expression of the present-day political and cultural landscape.
RR: Where do you get your news from, what role does it play in your life, and do you feel that the news cycle feeds your work or distracts you from it?
PR: My news diet is a mix because often, I follow the social media accounts of activist groups, which often are quite radical but give you an unfiltered and critical "temperature" of local environments. Nevertheless, they have a global resonance because you see how things really are. Instagram accounts such as @heavydiscussion and @blackpowderpress, as well as hashtags like #nfac report events that you won't see on the mainstream press. However, I am subscribed to other news outlets such as The Economist, The Guardian, etc.
Amnesia Atomica — a project by
Pedro Reyes & Carla Fernandez against nuclear weapons.
Dance performance by Nohbords, Music by Vyctoria
Dance performance by Nohbords
RR: Though your work often deals with heavy and complex subject matters, the tone is playful and humorous. Fine art, video/performance art, and activism all have a reputation for being somewhat po-faced or self-serious. I wonder if you actively inject humor into your work to change this perception - or to make the work more digestible - or is humor part of your character and the lens through which you see the world?
PR: Studying humor, you find that most jokes have a setup and a punchline. And the way that punchlines work is through shock; in the setup, you have a course of action where you detect that something is going in the wrong direction, but then the punchline is such a big disappointment that the way you cope with that shock is with laughter. I thought to myself what would be an "upward drop," a punchline so hilariously optimistic, so ridiculous, that it also leads to laughter. But most importantly, wild visionary ideas may have more traction than reasonable reforms. It is crucial to have this kind of exaggeration to create a compelling vision.
RR: Do you believe in the power of art and/or politics to inspire or mobilize change? Why?
PR: I believe that by action or inaction, we all shape the world and that art can produce change. If I destroyed 1,527 weapons, I like to think that some lives were saved by taking those guns out of circulation, and if I planted 1,527 trees, that also has an impact. However, I don't think that all art has to serve this purpose. The beauty of art may also be in its purposelessness, where the aesthetic experience has in itself, a use. Life is miserable without art, and culture is a basic need. That is one of the main reasons I am working on reactivating libraries. Reading a book is a life-changing experience, and literacy is one of the few things that has been proved to foster social mobility.
RR: As you mentionned, the 2008 artwork 'Palas por Pistolas' was an invitation to the inhabitants of the Mexican city of Culiacan to donate their guns in exchange for coupons and vouchers. The resulting collection of 1527 deadly firearms was then melted down and turned into garden shovels, which are used for planting trees in schools and art institutions. The spades are potent symbols of optimism and activism - I wonder what is the role of the gallery, and how do works of real-world activism change or transform in the neutrality of the white cube?
PR: I have never shown Palas por Pistolas in a gallery context, it has been shown in biennials and museums, but every time that it is shown, the piece is activated through the planting of trees. The museum has to organize a tree planting, which involves the local community and creates an opportunity to talk about gun control. There are two ways to look at the museum: as a fridge or as an oven. Museums are like fridges in the sense that they have a perfect temperature to keep works safe for posterity, but also, they can work as ovens where you cook new realities, and both functions are essential.
RR: Your work is multi-layered, and the objects presented to the audience have had a life before reaching the gallery space. Is it essential that everyone connects with the work's concept and that they understand its "story"? Or are you at ease with the experience of the work varying depending on the viewer's engagement with it?
PR: Art objects indeed tell a story, but often I am interested in the artwork being a platform for the audience to find a place where they can tell their own story. This is the case of Sanatorium, where there are pieces where I ask the audience to ask a secret, which is anonymous and put inside a bottle, and in exchange, they can read someone else's secret. Or I ask them to write their epitaph, and then you can also learn how different people's epitaphs accumulate. These artworks become more vibrant with the public's input, where content is generated by the user, and they continue to grow through this collective process. When I make instruments, it is up to the musicians to come up with music at the moment of interpretation, so I love doing work that is not a definitive creation, but that is only a steppingstone in the process of collective creativity.
RR: More traditional art forms, such as your sculptures in stone, are more open to interpretation. Are the sculptures rooted in the act of making - more preoccupied with shape, texture, color, and composition - or is there an equally direct 'message' or story behind these works as there is with the activism?
PR: In sculpture, form is meaning, and there is more to form that can be translated into concepts. That's the beauty of it: a sculpture consists of thousands of decisions. These are made during the process, often in a direct battle between hand and material, the sculpture's body, and the force applied to the operation of shaping, of sculpting. You think by doing. Some sculptures are abstract, and others are figurative, and many are something in between, but I certainly produce sculptures that have an "agenda." If I make a bust of a thinker, it works as an index for the body of work of that person, or they may reflect a moment. For instance, in 2016, I made a wood version of the liberty statue, so it looked like a trojan horse. It was a commentary on the permanent state of war where the United States waged war against other countries with the pretext of exporting democracy. The only ones who profit are the military-industrial sector that has hijacked US politics. I also made a Protesters series, where I wanted to retake the format of the statue. Statues have always been prominent figures, mostly men, and I wanted to make a monument to the anonymous protester who takes his own physical body to the streets, nowadays even risking their personal safety as a last resort to produce change.
RR: What do you find more inspiring: nature or man-made structures?
PR: I would say that I am more interested in art than nature. In art, you have interpretation, and I'm always interested in how judgment is produced, how it occurs. However, in sculpture, you still have a very close relationship with nature, mainly because you have to understand the structure of matter.
RR: What is beauty - and what role does it play in your work?
PR: Beauty is a difficult thing to describe or to define, first because the term doesn't have much currency in art. Also, it is a dynamic term, in the sense that there are aesthetic dimensions that vary according to each person's taste. However, when something is well resolved, it is because the artist has spent time taking care of composition, and as he may also be aware of the relevance, the work may have in its current context. If you notice, what I am saying is full of abstractions, it is always easier to pinpoint examples and then talk about its properties.
RR: Which artists, architects, or activists most inspire you?
PR: I have been lucky to have great mentors and teachers, to name a few. Antanas Mockus, a philosopher, mathematician, and former mayor of Bogota, Colombia, has been very influential. In 2016, I also had the chance to work with Noam Chomsky while teaching at MIT, on the making of a theatrical production called "Manufacturing Mischief." Another significant influence has been professor Doris Sommer from the Cultural Agents at Harvard University and writer Lauren Berlant at the University of Chicago.
RR: Do you like to live with your own works?
PR: I do live with my works, and there is a courtyard in the studio where the works spend some months before they are shipped to shows or collections. It is a stone garden where I get to spend time with the works because once they are gone forever. It is there where I test the resilience of the work because you aren't always in control of the context. Hence, the works must be good enough to resist a bad display in the future, so I am still happy to advise the placement and installation of the work.
RR: Any book suggestion(s)?
PR: Currently, I am enjoying reading the biography of Victor Serge, a communist revolutionary.
