Artist explores heritage at Dundee Contemporary Arts

Helpfully, the DCA provides us with a glossary to refer back to if we feel a wee bit out of our depth, with an explanation of the 12 tuftings (essentially an artistic take on rug-making), the stunning risographs, the satirical clay piece and the multimedia film.

Said tuftings are incredible – the artists have worked hard to depict Martínez Garay’s collages in rug form. Some appear as though a linocut, others as though they’ve been scratched by ballpoint pen and the use of layering makes some imagery – such as the pouncing jaguar in Suqta Pacha – jump straight out of the piece.

The booklet helpfully explains that the tuftings – the Pacha series – represent the past, present and future, as well as Andean depictions of the underworld.

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The exhibition is inspired by the artist’s heritage, a video on the venue’s website explains, her disconnect with her Andean background and the intention to understand it again through her creation of this exhibition. It begs the question as to whether we are intruding or if we’re being given the chance to glance into her soul instead.

I put this question to invigilator Mairi, who is of the opinion that we’re invited. We have the chance to participate in this exhibition and look upon a culture we may know little or nothing about but that gave Western society so much. Or rather, Western society took it from them.

The traditional Andean cross, axes and digging tools, llamas and native birds come up again and again in the artist’s pieces. One of her most fascinating links is between said cross and the crucifix, most noticeably in her piece Pichqa Pacha. It’s almost a mockery of the Catholicism that the invading Spaniards brought to Peru, as it recreates the crucifixion with Andean imagery.

Chunka Iskayniyuq Pacha depicts two brightly coloured coffins next to each other, with what looks like linocuts above them and sketches atop them. The sketches depict a lunar cycle, while beneath it, a man sacrifices a llama, with the llama split in two between the two coffins. Hidden between the coffins in a bright red are two men stood right beside each other, giving the impression of a pair separated in life but united in death.

The risographs specifically touch upon colonialisation. One By One depicts the world that existed before colonialisation, with ironic statements of “ayer oprimido hoy dignificado” as though the native land they invaded was part of the today they speak of. Martínez Garay printed colour after colour on top of one another to give the impression of old advertisements and they appear as chilling depictions of Spanish wilful ignorance to the plight of the people they colonised.

She follows this up with Intrusos En Sus Tierras, which depict a Spanish shoe breaking an Andean flute – a real event the artist read about – the spoils of war, the terror of the white man and, most hauntingly, a spade digging up traditional burial items. A skeletal hand reaches out to the spade, as though to deter it or protect its items but to no avail. They’re simple but incredibly effective.

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On first glance, the clay models (Kachkaniraqkun!/¡Somos Aún!/We Are, Still!) appear like traditional ceremonial objects. But looking closer, you realise an absurdity. The pieces are random, made to look like objects lumped together in a museum, with one appearing like a multi-coloured plug, another a twisting tube and what appears to be a toothbrush. But on closer inspection, they point to the ideas also present in the film. One is a chalkboard, depicting letters, but faded chalk reads “revolution” and another is a radio mast logo, referencing an attack by terrorist group Shining Path.

The Quechuan-language film, Ayaraki, begins and ends with said radio mast and displays what can happen in the span of a day. You see various lights – from the bright lava and celebratory fireworks conflicted with the mast aflame – as though the natural world itself is set on fire by the work of the Shining Path. It’s a glance into an abyss illuminated by the vibrant film.

(Image: NQ)

Finally, there I see a giant painting, Hold Everything Dear, which Mairi describes as “a microcosm of the whole exhibition”. It depicts a giving tree, where people are invited to hang what they do not need and wait under for what they do to drop. And I can’t help but agree with Mairi, as I make my way towards the exit. Although I came with almost a

total lack of understanding of the culture Martínez Garay depicted, I leave with my mind whirring with fresh ideas.