A Halved Hare Explaining Pictures

A collective writing exercise inspired in the work of Julio Galán.

Julio Galán, Niños con muchos huevos, 1988. Oil on canvas. Private Collection (images courtesy of Museo Rufino Tamayo).

In April of 1984, in Mexico City, my brother Luis Ignacio Helguera published one of his first essays, in the Revista de la Universidad de México — the monthly publication of the National University of Mexico (UNAM).  He was a 22-year-old student  in the Faculty of Philosophy at the National University of Mexico and his essay was a general overview of philosophical inquiry in the country. We were proud of him and various copies of the magazine were lying around the house.

April 1984 issue of Revista de la Universidad ( Luis Ignacio Helguera pictured in bottom left)

I, at the time, albeit merely a nearly 13-year-old, had recently decided that I was going to be a painter. It was then where I saw an article in that same issue by the art critic Lelia Driben focusing on the works by four young painters then working in Mexico: Nicolás Amoroso, Julio Galán, Germán Venegas and Saúl Villa. Even while the reproductions in the magazine were of poor quality, I was deeply intrigued by all the works. I was attracted to the use of relief by Venegas, who attached carved wood sculptures onto his paintings (and as I recall I later and clumsily tried to emulate it, ridiculously, by carving soaps and trying to glue them onto the canvas), but it was the paintings of Julio Galán that impacted me the most, provoking in me a feeling of extreme discomfort and fascination.

One of the paintings reproduced in that magazine was titled “Niña con vestido de animalitos esperando ver algo que no te puedo decir” (“Girl with an animal-patterned dress waiting to see something that I cannot tell you”). That early work contains already the essence of mystery, unease, and the subtle (and at times not so subtle) fetish of innocence that characterized the oeuvre of Julio Galán (1958-2006). Born in Coahuila and raised in Monterrey, Galán studied architecture but did not have a formal education in painting, which was his real interest. Galán emerged to prominence in his early 20s and his work came to exemplify some of the best of Neo-Expressionism in Mexico and most specifically what is generally termed as Neomexicanismo (Mexico’s belated version of Pop Art), which drew from varied popular, commercial, kitsch, and religious imagery. As an unabashed queer artist whose work merged with the construction of his own artistic persona, he produced a powerful body of work fueled by his gay identity and imagination in a country historically dominated by the figure of the macho artist.

These past few weeks in Mexico I had the chance to see the thoughtful retrospective of Galán’s work at the Museo Tamayo, Un Conejo Partido a la Mitad ( A Rabbit Divided in Two) curated by Magalí Arriola, which seeks to revalue an artist who receded into the background shortly after his appearance in the art scene, among other things due to the powerful emergence of Mexican Neo-Conceptualism in the 90s.

It was at that exhibition where I confronted those paintings again, and once more they produced the same strange combination of unease and fascination that they generated in me as a child.

Cavayo Ballo, 1987, oil on canvas

Galán was an exceptional generator of enigmas— capable of producing works that seemingly stem from a very private place or anecdote that is deliberately buried, not for any of us to know about. These visual games with eroticism and desire are mostly presented in code, sometimes with Balthus-like tensions, sometimes with surrealist-like provocations,  sometimes with the simple presentation of suffering or ecstasy that refers one to the Mexican religious art of the 18th century, but always presented here through a lens of contemporary culture. In all, his paintings are an invitation to decoders. I, for one,  was always more interested in the work of Galán in what it keeps hidden, more in the things that it makes explicit.  

Which is why I decided to propose a workshop about narrative strategies where participants could use Galán’s works as inspiration to construct stories of their own.  By employing a collaborative process of idea, narrative, and image negotiation that I have termed encauce, 25 participants produced the following text inspired in the exhibition.

The structure consisted in having the participants form 4 groups and ask each group to develop a story around one painting of their choosing. Later they would collaborate in creating transitional stories between painting 1 and 2 and 3 and 4, and lastly creating a transitional chapter between the groups 1+2 and 3+4, thus forming a coherent text- a form of deliberate (i.e. not accidental) exquisite corpse.

Encauce— exercise structure

The texts are included here in both the original Spanish and English (the English translation follows each Spanish paragraph). I did not include all of the selected paintings that the texts used as it seems to me that the texts they are more interesting without the explicit reference. However I do include a number of those selected, along with other works from the exhibition.

The collective authors were: Alfonso Santiago, Sabrina Villaseñor, Eugenia Marcos, Fernanda Torres, Natalia García Martínez, Saúl P. Quiroz, Nubia Sarah, Erika Nayeli Calvillo Martínez, Mariana García Hinojosa, Gabriela Limas, Germán Paley, Dule Moya, Sergio Ruiz García, Gabriel Coronado, Alejandra Huerta, Adrian Dordelly, Mario Gildardo, Diego Olmos, Sofía Ortiz, Adrián Sotelo, Eduardo Florero, Julián Madero, Iván López Perez and Carolina Magis Weinberg (Thank you also to Jaime Ruiz and Rubí Gokigenyo from the Tamayo Museum for the invitation and to Dulce Lamarca for the transcription/translation).

Julio Galán, Roma, 1990. Sofía Galán Romo collection.

1.

Al despertar ya vi lo más extraño. A partir de aquí decido yo. Vengo a ningún lado mientras la mitad de mí ya se ha ido. Me asomo a ver la luz por mi propia cuenta. Mientras, los duendes religiosos se escabullen a mi habitación. El perro en calzoncillos ya va a cortar la cuerda y la capa de mi pijama se comienza a levantar.

Dime quién te mira y te diré en la mirada ajena quién eres: un reflejo. Porque te veo como espejo humeante. Me vengo una imagen y un fragmento. Y en tus ojos, detrás del disfraz, me pierdo la mirada curiosa. La entrega a Dios detrás de la imagen, la entrega de a dos. La pulsión furiosa. O más o más. Me miras, te miras. Nos miramos.

Me río de la cara que pones cuando te comparto mi intimidad. Y yo aquí, con mis compañeros que me permiten jugar con ellos. Tengo además a mis objetos que revelen las pasiones que me importan. Vivo con mi pasado.

Las mejores contradicciones siempre se dan en las sobremesas, cuando el cuerpo ya ha soltado y la gente se siente con la confianza de decir realmente lo que piensa. Nada mejor que contar con un aliado en el intercambio.

—

Upon waking up, I've already seen the strangest. From here I decide. I come to nowhere while half of me is already gone. I look out to see the light on my own. While the religious goblins sneak into my room. The dog in his underpants is already going to cut the rope and my pajama top is beginning to rise.

Tell me who is looking at you and I will tell you who you are in someone else's eyes: a reflection. Because I see you as a smoking mirror. I come an image and a fragment. And in your eyes, behind the disguise, I lose the curious look. The delivery to God behind the image, the delivery of two. The furious pulse. Or more or more. You look at me, you look at yourself. We look at each other.

I laugh at the face you make when I share my intimacy with you. And me here, with my colleagues who allow me to play with them. I also have my objects that reveal the passions that matter to me. I live with my past.

The best contradictions always occur after meals, when the body has already let go and people feel confident to really say what they think. Nothing better than having an ally in the exchange.

2

Una mirada soñadora pero tímida, en la que se resume una vida de búsqueda y travesía, de encuentros y desencuentros. La risa escondida por la mano como un esbozo de palabras y acciones. La confianza con que mi muñeca evita mi hombro y lo acompaña en su quietud y silencio. Detrás, el espejo abre un espacio privado que, aunque se muestra, no revela sus detalles. Igual que mi gesto. Saberme observado y reconocido. Y detrás del disimulo, la avidez del voyerista que disfruta la mirada ajena en el momento preciso. Un momento específico que ha sido inmortalizado en gestos.

Era la fiesta de Marcelina, habían venido todas tus amigas: Susana, Julia, María, Naikar y Girasol. Era la princesa. No podía ser el rey. Puso la mesa con las mejores platos, las velas aromáticas y la cristalería al final. Entonces, entre el pastel, el pastel más grande y esplendoroso que había visto mi cara se iluminó.

Si soy alguien que juega con muñecas de muñeca frágil que oculta sus muecas. Bienvenidas a mi mesa. Sueltense, frágiles. Pierdan la entereza. ¿Té o café? ¿Quieren pastel? Saborea tu rareza. Si soy, cargo corona y espinas, me transformo con tiara en princesa. ¿Quieres más azúcar? ¿O prefieres sorber mi compañía con amargura? Detrás de mi cabeza, refléjate para que te veas.

—

A dreamy but shy look, which summarizes a life of searching and crossing, of encounters and disagreements. Laughter hidden by the hand as an outline of words and actions. The confidence with which my wrist avoids my shoulder and accompanies him in his stillness and silence. Behind it, the mirror opens up a private space that, although shown, does not reveal its details. Just like my gesture. To know myself observed and recognized. And behind the dissimulation, the avidity of the voyeur who enjoys the gaze of others at the precise moment. A specific moment that has been immortalized in gestures.

It was Marcelina's party, all your friends had come: Susana, Julia, María, Naikar and Girasol. She was the princess. She couldn't be the king. She set the table with the best dishes, scented candles, and glassware last. Then, between the cake, the biggest and most magnificent cake I had ever seen, my face lit up.

Yes, I am someone who plays with fragile dolls that hide their faces. Welcome to my table. Let go, fragile. Lose your integrity. Tea or coffee? Do you want cake? Savor your weirdness. If I am, I carry a crown and thorns, I transform myself into a princess with a tiara. Do you want more sugar? Or do you prefer to sip my company bitterly? Behind my head, reflect so you can see yourself.

Photo of Julio Galán by Graciela Iturbide, 1993

3

Me arropo de mis dolores en un textil de sueños que se entrelaza. Después de una fiesta interna que termina en sueños. Vivo volando y muero viviendo. En el festín. Tierra y fuego. Tomo otra pastilla. Prefiero seguir así a enfrentarme. Sábanas mantel dilatadas entre alcohol y pastel. Celebro mi colapso. Necesito un descanso. Tendido entre el sueño y la vigilia, mi hombre de compañía es la vela de mi mesa. La telaraña trapa o me atrapa. Las corporalidades de mi propia vista individualizada. Morelia. Nunca supimos cómo mirar de nueva cuenta lo que ya estaba hecho y visible. Soy luces, sombras, reflejos, moretes. Tantos tejidos. Tantos nudos. Sueño profundo.

—

I cover my pain in a textile of dreams that intertwines. After an internal party that ends in dreams. I live flying and I die living. at the feast Earth and fire. I take another pill. I'd rather continue like this than face it. Dilated tablecloth sheets between alcohol and cake. I celebrate my collapse. I need a break. Lying between sleep and wakefulness, my companion is the candle on my table. The web traps or traps me. The corporalities of my own individualized view. Morelia. We never knew how to look again at what was already done and visible. I am lights, shadows, reflections, bruises. So many fabrics. So many knots. Deep sleep.

4

Entre más cuerpo, más dolor. Estas febril, pareces serpiente. Lo cortaron a la mitad. ¿Dónde están sus pies? ¿Le dio flojera acabar de pintar? Insiste que es imagen. Son varias imágenes. No siente las piernas. ¿Tiene genitales? ¿Qué pasa si le quitas la colcha? Parece cordillera. Un gran chorizo café. Es como un conejo partido a la mitad. Lo firma dos veces. Lo afirman. El textil se convierte en peso. Imagínate ver esto seis horas. Es como tortura. Ver mucho.

La ventana se abrió de golpe. Fuga. Ahogada en colchas y semen seco me evaporo y asomo a la que alguna vez enmarcó nuestros gemidos empañados. Fuga. Arrojar la montaña por la ventana y que en la caída se transformen en nubes.

Retrato por sí mismo. Puedo apreciar el paisaje. Cuando te tenía de frente. Lo ignoraba. Pero no tenía duda de que era bello. Ahora lo veo y es nada. No es bello como cuando te mezclabas tu. Ahora es triste y desolado como yo. Me dejaste y ahora me cuesta apreciar tu ausencia. Mi presente está inundado de apariciones constantes, de nostalgia e incertidumbre. Estoy perdido. Me es difícil separarte de este lugar. Me es difícil separarme de este vacío. La naturalidad de estos acontecimientos me ha hecho habitar la oscuridad, volverme preso del tiempo, la sombras y la memoria. Mi alma está en proceso. Se desvanece. Se desvanece. Se desvanece. Se desvanece.

—

The more body, the more pain. You're feverish, you look like a snake. They cut it in half. Where are your feet? Were you lazy to finish painting? He insists that it is an image. There are several images. He doesn't feel his legs. Does he have genitals? What happens if you remove the quilt? It looks like a mountain range. A great brown sausage. It's like a rabbit cut in half. He signs it twice. They affirm it. The textile is converted into weight. Imagine watching this for six hours. It's like torture. Like seeing a lot.

The window burst open. Drain. Drowned in quilts and dry semen I evaporate and peek at the one that once framed our cloudy moans. Drain. Throw the mountain out the window and let it fall into clouds.

Self portrait. I can appreciate the scenery. When I was in front of you he ignored him. But he had no doubt that it was beautiful. Now I see it and it's nothing. It's not beautiful like when you blended in. Now it's sad and desolate like me. You left me and now I find it hard to appreciate your absence. My present is flooded with constant apparitions, nostalgia and uncertainty. I'm lost. It's hard for me to separate you from this place. It is difficult for me to separate myself from this emptiness. The naturalness of these events has made me inhabit the darkness, become a prisoner of time, shadows and memory. My soul is in process. It disappears. It disappears. It disappears. It disappears.

5

La noche partida a la mitad. Partida a la mitad, la noche, el cuerpo, el conejo, el ser, el sexo, el deseo, el espejo, la pasión. El mar llueve, me mojo. La humedad sobre las colchas huele a mar, huele a tortugas. El que se se viene, se va.

En el Bosque Encantado, las doce de la noche y bajo la luna llena, el conejo Julio yace partido a la mitad. De la cintura para abajo, vestido de muñeco que podría ser Morelio. Con el sexo descubierto se encuentra atado con una cuerda. Desprendido de pensamientos y sentimientos. A esa hora no importa ni lo que pienso ni lo que siento, porque nadie me ve.

El bosque como símbolo de libertad. La noche lo envuelve a la luz de la luna. Mis piernas duermen suspendidas. Dualidad de la vida. Luz y oscuridad. Atadura y libertad. Hombre, mujer. Luna, conejo. No se ven rostro para que no sepan quién soy.

—

The night split in half. Split in half, the night, the body, the rabbit, being, sex, desire, the mirror, passion. The sea rains, I get wet. The humidity on the bedspreads smells of the sea, it smells of turtles. He who comes, goes.

In the Enchanted Forest, twelve o'clock at night and under a full moon, Julio the rabbit lies cut in half. From the waist down, dressed as a doll that could be Morelio. With his sex exposed, he finds himself tied up with a rope. Detached from thoughts and feelings. At that time it doesn't matter what I think or what I feel, because nobody sees me.

The forest as a symbol of freedom. The night envelops him in moonlight. My legs sleep suspended. Duality of life. Light and darkness. Binding and freedom. Man, woman. moon, rabbit They don't see a face so they don't know who I am.

Mis papás el día antes que supieran que yo iba a nacer, 1988, oil on canvas

6

El Dios de Quintamani, que era mitad humano, mitad tortuga, poseía siete anillos de poder. Vivía en la inmensidad del mar, buscando el amor. Pero el amor estaba negado para los dioses. Para conocer el amor tenía que ceder sus siete anillos al mundo terrenal, que significaban honestidad, confianza, placer, pasión, complicidad, comprensión y entrega, transformándolos en los siete pecados capitales. Decidió entregarse a su instinto animal y adentrarse a los abismos del Quintamani. Diez primaveras pasaron sin encontrar el tan esperado mundo y sus uñas marcaban el paso del tiempo tiñendose de rojo anunciando su destierro. El peso del caparazón venció. Y el deseo y la pasión lo dejaron morir.

—

The God of Quintamani, who was half human, half turtle, had seven rings of power. He lived in the immensity of the sea, looking for love. But love was denied to the gods. To know love, he had to give up his seven rings to the earthly world, which meant honesty, trust, pleasure, passion, complicity, understanding and surrender, transforming them into the seven deadly sins. He decided to surrender to his animal instinct and enter the abysses of the Quintamani. Ten springs passed without finding the long-awaited world and his fingernails marked the passage of time turning red, announcing his exile. The weight of the shell won. And desire and passion let him die.

7

Al morir a las doce de la noche, recordó que los ahogados, antes de morirse, volvían a recordar y a vivir su vida entera en un minuto. La corriente lo arrastra al mar de Múzquiz y el poder mágico de la luna lo transporta al Bosque Encantado y lo escinde de mente en corazón. Por no haber actuado como los dioses, fue castigado y mutilado y apareció en el bosque amarrado a sus pasiones.

El fin. En el Bosque Encantado, a las 12 de la noche, bajo la luna llena, el conejo Julio yace partido a la mitad. De la cintura para abajo, vestido de muñeco que podría ser moreno, con el sexo descubierto se encuentra atado con una cuerda, desprendido de pensamientos y sentimientos. A esa hora no importa ni lo que pienso ni lo que siento, porque nadie me ve. El bosque como símbolo de libertad. La noche lo envuelve a la luz de la luna. Mis piernas duermen suspendidas. Dualidad de la vida. Luz y oscuridad. Atadura y libertad. Hombre, mujer, luna, conejo. No se ve el rostro para que no se sepa quién soy.

—

When he died at twelve o'clock at night, he remembered that drowned people, before dying, would remember and live their entire lives in a minute. The current drags him to the sea of ​​Múzquiz and the magical power of the moon transports him to the Enchanted Forest and splits him from mind to heart. For not having acted like the gods, he was punished and mutilated and appeared in the forest tied to his passions.

The end. In the Enchanted Forest, at midnight, under a full moon, Julio the rabbit lies cut in half. From the waist down, dressed as a doll that could be dark, with his sex exposed, he finds himself tied with a rope, detached from thoughts and feelings. At that time it doesn't matter what I think or what I feel, because nobody sees me. The forest as a symbol of freedom. The night envelops him in moonlight. My legs sleep suspended. Duality of life. Light and darkness. Binding and freedom. Man, woman, moon, rabbit. You don't see the face so no one will know who I am.