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Day three dawned sunny at last (did we mention the rain?) and we set
off to see Robert Smithson. His work, at the Reina Sofia, was displayed
as a slide-show with his voice-from-beyond-the-grave as spoken
captions. Hotel Palenque was clearly absolutely compelling, driven,
brilliant work, but unfortunately, the laconic voiceover was delivered
or recorded at a pitch difficult to discern coherently. We could make
out bits and pieces but we were straining so hard to hear it tarnished
our experience. (Just read in the catalogue that it was a lecture given
in Utah and Smithson was believed to be ‘a little drunk on whiskey’ at
the time!) Essentially, in 1969, Smithson and his wife and a friend
travelled to ancient Mayan sites, and in photographing a derelict
hotel, parallels grew in relation to historical processes of renewal
and destruction then as now, and the work transformed into the
meditation on place and its cultural significance that we observed.
Maybe headphones would work better.
Also at the Reina Sofia was the work of Spanish documentary
photographer Leonardo Cantero, whose place in this country’s
photographic history is assured. One striking shot of children climbing
a wall into a misty wood stood out. But (after Smith) the photographs –
disregarding (if it’s possible to disregard) their political
significance of documenting Franco’s Spain – struggled to keep our
attention.
Like lambs to the slaughter, we made our way to the city’s former
abattoir, Matadero Madrid. Here our own ruminations on ‘place’ began.
This stunning building – now an arts centre – was utterly deserted. We
were the sole viewers of Marcellvs L’s video works. Two large screens
at either end of a sandy-floored space showed two different but
connected films, in which, it must be said, not a lot happens. This is
of course the point. I will confess to being slightly seduced by the
uncanny play on the concept of watching and being watched. We also we
oddly thrilled to witness the blood of the slaughtered animals on the
ground outside.
The other show we hoped to see there (Pedro Paiva and Joao Maria
Gusmao) had not yet opened, something we’ve learnt to get used to over
the past few days (on the way here we had been turned away from another
exhibition as it too, was not yet opened).
Highlight of the day was an unexpected one. We went to the Prado Museum
to see their Goya show. We hurried past the portraits of the great and
the good and homed in the Disasters of War, some of which were
exhibited among other work, such as still lives (the juxtaposition of
dead meat and the sufferings of humanity was slightly unpalatable). To
the haunting sounds of Shostakovich, we watched a 15 minute slide show
of each extraordinary print, and remembered the debt of every war
photographer to Goya. The work is insurpassable.
Today’s adventures will include (all being well) the work of Lodz
Ghetto survivor Henryk Ross, Javier Valhonrat as well as Minerva Cuevas
and Ramon Mateos. If we have time … Cristina Garcia Rodero. Watch this
space …
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