SEASONS OF TIRELESS PLEASURE 

A Group Show Curated by Catherine Camargo

Opening Thursday,August 15, 6 pm- 9 pm

SEASONS OF TIRELESS PLEASURE 

Participating artists:

Luna Palazzolo-Daboul, David Correa, Gabriela Ayza Aschmann, Alberto Checa, Filio Galvez, Diego Gabaldon, Debastian Ruiz, Victoria Ravelo

August 16th - 29th

        A lifestyle often deemed inferior lies in the space between constant rehabilitation and self-renewal, within a class where feelings of alienation are ever-present. Yet, this very otherness offers a peculiar privilege—a source of happiness born from humility, loss, and lack. Reflecting on the unique conceptual threads that bind the following group of artists, I found myself pondering the craftsmanship of each and, by extension, the life of the worker in general. As an artist, an artisan, a soul driven by an unyielding desire to create, when does one find rest? And what does rest mean for a maker, for an artist?

As a first-generation daughter of two immigrant parents, I grew up with a father who endured the humiliating limitations of his class and a mother who understood the constraints imposed by her skin color and gender--systematically inherited barriers which they both found ways to twist, morph, and overcome. Adaptability is a language shaped by experience, one coined by the poor. In the underbelly of class, there is estrangement and defiance—against overarching conditions and hierarchies, against our own tired bodies that push forward relentlessly, against the racial and religious boxes we are made to check, and against the perceptions of us that we tirelessly work to evolve. Today, on the anniversary of his passing, I am reminded of my British father, who left us four years ago on this exhibition opening day, August 15th. As I observe the details of each artists work in this exhibition, I am reminded of the sweat stained painter whites uniform and steel toed boots my father would pick me up from school in. I am reminded of watching him on Sundays under the scorching Miami sun, contently tinkering with engine parts in our driveway with his callused and scarred hands, dub music blasting through his self-upgraded subwoofers ("the best bloody bass on the river"). 

The truth is, I grew up with immigrant parents who--regardless of how much they complained, evidently never wanted to sit still. To spend a lifetime working toward rest might have seemed ideal when they first arrived in this country, but the reality of their efforts and failed attempts at rest soon revealed something deeper. Rest, for people like my father, like many of the artists in this exhibition who are either first generation or immigrants themselves, and for all artists who work jobs that are often unrelated to the work they really want to be doing--their ideas surrounding pleasure and work habitually intertwine. We begin to realize that as artists we do not spend our lives working towards rest, but rather working towards more work—the work we truly want to do, chasing the privilege of more time for our research, our practices, our tinkering hands on humid, hot Sunday afternoons. The kind of work which never ceases to call us. 

Even when sickness devoured his flesh, voice, and bones, my father—the proud foreigner, the selfless lover, the restless worker—tried to rebel against his own body for as long as he could, as if it was a speaker or engine he could bootleg back into health in his garage. To indulge in labors of love was to feel alive, to feel capable was to feel pleasure. This spirit is inherent in each of these artists’ practices as they reveal their ability to find beauty and inspiration in painstaking processes and patience within their practices. They do it almost unintentionally; living in a constant state of paying attention to the beautiful potential of all their surroundings. Their world is fertile ground for inspiration from modified PVC pipes and welded steel to documentations of small altars along Calle Ocho roadsides. For many, there is no dedicated season for rest, only tireless pleasure. Rest in peace, Dad. May we all know true rest one day.

A statement by the curator, Catherine Camargo