Made in Mexico
A review on an recent ICA exhibit that requires
By Liz Munsell

Gilbert Vicario’s “Made in Mexico” does not attempt to define a contemporary Mexican identity, but rather refuses the possibility that o­ne can exist in light of the transitory nature of our globalized world. The title “Made in Mexico” immediately signifies commodification and draws attention to the role of the consumer: in this case, the element of audience. Yet “Made in Mexico” refuses to let the viewer ingest its art-products with the ease of an exchange of paper money for an object produced with the blood and sweat of a migrant worker, nor does it allow for a breezy intake of the prototyped exhibition experience. Aesthetics, it seems, are not the most of Vicario’s concerns. Instead, he engages in the momentous task of educating his audience o­n a variety of historical and sociological themes relating to Mexico, revealing a modern nation deeply penetrated (and suffocated) by its roots.

In all its vastness, the gallery layout which encompasses the entirety of three floors of the ICA does not find its spatial arrangement being utilized in an equal distribution during it open hours. Whether by coincidence or part of a master plan to simulate the crowded conditions of Mexico City, gallery goers of the curious (and patient) type are found huddled in formation around the wall texts; they are in search of an explanation for art works that do not speak for themselves although they are saturated with meaning––and a specific o­ne at that.
The fuzzy screen of a television occupies a particularly crowded corner; viewers strain to hear the muffled voice it exerts, grow instantly bored of its lack of narrative progression, and turn, with hope, to the wall. Without its textual accompaniment, the viewer would never know that this piece by Santiago Sierra entitled 11 Persons Paid to Learn a Phrase, 2001 is a documented performance of indigenous women repeating the phrase, “I am being paid to say something the meaning of which I do not know.” Bad sound makes their speech totally unrecognizable, and a fuzzy picture does not give us many visual hints as to the origin of their women; yet with the aid of the text, the viewer can understand this piece to be the artist’s statement o­n the exploitive practice of showcasing indigenous women as icons of Mexican identity.

If there is o­ne common aspect of Mexican identity that we can draw from the majority of the pieces, it is the conception of Mexicans victims. While 11 Persons Paid to Learn a Phrase, 2001 seems is signifying a population who is less conscious of their position as victim by the nature of language barriers, Sharon Lockhart’s photo series Enrique Nava Enedina: Oaxacan Exhibit Hall National Museum of Anthropology, Mexico City, 1999 depicts a subject all too aware of his photographic predator. Enrique Nava’s direct eye contact with the lens (later, with the spectator who examines the photograph) refuses to submit itself to the powerful gaze of the o­n-looker. Lockhart’s documentation of the mason at work in a room of art and cultural artifacts refuses to depict an exoticized and contented picture of ‘the other’ by allowing the viewer to merely look o­n; instead, she forces and uncomfortable engagement between subject and spectator. Her comment o­n this moment is successfully conveyed throughout the piece; the narrative presents a man refurbishing a display of his country’s cultural heritage for the viewing pleasure of a museum-going class in Mexico City. The glass case that surrounds him symbolically cuts him off from owneship of these relics while simultaneously cages his figure as yet another object o­n display.

o­n the subject of displays, Teresa Margolles’ work lack o­ne entirely. The small bubble machines that produce the object of interest (bubbles) are merely a mean for an ends and stand apart from the body of work. The same could be said of the accompanying video installation, whose screen depicts the process whereby the bubble water was attained. En Al Aire, 2004 seems to require not o­ne but two aids to the viewer in order to fully comprehend the piece. The video bears witness to the process, an aspect of production that many art works often embody themselves, while a wall text breaks down the sociological context in which the piece was conceived. En El Aire requires less of an understanding about Mexican history than about the violent atmospheres that plague so many of our modern cities. By foregoing ties to a specific locale, Margolles stays true to her assertion that “misery levels all,” relocating identity outside the sphere of nationalism.

Margolles’ lack of form chastises the expectations of a U.S. audience in its attempt to reaffirm its position of power in relation to ‘the other.’ Several artists in the show, such as Mona Hatoum, address the same idea in more conventional and didactic forms. Hatoum’s brightly colored, human-sized cage paired with a video about a performing bird doesn’t hesitate to say that the tourist industry puts Mexicans quite literally o­n display. The mechanical nature of the bird’s performance alludes to the involuntary and never-ending practice of working to live in a third-world country. Margolles’ piece is more successful in its refusal to satisfy consumer desire for a colorful portrait of Mexico, even though Hatoum has done so in a way that is entirely tongue and cheek.
Local critics cite disappointment in the show’s failure to present a notion of mexicanidad that is purely Mexican. Ironically, the developed world exerts its influence over Mexican society and then complains when Mexico begins to look like any other place, foregoing its exoticism for a seat in the global economy. Boston Globe critic Cate McQuaid comments, “as the world shrinks, artists forsake indigenous inspiration and detail,” in effect placing blame for the historical tides o­n the artist rather than neo-liberal economic policy. Conveniently, the goal of the latter is to create the façade of a mutually beneficial relationship between developed and ‘developing’ nations, while in effect maintaining age-old power relations that require the residents of the third world to stay trapped in dire conditions, clutching their heritage as their o­nly conception of self because they lack education and means to mobilize beyond the o­nly reality they have ever known. “Made in Mexico” refuses to be paid a petty sum to entertain the first-world; it instead asserts its authority over its audience by engaging in a pedagogic presentation of each artist’s unique ties to Mexico.

Consequentially, it is unfair to claim that “Made in Mexico” was designed for an audience that has a comprehensive understanding of Mexican history; many of the answers are right there o­n the wall. It does, however, require a public that is aware of its role as consumer in a global society, and idealistically strives to enlighten such an audience about the effects of its first class position o­n the neo-colony that is Mexico

Other articles by Liz Munsell.

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