Ana María Rueda or the small miracles of a garden

The artist presents a spectacular exhibition at the Espacio Continuo gallery in Bogotá.

A Garden of Our Own', Ana María Rueda's exhibition at the Espacio Continuo Gallery in Bogotá (calle 77A no. 12A-35), is full of small miracles. Rueda is a true master in the art of making objects speak. Her works speak of the street, of destitution, of abandonment, of wounds and scars, but also of the invisible wonders that are within reach. On the second floor, for example, there is a sculpture made with dry forest branches, taken from a hill in Bogotá, that could be in any retrospective of Latin American contemporary art; Not only does it have spectacular beauty, but, with a couple of details, it closes an entire discourse that ranges from beatings to healing.

Rueda talks about wounds and uncomfortable truths, but she never falls into the obvious; behind a black canvas there may be a homeless person in the rain, a dry branch may be tied to another as if it had left a hospital; Brick sculptures can honor work and, at the same time, denounce labor exploitation. It is an exhibition to see again and again; to touch, to feel, to be surprised by her bronze sculptures. Rueda – one of the most powerful artists of her generation – made her self-portrait for EL TIEMPO.

Do you remember who bought her first work?

Yes, Álvaro Mutis bought a painting in my first individual exhibition at the Garcés Velásquez in 1980.
What artist, living or dead, would you commission to paint his portrait?

A portrait made with four hands by Basquiat and Warhol.

What is, so far, his masterpiece?

What I'm about to do...

What has been your worst creative crisis?

During the pandemic.

Duchamp or Picasso?

Sometimes one and sometimes the other, and vice versa.

How did this exhibition come about?

I had a transformative experience when I worked on the play Phoenix for the Luis Caballero Award that I presented at the Center for Memory, Peace and Reconciliation in 2015. To carry out that work, I had many meetings and dialogues with people who had experienced forced displacement. Later, during the exhibition, I had countless conversations with people who frequented the center, and who had also been subjected to the same situation. Their stories confronted me with the reality that we live in Colombia and in much of the world in a more direct and personal way. I was moved to witness, face to face, the inner strength that most of them had to continue on their path, no matter how difficult it was. That experience left me with a very deep feeling that lasted for a long time. So I looked for how to give shape to that feeling. The first impulse was to meditate on what keeps us going: the human connection, the bonds and the exchange of affections that give meaning to our existence. From this impulse, I wanted to explore that life force that sustains human beings in the face of adversity, especially in terms of caring for the pain of others and the time required to heal. For this, I explored a variety of languages and materials that allowed me to talk about fragility, the strength in the fragile, the broken and its repair, and the scar that is when the wound is healed. All the elements of the exhibition make up an imaginary garden; hence the title of the exhibition. I chose the garden because it is a space conducive to physical and emotional repair. The garden is a transitional space that allows one to recognize oneself in its best possibilities.

What is the charm of the little things found on the street or in the forest?

They contain the poetics of the fragile, but also of the strong in the fragile, of what needs to be cared for, repaired, observed and loved, and not to be replaced.

What was the first work of art you ever saw in your life?

A bouquet of blue pansies painted by my mother and a copy of the painting of The Lady and the Ermine by Leonardo da Vinci that my grandmother had in the living room of her house.

Do you keep your drawings as a child?

Only in memory.

Do you consider her to be a genius?

I put a lot of effort into the genius thing, I do better when I have a good one.

For you, who is the most important living artist in the world?

There are many and they vary depending on the perspectives from which I am looking at them. Today, for example, I would choose Olafur Eliasson because of his experiments.

With which artist would you like to exhibit in the same room?

Being next to Wolfgang Laib would be an immense privilege.

What work of universal art would you like to have in your living room?

White on white by Malevich.