
Ancestors, neighbours, myths and religion – In conversation with Alejandro Galván about life in Mexico and working in Marres
Alejandro Galván has been realising a chronicle of Mexico. At Marres he works on this project from the perspective of Nezahualcóyotl, an outskirt of Mexico City. Galván transformed the entire building of Marres into a vivid dream, where paintings, installations and sculptures translate his personal experiences of Nezahualcóyotl. Kiki Mertens talks to Galván about the differences between working in Mexico and Maastricht and his search for purpose and poetry.
In the first room I enter, a wooden construction is built like a frame of a house. The floor is filled with gravel. Archive pictures of Nezahualcóyotl are displayed on the walls and in the middle of the room lays a circle made of cement with water in it. A video underneath the water, made by Alexis Landin, shows fragments of a sculpture graveyard. Images of holy sculptures pass by. It is an oracle, Galván explains, that we can ask where we come from. While looking at the classical relief on the ceiling, my gaze passes pictures of Galvan’s own roof in Mexico that are displayed above our heads. The room detaches from reality and recalls a memory of the origin of Nezahualcóyotl.
‘It is very important to rescue these memories,’ Galván says. ‘My work is about not forgetting, having the memory and making it stand out.’ With this he moves away from the stereotype of the neighbourhood, which is seen as violent and chaotic. Instead, he shows the life of working-class people and their complex life stories.
What follows are works where archival, mythical, political and social themes become intertwined. A concrete sculpture reaching to the sky, holding vulture wings, brings Nezahualcóyotl’s daily life in relation with the divine. The many vulture wings refer to the divine seraphim. The concrete pilar is inspired by the unfinished houses in Nezahualcóyotl. ‘People often don’t finish building their houses, in hope that at one point they will live under better circumstances to realise for example a second floor on their house.’
In another room, two unfinished big paintings on panels of cement fill the walls. They visualize a recurring nightmare that descends from the memory where Galván had to play football with his father and uncles every weekend. But in order to go to the football fields that were close by a huge dumpsite, Galvàn had to cross these mountains of garbage. His vivid dream-like paintings derive from different things such as television, mythical ideas and personal experiences. You see violent police men, a carcass of a dog and a romantic couple. There is a dialogue going on between the past and the present, between the horrific and the beautiful. These dualities are also visible in his choice of materials. The panels of cement, which have a punk DIY aesthetic contrast his academic way of painting.
‘I work a lot with cement, which is already a difficult material, but here it is also different than in Mexico,’ Galván explains. ‘In Mexico I had developed a formula for it, but once I arrived here, it took me a week to discover a new formula that would be right for the materials I had on hands here.’ Working with different and unknown materials is already a challenge, but the difference between working in Maastricht and working in Mexico is even more black and white, he continues. ‘Every day I am confronted with cultural shocks.’
In his works, Galván deals with everything his home environment brings him, at Marres he brings this environment to Maastricht. A typical Mexican sidewalk is recreated, near it stands a catholic cross and some candles. ‘This is something you see a lot in the streets of Mexico,’ he says. ‘If someone dies in the street, from an accident or something worse, they put up this kind of memorial.’ On the wall above the sidewalk portraits are displayed from missing people in Mexico and the founders of Nezahualcóyotl. He realized how similar these portraits were to each other. By combining the two in one installation he creates a place to remember the people that disappeared in silence.
The artworks in the exhibition contain a lot of information. It already takes quite some time to look at every detail. It makes me wonder whether it is important to understand everything that we see. ‘That’s why the exhibition is created like this, with a first part that opened in March, wherein some works are still being completed, and a second part that will open in June when everything will be finished,’ Galván explains. ‘It invites people to visit, revisit and reshape their thinking. The strongest and most impressive art is the one that acts like an enigma. I do not want to show everything in the first impression.’
At the end of our conversation, Galván gives me the booklet about the exhibition. He makes clear that this must not be understood as an academic text: it is an exploration of the poetry and soul of the exhibition. ‘A lot of things happen in layers, like political and social situations. Poetry can bring the horrors and the beautiful things into dialogue. Without poetry this wouldn’t be possible.’
The exhibition Vultures and Fireflies is on view until the 31st of August at Marres
Kiki Mertens