Project #2
BANDEJA DE BOLÍVAR: 1999 (1999)
BOCAS DE CENIZA (2003-04)
GUERRA Y PA (2001)
BOCAS DE CENIZA (2003-04)
GUERRA Y PA (2001)
by Juan Manuel Echavarría
Malmö Konsthall, C-sal, 11-17 April, 2007
Wednesday 11 am to 9 pm, presentation 7 pm.
All other days open 11 am to 5 pm.
Still from Guerra y Pa (2001)
– We are delighted to develop this dialogue with you, as it is a great opportunity to reflect on your practice and to talk about the three video works that will be screened in the auditorium of the Malmö Konsthall. One of them, Bocas de Ceniza (Mouths of Ash) from 2003-04, will be presented almost at the same time as the inauguration of a new library in Medellín, on 13th April, and as you’ve mentioned to us, the singers that participate in the video will be attending the event. For you it is always important to maintain a close relationship with the people who have been involved in your projects, could you tell us how this work has been developed?
– It would have been a pleasure and an honour to attend the screening of my three video pieces at the Malmö Konsthall, but I had previously accepted an invitation to the opening of a cultural event in the city of Medellín, Colombia. At the event, called “Espacios de hospitalidad”, Bocas de Ceniza will be presented in the Museo de Antioquia and in a new library that is opening in the first days of April – an event I hope to attend with the singers that composed Bocas de Ceniza. Dorismel was the first of the seven singers that I met by chance in the small village of Barú, on the Caribbean coast of Colombia. It was at a small gathering at night when, out of the blue, he said that he had a song he would like to sing. It was a song composed by him, in which he expresses thanks to God for allowing him to survive a massacre. This song, I thought, has to be recorded. In Colombia a drug war has devastated the country for more then 25 years and I had never before heard of someone composing a song about survival. I asked him if I could film him. He felt very proud and the next day I was able to film his song a capella, just as he had sung it for us the night before in the village of Barú. For many nights Dorismel’s song rumbled in my sleep. The melody was very contagious and stayed within me. For many nights not only his song, but his strong face, his frozen gaze woke me up. Dorismel’s, I thought, cannot be an isolated story. There must be others who are composing their own songs about the horrors of war. This thought became an obsession that led me to look for others, to find other human beings who had been brutalized by war and who were creating and singing their own compositions. This intuition proved to be correct.
– The work has a visual impact, ‘contagious’ as you say. It’s both calm and dreadful at the same time: from the melodies to the words, to the portrayal of the singers; even the silences that precede and follow each song are deeply affecting.
– For me what was most important in doing Bocas de Ceniza was that each singer had composed his or her own song. The two brothers in Dos Hermanos (Two Brothers) are from the Caribbean coast while the rest of the singers come from the Pacific region, both areas with a very strong presence of an Afro Colombian population that has a very rich oral tradition. These singers, I believe, are weaving the non-official history of the drug war that has trapped so many innocent civilians, and I strongly feel that these songs should not be lost to the thin air. They must be filmed and recorded. I still continue to visit these regions and I have found many other singers, both witnesses and victims of the war, who are composing their own songs.
Installation view, Bocas de Ceniza
– The testimony, the telling of an extreme experience, here in the form of songs, can be seen as a symbolic, cathartic reconstruction of the self. The singers aren’t represented as victims, but as new subjects that aspire to a new correlation of forces, that call for solidarity. It’s interesting to hear that if you hadn’t met Dorismel you would never have encountered this way of narrating. What is the collective consciousness, or awareness, about what is really happening outside the large cities?
– There is not enough awareness, especially so in Bogotá, the capital of Colombia. There is little awareness about the suffering and the horrors that war has brought particularly to the peasants in Colombia. The repetition of violence in the media, the ongoing conflict, the words ‘WAR’ and ‘PEACE’ repeated over and over again have turned violence into a normal thing, into something that people prefer not to talk about. Apathy has enveloped us. And when the war hits the peasants out in the rural areas, it all seems very far away, as if it was on a different planet. There is a poem by W. H. Auden, “Musée the Beaux Arts”, in which he writes about the structural apathy within ourselves towards the suffering of others. Let me quote you some of his verses:
“In Brueghel’s Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sallied calmly on.”
How can we human beings break this indifference, this structural apathy to which Auden refers to? In Colombia the internal exodus from the rural areas is enormous. There are between two and three million internal refugees brutally uprooted from their land and their homes, the land stolen by the victimizers. The option for the peasants is to flock to the cities where they are often looked upon with suspicion or simply turned into ‘invisible beings’ by the city dwellers. This forced displacement happens after threats from the far right paramilitaries* or by the left wing guerrillas** who are battling to control strategic areas of drug cultivation. Let’s not forget that both these irregular armies traffic with drugs. The displacement also happens after massacres that are treated as no more than a simple footnote in our daily lives, massacres that come with the mutilation of the bodies and often with the disappearance of the victims, their bodies dumped into secret mass graves or into the rivers – food for the vultures. This is an old practice that has been happening since long before our present drug war and yet in Colombia there is no collective voice that says, “ENOUGH”.
– This brings us to your first photographic work, Retratos (Portraits) from 1996, which consists of a series of black and white portraits of battered mannequins that were then used to sell clothes in the streets of Bogotá. It is a very charged work that mirrors the degree to which violence has permeated every aspect of everyday life; someone will eventually buy and wear the clothing that is hanging on the scarred mannequins!
– Retratos allowed me to wake from a deep sleep. I was so unconscious of this violence, which permeates the everyday aspects of everyday life, as you say. I lived in a crystal bubble and it was this series that allowed me to break from it. The people in the street were going up to the mannequins and observing the clothes but no one was looking at the battered faces, they were not seeing the violence that these mannequins were exhibiting. It was invisible. And this behaviour became a mirror in which I eventually would look at myself. Before being a photographer, I was a writer who was looking to create a world of fantasy. Retratos revealed that I could explore, through photography and metaphor, some of the social conflicts in which we in Colombia have lived for so many years and that I had been ignoring for so long.
– How does your background as a writer influence your work? I am thinking about your use of metaphor as a tool to go deeper into the reality that surrounds you, to give a new light to that which has been obscured and dehumanized?
– Metaphor, I believe, is an essential tool that we humans have. A magnificent tool for the artist: A good metaphor will resonate on many different levels. My writing gave me a passion for metaphor and it also gave me an understanding of imagery and symbolism. I try to use all of these elements in my photography and videos. Even in a work as simple and direct as Bocas de Ceniza I use that very classical metaphor: the eyes as mirror to the soul. Each singer’s eyes look deeply into his own pain and deep sorrow, into his own feelings.
– What does the title refer to?
– Bocas de Ceniza is first of all a metaphorical name. But it also refers to the mouths of the main river in Colombia, the Magdalena River, which runs from south to north and spills into the Caribbean. A river that runs through a long geography and mirrors in its dense waters the tragic realism that has enveloped this country.
– In the video work Bandeja de Bolívar: 1999 (Bolívar’s Platter: 1999) from 1999, a slow sequence of stills depicts a replica of a platter – commissioned by Simon Bolívar*** to commemorate Colombia’s independence that bears the inscription “Republica de Colombia para siempre” (Colombian Republic forever) – being destroyed until it is reduced to a neat pile of white powder resembling cocaine. The succession of images is accompanied by the penetrating noise of the platter being smashed, and I remember that in relation to Retratos you’ve said that the mannequins were like the stone that shatters the calm waters, though here the shattering is no longer a metaphor but assumes a real dimension. It is such a straightforward and yet complex work, which in just a few minutes brings together past and present, from the dreams that followed the independence from Spanish rule to the destruction of a nation by the illegal drug trade. The simple action of destroying the platter also becomes again a symbol or a metaphor of Colombia. Could you tell us how you developed this work and also how you relate it to the colonial history of Colombia?
– My brother Andres had given this platter to me as a birthday present. He had found it in an antique store in Bogotá. For many years I had this platter in my bedroom and one morning, disgusted by the political situation in this country I felt that I had to break it. It was in 1999. We had just had a president who had ended his four years in office and whose campaign had been funded by drug money****. Since the beginning of his presidency we Colombians knew about it, but he was never impeached by Congress. Many of the congressmen had also funded their campaigns with drug money. I was frustrated and angry. I needed to smash that plate. Drug money had infiltrated our institutions. Colombia, I felt, had officially become a Narco Republic. With weak and illegitimate institutions how can a democracy not fall into pieces, into impunity and into more violence? It was a dark moment. But in our history we have accumulated layers and layers of other dark moments: since becoming a Republic in the early nineteenth century, Colombia had nine civil wars and sixty years of war in the twentieth century. Forty of those years, let me add, were a continuous war that has now spilled into this new century. How will we break away from this legacy? It is a legacy of violence that has become more intense, more insoluble with the present war, a war that will not be won militarily but through vast social investment and the legalization of drugs. This country is, I have to say, trapped in the global market of drugs.
Installation view, Bandeja de Bolívar:1999
– In Guerra y Pa (War and Peace) from 2001, you introduce the element of Christianity by symbolizing it with the cross-like perch on top of which two parrots argue, one having learned to say the word ‘Guerra’ and the other the word ‘Pa’. How do you see the role of the church in Colombia’s ongoing violence?
– Actually ‘Pa’ is a shorten version of ‘Paz’ (peace). In the Caribbean pronunciation the ‘S’ sound is swallowed, thus the parrot copies the accent of its trainer and the region. And it was precisely this pronunciation that allowed me to think how peace (paz) is and always will be an incomplete concept. In the particular case of Colombia the word peace has been repeated over and over again, so much so that its meaning has been eroded, as with the word Guerra. And in this old conflict, I think the church plays an important role, though the church in Colombia is not homogenous. There are very conservative segments. However, in the area of Chocó, in the Pacific region, where most of the singers come from, the church is very progressive. For instance, among many of their activities, are their cultural festivals, which I believe are essential in restoring the social fabric that has been ripped apart by the war. In one of these festivals I met Rafael, one of the singers. When he saw me with the video camera he came up to me and said, “I have a song and I would like to sing it to you”. In 2005, it is worth remembering, the Church from Quibdó, capital of Chocó, won the National Peace Prize.
Installation view, Guerra y Pa
– There is a scene that I like in particular, when the parrots are silent and just stare at the camera, deeply, as if questioning us. In that moment it is as if I, the viewer, become powerless.
– Your observation, I believe, refers to the body language of the two parrots. Don’t they behave like actors who perform in a play? Doesn’t the parrot that says “Guerra” invade continually and insatiably the territory of the other parrot, pushing and biting aggressively? And when this parrot, full of testosterone, screams “Guerra”, can we not see certain politicians around the world? And, when these parrots stare deeply into the camera, as you observed, don’t they seem to be aware that they, like good actors, must also question the viewer while performing?
– In both Guerra y Pa and Bocas de Ceniza the subjects are portrayed against a white background, while the real context is only suggested by the sound coming from the surrounding environment. What is your intention behind this aesthetic decision?
– In Guerra y Pa I wanted ‘the stage’ to be very clean. Only three elements were necessary: the two birds and the cross-like perch. In Bocas de Ceniza, I wanted neither distractions, nor anything literal or folkloric in the background. No music either. Simple and direct.
– If we consider your work as a compromised art, in the way that you are critical to the violence and reveal the suffering of the people, we would like to know how you see the development of your work in the context of Colombia today?
– I understand that if I am to continue with my work I must break constantly away from the crystal bubble that is my studio in Bogotá. I must go to different areas of Colombia, I must speak to the people who have been caught in this war. A few days ago I was in a small village, La Ceja, in Antioquia, where I saw a very moving exhibition of drawings and paintings by victims and their victimizers. There I was able to meet some of these young people, to talk to them and to listen to their stories. It was an intense and genuine conversation and after being so close to this dementia that war is, I felt an urgency to continue with my work.
Malmö Konsthall, C-Sal
* The AUC (Autodefensas Unidas de Colombia/ United Self-Defense Forces of Colombia) funded in 1997, is the biggest paramilitary force in Colombia, functioning as an umbrella organization that seeks to consolidate different local and regional paramilitary groups. The main enemies of AUC are the leftist insurgent groups FARC (Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia / Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia) and ELN (National Liberation Army).
** Left wing guerrillas include the FARC, established in 1964 as the military wing of the Colombian Communist Party, the ELN, established in 1964 with strong influences from Roman Catholicism and liberation theology. Both the FARC and the ELN continue to operate to this day. The EPL (Popular Liberation Army), created in 1967, negotiated a peace treaty during the presidency of Virgilio Barco (1986-1990).
*** Simon Bolivar (1783-1830), also known as El Libertador (The Liberator), was the South American liberation leader who, in the early nineteenth century, liberated and gave independence from Spanish rule to Colombia, Venezuela, Peru, Ecuador and Bolivia.
***' Ernesto Samper Pizano (1950) served as the President of Colombia from 7 August 1994 to 7 August 1998, representing the Liberal Party.
A printed version of this interview has been published for this exhibition. Please do not hesitate to contact us if you would like to receive a copy.
Wednesday 11 am to 9 pm, presentation 7 pm.
All other days open 11 am to 5 pm.
Still from Guerra y Pa (2001)From a dialogue between Juan Manuel Echavarría,
Marianna Garin & Luca Frei
Marianna Garin & Luca Frei
– We are delighted to develop this dialogue with you, as it is a great opportunity to reflect on your practice and to talk about the three video works that will be screened in the auditorium of the Malmö Konsthall. One of them, Bocas de Ceniza (Mouths of Ash) from 2003-04, will be presented almost at the same time as the inauguration of a new library in Medellín, on 13th April, and as you’ve mentioned to us, the singers that participate in the video will be attending the event. For you it is always important to maintain a close relationship with the people who have been involved in your projects, could you tell us how this work has been developed?
– It would have been a pleasure and an honour to attend the screening of my three video pieces at the Malmö Konsthall, but I had previously accepted an invitation to the opening of a cultural event in the city of Medellín, Colombia. At the event, called “Espacios de hospitalidad”, Bocas de Ceniza will be presented in the Museo de Antioquia and in a new library that is opening in the first days of April – an event I hope to attend with the singers that composed Bocas de Ceniza. Dorismel was the first of the seven singers that I met by chance in the small village of Barú, on the Caribbean coast of Colombia. It was at a small gathering at night when, out of the blue, he said that he had a song he would like to sing. It was a song composed by him, in which he expresses thanks to God for allowing him to survive a massacre. This song, I thought, has to be recorded. In Colombia a drug war has devastated the country for more then 25 years and I had never before heard of someone composing a song about survival. I asked him if I could film him. He felt very proud and the next day I was able to film his song a capella, just as he had sung it for us the night before in the village of Barú. For many nights Dorismel’s song rumbled in my sleep. The melody was very contagious and stayed within me. For many nights not only his song, but his strong face, his frozen gaze woke me up. Dorismel’s, I thought, cannot be an isolated story. There must be others who are composing their own songs about the horrors of war. This thought became an obsession that led me to look for others, to find other human beings who had been brutalized by war and who were creating and singing their own compositions. This intuition proved to be correct.
– The work has a visual impact, ‘contagious’ as you say. It’s both calm and dreadful at the same time: from the melodies to the words, to the portrayal of the singers; even the silences that precede and follow each song are deeply affecting.
– For me what was most important in doing Bocas de Ceniza was that each singer had composed his or her own song. The two brothers in Dos Hermanos (Two Brothers) are from the Caribbean coast while the rest of the singers come from the Pacific region, both areas with a very strong presence of an Afro Colombian population that has a very rich oral tradition. These singers, I believe, are weaving the non-official history of the drug war that has trapped so many innocent civilians, and I strongly feel that these songs should not be lost to the thin air. They must be filmed and recorded. I still continue to visit these regions and I have found many other singers, both witnesses and victims of the war, who are composing their own songs.
Installation view, Bocas de Ceniza– The testimony, the telling of an extreme experience, here in the form of songs, can be seen as a symbolic, cathartic reconstruction of the self. The singers aren’t represented as victims, but as new subjects that aspire to a new correlation of forces, that call for solidarity. It’s interesting to hear that if you hadn’t met Dorismel you would never have encountered this way of narrating. What is the collective consciousness, or awareness, about what is really happening outside the large cities?
– There is not enough awareness, especially so in Bogotá, the capital of Colombia. There is little awareness about the suffering and the horrors that war has brought particularly to the peasants in Colombia. The repetition of violence in the media, the ongoing conflict, the words ‘WAR’ and ‘PEACE’ repeated over and over again have turned violence into a normal thing, into something that people prefer not to talk about. Apathy has enveloped us. And when the war hits the peasants out in the rural areas, it all seems very far away, as if it was on a different planet. There is a poem by W. H. Auden, “Musée the Beaux Arts”, in which he writes about the structural apathy within ourselves towards the suffering of others. Let me quote you some of his verses:
“In Brueghel’s Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sallied calmly on.”
How can we human beings break this indifference, this structural apathy to which Auden refers to? In Colombia the internal exodus from the rural areas is enormous. There are between two and three million internal refugees brutally uprooted from their land and their homes, the land stolen by the victimizers. The option for the peasants is to flock to the cities where they are often looked upon with suspicion or simply turned into ‘invisible beings’ by the city dwellers. This forced displacement happens after threats from the far right paramilitaries* or by the left wing guerrillas** who are battling to control strategic areas of drug cultivation. Let’s not forget that both these irregular armies traffic with drugs. The displacement also happens after massacres that are treated as no more than a simple footnote in our daily lives, massacres that come with the mutilation of the bodies and often with the disappearance of the victims, their bodies dumped into secret mass graves or into the rivers – food for the vultures. This is an old practice that has been happening since long before our present drug war and yet in Colombia there is no collective voice that says, “ENOUGH”.
– This brings us to your first photographic work, Retratos (Portraits) from 1996, which consists of a series of black and white portraits of battered mannequins that were then used to sell clothes in the streets of Bogotá. It is a very charged work that mirrors the degree to which violence has permeated every aspect of everyday life; someone will eventually buy and wear the clothing that is hanging on the scarred mannequins!
– Retratos allowed me to wake from a deep sleep. I was so unconscious of this violence, which permeates the everyday aspects of everyday life, as you say. I lived in a crystal bubble and it was this series that allowed me to break from it. The people in the street were going up to the mannequins and observing the clothes but no one was looking at the battered faces, they were not seeing the violence that these mannequins were exhibiting. It was invisible. And this behaviour became a mirror in which I eventually would look at myself. Before being a photographer, I was a writer who was looking to create a world of fantasy. Retratos revealed that I could explore, through photography and metaphor, some of the social conflicts in which we in Colombia have lived for so many years and that I had been ignoring for so long.
– How does your background as a writer influence your work? I am thinking about your use of metaphor as a tool to go deeper into the reality that surrounds you, to give a new light to that which has been obscured and dehumanized?
– Metaphor, I believe, is an essential tool that we humans have. A magnificent tool for the artist: A good metaphor will resonate on many different levels. My writing gave me a passion for metaphor and it also gave me an understanding of imagery and symbolism. I try to use all of these elements in my photography and videos. Even in a work as simple and direct as Bocas de Ceniza I use that very classical metaphor: the eyes as mirror to the soul. Each singer’s eyes look deeply into his own pain and deep sorrow, into his own feelings.
– What does the title refer to?
– Bocas de Ceniza is first of all a metaphorical name. But it also refers to the mouths of the main river in Colombia, the Magdalena River, which runs from south to north and spills into the Caribbean. A river that runs through a long geography and mirrors in its dense waters the tragic realism that has enveloped this country.
– In the video work Bandeja de Bolívar: 1999 (Bolívar’s Platter: 1999) from 1999, a slow sequence of stills depicts a replica of a platter – commissioned by Simon Bolívar*** to commemorate Colombia’s independence that bears the inscription “Republica de Colombia para siempre” (Colombian Republic forever) – being destroyed until it is reduced to a neat pile of white powder resembling cocaine. The succession of images is accompanied by the penetrating noise of the platter being smashed, and I remember that in relation to Retratos you’ve said that the mannequins were like the stone that shatters the calm waters, though here the shattering is no longer a metaphor but assumes a real dimension. It is such a straightforward and yet complex work, which in just a few minutes brings together past and present, from the dreams that followed the independence from Spanish rule to the destruction of a nation by the illegal drug trade. The simple action of destroying the platter also becomes again a symbol or a metaphor of Colombia. Could you tell us how you developed this work and also how you relate it to the colonial history of Colombia?
– My brother Andres had given this platter to me as a birthday present. He had found it in an antique store in Bogotá. For many years I had this platter in my bedroom and one morning, disgusted by the political situation in this country I felt that I had to break it. It was in 1999. We had just had a president who had ended his four years in office and whose campaign had been funded by drug money****. Since the beginning of his presidency we Colombians knew about it, but he was never impeached by Congress. Many of the congressmen had also funded their campaigns with drug money. I was frustrated and angry. I needed to smash that plate. Drug money had infiltrated our institutions. Colombia, I felt, had officially become a Narco Republic. With weak and illegitimate institutions how can a democracy not fall into pieces, into impunity and into more violence? It was a dark moment. But in our history we have accumulated layers and layers of other dark moments: since becoming a Republic in the early nineteenth century, Colombia had nine civil wars and sixty years of war in the twentieth century. Forty of those years, let me add, were a continuous war that has now spilled into this new century. How will we break away from this legacy? It is a legacy of violence that has become more intense, more insoluble with the present war, a war that will not be won militarily but through vast social investment and the legalization of drugs. This country is, I have to say, trapped in the global market of drugs.
Installation view, Bandeja de Bolívar:1999– In Guerra y Pa (War and Peace) from 2001, you introduce the element of Christianity by symbolizing it with the cross-like perch on top of which two parrots argue, one having learned to say the word ‘Guerra’ and the other the word ‘Pa’. How do you see the role of the church in Colombia’s ongoing violence?
– Actually ‘Pa’ is a shorten version of ‘Paz’ (peace). In the Caribbean pronunciation the ‘S’ sound is swallowed, thus the parrot copies the accent of its trainer and the region. And it was precisely this pronunciation that allowed me to think how peace (paz) is and always will be an incomplete concept. In the particular case of Colombia the word peace has been repeated over and over again, so much so that its meaning has been eroded, as with the word Guerra. And in this old conflict, I think the church plays an important role, though the church in Colombia is not homogenous. There are very conservative segments. However, in the area of Chocó, in the Pacific region, where most of the singers come from, the church is very progressive. For instance, among many of their activities, are their cultural festivals, which I believe are essential in restoring the social fabric that has been ripped apart by the war. In one of these festivals I met Rafael, one of the singers. When he saw me with the video camera he came up to me and said, “I have a song and I would like to sing it to you”. In 2005, it is worth remembering, the Church from Quibdó, capital of Chocó, won the National Peace Prize.
Installation view, Guerra y Pa– There is a scene that I like in particular, when the parrots are silent and just stare at the camera, deeply, as if questioning us. In that moment it is as if I, the viewer, become powerless.
– Your observation, I believe, refers to the body language of the two parrots. Don’t they behave like actors who perform in a play? Doesn’t the parrot that says “Guerra” invade continually and insatiably the territory of the other parrot, pushing and biting aggressively? And when this parrot, full of testosterone, screams “Guerra”, can we not see certain politicians around the world? And, when these parrots stare deeply into the camera, as you observed, don’t they seem to be aware that they, like good actors, must also question the viewer while performing?
– In both Guerra y Pa and Bocas de Ceniza the subjects are portrayed against a white background, while the real context is only suggested by the sound coming from the surrounding environment. What is your intention behind this aesthetic decision?
– In Guerra y Pa I wanted ‘the stage’ to be very clean. Only three elements were necessary: the two birds and the cross-like perch. In Bocas de Ceniza, I wanted neither distractions, nor anything literal or folkloric in the background. No music either. Simple and direct.
– If we consider your work as a compromised art, in the way that you are critical to the violence and reveal the suffering of the people, we would like to know how you see the development of your work in the context of Colombia today?
– I understand that if I am to continue with my work I must break constantly away from the crystal bubble that is my studio in Bogotá. I must go to different areas of Colombia, I must speak to the people who have been caught in this war. A few days ago I was in a small village, La Ceja, in Antioquia, where I saw a very moving exhibition of drawings and paintings by victims and their victimizers. There I was able to meet some of these young people, to talk to them and to listen to their stories. It was an intense and genuine conversation and after being so close to this dementia that war is, I felt an urgency to continue with my work.
Malmö Konsthall, C-Sal* The AUC (Autodefensas Unidas de Colombia/ United Self-Defense Forces of Colombia) funded in 1997, is the biggest paramilitary force in Colombia, functioning as an umbrella organization that seeks to consolidate different local and regional paramilitary groups. The main enemies of AUC are the leftist insurgent groups FARC (Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia / Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia) and ELN (National Liberation Army).
** Left wing guerrillas include the FARC, established in 1964 as the military wing of the Colombian Communist Party, the ELN, established in 1964 with strong influences from Roman Catholicism and liberation theology. Both the FARC and the ELN continue to operate to this day. The EPL (Popular Liberation Army), created in 1967, negotiated a peace treaty during the presidency of Virgilio Barco (1986-1990).
*** Simon Bolivar (1783-1830), also known as El Libertador (The Liberator), was the South American liberation leader who, in the early nineteenth century, liberated and gave independence from Spanish rule to Colombia, Venezuela, Peru, Ecuador and Bolivia.
***' Ernesto Samper Pizano (1950) served as the President of Colombia from 7 August 1994 to 7 August 1998, representing the Liberal Party.
A printed version of this interview has been published for this exhibition. Please do not hesitate to contact us if you would like to receive a copy.
