How to Look at a Photograph
The original piece was published on Hoornik in Spanish.
A personal investigator has been hired by a paranoid spouse, to follow up on a plausible adultery theory. The chase led up to the waves of a Hawaiin beach. Detective Poirot’s voice in my ears, straight out of an Agatha Christie novel. And just when I’m curious enough to take it a little too seriously, it all blends into oblivion. This is how I felt when I saw Juan Lamarca’s Movement, a triptych featured by Cur8 Gallery at Art Basel, Miami. I examined the interactions of the people catching waves in the pictures and the nuances between each two pieces. Under the waves is a force of passive aggression, something larger than life.
It’s an interesting point in time to reflect on the way we look at a photograph — a decade since the launch of Instagram, the medium of photography has been fundamentally disrupted. What’s the difference between a photograph that flashes by on a 6.5-inch screen and one that lingers on a 7-foot-tall print? Yes, Juan’s triptych may as well be seen as a Boomerang if an audience’s eyes go from left to right and back again. But the bluntness of laying out the photographs on a wall in 60 x 40-inch prints has a cunning quality that will leave you pondering — it refuses to be interpreted but still leaves you the freedom to do so — and by all means, they will survive your scrutiny.
After directing two galleries, Ashley Ramos started Cur8 to support a roster of artists whose works speak for themselves. Ashley has an eye for the disrupters, many of whom didn’t start from a fine art background. She’s not to be fooled by the short lived glorification of sale. The organic way to nurture relationships is maintainable growth. It has to feel right, as she puts it.
Ashley met Juan at a social event. She was impressed by his horse studies (Juan’s brother is a polo player). “The compositions are gorgeous,” she comments. “Juan showed me his body or work in the studio. And when we were looking at his wave catching series. His whole person lit up!” She tells me Juan’s photography challenges us to form our own opinions. We get to talk about the Whitney biennial. With all its good intentions and promise, it ended up feeling busy. “When we see something as specific as racism, we all feel a certain thing. Because we already know how to feel about it,” says Ashley. “But seeing a painting of only one color, for example, evokes more emotions and gives you the chance to breathe and reflect.” Our conversation reminds me of Susan Sontag’s essay in 1964, “Against Interpretation” — “It is always the case that interpretation of this type indicates a dissatisfaction (conscious or unconscious) with the work, a wish to replace it by something else.”
As today’s art world has become incredibly busy, nostalgia is the vulnerable hero that guides the gallery’s curation at Basel — there is no interactive art for one. It is a separation from art that is too calculated or too well designed (to be Instagrammable). However, Juan’s works at the show, whether the triptych or “The Drop”, ask the unsettling question: when something so dangerously simple is standing in front of us — with nobody tagged, no geo-location, no hashtag — can we still handle it? If the democratization of photography has taught us anything, it must be its disregard for interpretation. Perhaps it’s time to reserve our instinct to justify a piece of work. Juan Lamarca doesn’t care much for our interpretation anyway. It’s a typical surf day. He’s simply a guy who loves catching waves and capturing them.
2019
