Director’s Introduction
Gabriel de la Mora
The Readymade Drawing
By Brett Littman
Ever since the first century AD, when Pliny the Elder in his Natural History popularized the myth of the sculptor Butades, whose daughter traced her lover’s shadow on the wall before he left to war, drawing has been linked to the poetics of the artist’s hand and its singular, indexical mark. This origin story of drawing has created a deep interpretative structure wherein the uniqueness of the artist’s line and its ability to convey the artist’s soul and thoughts has become the dominant way to determine a drawings importance. Up until the early twentieth-century, this system worked pretty well—as what was classified as drawings were marks on paper made by the artist.
What happens, however, when the artist’s hand is removed from the act of drawing? Do you still have a drawing? In 2008, João Ribas curated an exhibition of Rirkrit Tiravanija’s Demonstration Drawings at The Drawing Center that directly confronted this issue. To create the Demonstration Drawings, Tiravanija had commissioned young Thai artists to copy photographs of political protests that had appeared in The International Herald Tribune between 2006 and 2007. All of the drawings made by these artists are unsigned, anonymous, and made specifically to exist as part of Tiravanija’s open-ended serial drawing archive.
For Ribas, the Demonstration Drawings effectively demoted the status of the artist’s hand in drawing to a secondary concern. He wrote, “The phenomenology of ‘the hand’ that so determines the art historical framing of the medium of drawing—in its supposed intimacy or fidelity to thought or intention—is entirely sidelined. Rather, the evocative power of the drawings comes from their ability to turn an ephemeral image of strife or social conflict into a document of political aspiration. Tiravanija’s mediation is to take a photojournalistic depiction of an act of political spontaneity and translate it into a medium defined itself by immediacy, both psychological and material.”[1]
The Demonstration Drawings exhibition was one of the most controversial shows we have ever done. To our general audience it was a heretical act to show drawings attributed to an artist who didn’t make them himself. Of course, it seems a bit conservative to me to argue that art not directly made by an artist is not art at all. The twentieth and twenty-first centuries are filled with examples of challenges to authorship, such as readymades, appropriated images, copies, and simulacra. In the case of the Demonstration Drawings, I would argue that in many ways it was a perfectly traditional drawing show. The exhibition comprised works on paper made by artists who worked in noticeably different drawing styles and was about markmaking—just not graphics made by Tiravanija.
Gabriel de la Mora’s current installation for The Drawing Center, Sound Inscriptions on Fabric (2015), moves this problematic one step further. For this series, De la Mora has taken old radio and speaker grills that he purchased at flea markets in Mexico City and presents them as his drawing practice. These are purely readymade drawings that are not manipulated by De la Mora’s hand. The form and density of the shaped images that have impregnated the fabric depend on time and the physical structure of each specific speaker. Each of the “inscriptions” document a moment in history, since the patterns were made over years by the sounds of millions of voices, instruments, and even silence passing through the fabric. Can we legitimately call these drawings?
For me (and by extension for The Drawing Center), these are definitely drawings. I have been interested in how drawing can represent the invisible (sound, light, time, energy), and I have been exploring drawing’s relationship to sound through graphic scores and also through performance. These works operate as drawings because they visualize time and information through inscription. In addition, Sound Inscriptions on Fabric expands De la Mora’s interest in recuperating discarded or quotidian objects as the basis for his art. He has gathered extensive collections of materials during his travels around his home town, Mexico City, including shoe soles, aluminum plates for offset printing, doors, erased daguerreotypes, semi-destroyed and compromised paintings, books, badly minted coins, as well as radios, record players, phonographs, and consoles. He classifies all of the artifacts he collects, placing them in his archive so as later to determine which specific items can be designated for projects. I view this archiving function as a metaphor for drawing—one often used by artists to document exploded views and multiple perspectives of one object.
There are many people that I would like to thank for making this exhibition possible. First of all, I would like to acknowledge my colleague Bill Arning, Director of Contemporary Arts Museum, Houston, who introduced me to Gabriel de la Mora and to this body of work in Mexico City in January 2014. I would also like to recognize the collectors, Jack and Anne Moroniere, who have been championing and collecting Gabriel’s work for many years for their support. I am very grateful for the generosity of Sofia Anaya and Rogelio Lopez, Jose Garcia Ocejo, Sicardi Gallery, Houston, and the Mexican Agency for International Development Cooperation (AMEXCID) with the Mexican Cultural Institute of New York—without you we could have not have mounted this ambitious installation. Special thanks also to Timothy Taylor, London, and Proyectos Monclova, Mexico City, for all of their help.
I would especially like to thank Jace Clayton for his beautiful and evocative text for the catalogue entitled “Radio Remains.” Its mix of the social history of Mexican radio and personal insights makes for a unique and thoughtful rumination on De la Mora’s work. From The Drawing Center, I would like to thank Amber Moyles, our Curatorial Assistant; Olga Valle Tetkowski, our Exhibition Manager; Noah Chasin, our Editor; Joanna Ahlberg, our Managing Editor; Peter Ahlberg, AHL&CO; and Alice Stryker, our former Development Director, for all of their help.
Lastly, I would like to thank Gabriel de la Mora and his studio assistants. Their enthusiasm, energy, and highly organized working style has made this a seamless process. Gabriel has been involved in this exhibition every step of the way and I am very grateful for his intelligence, communication, friendship, and willingness to allow us to show this series at The Drawing Center.
[1] João Ribas, “What Would It Mean To Win? Rirkrit Tiravanija’s Demonstration Drawings,” in Rirkrit Tiravanija: Demonstration Drawings (New York: The Drawing Center, Drawing Papers 79, 2008), 19.
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