The image could not be more literal; in Real Fiction (1996) the artist’s head is transformed into a vacuum cleaner with a flexible hose connected to the mouth and a disposal bag in the place of a brain. Repeated photos of crimes, graffiti, weapons, and diverse urban imagery are displayed below in strips and encased in metal studs. This image appeals to anybody who has ever felt overwhelmed by the unstoppable flow of the media. In his latest show, Cuban-born artist Luis Cruz Azaceta reflects mainly on one of his favorite subjects: violence. But in this case, the artist does not present violence as in his previous work where he showed the victim and the act of violence. Instead, he is interested “in exploring the impulse of violence through reality and fiction ... in the exchange of violence and its impact on us viewers." Here violence appears more graphic, more anonymous, and more explosive (literally, in the form of make-shift time bombs), but at the same time appears more artificial because the boundaries between real and fictional violence have been blurred and the images have been “filtered” by one or more media (like the photographs of television screens in Heaven s Gate III or Bank Robbers 3, both from 1997). In this context, the artist inserts iconlike characters who suffer silently and submit passively (hardly any of the characters seem to have hands and some are also missing their feet) to pain and dismemberment. Characters that evoke human figures seen in the work of Francis Bacon, Goya, and Munch appear beheaded, amputated, and twisted, and are involuntary or forced witnesses to the continuously repeating, non-informative flow of pictures that tend to mold reality to its ever-changing image. An eloquent metaphor for this media phenomenon is the series of metal-encased photo strips used independently or in the context of larger works. The strips are like television channels supplying episodic newsreel infotainment to its alienated, confused, and deconstructed audiences.
Cruz Azaceta has been dealing with the same themes: exile, isolation, and urban violence for the last 20 years. And even though he uses irony and sarcasm to reflect on these subjects, as in Involuntary Kamikaze (1996), his work is always imprinted with a sense of tragedy (more obvious and powerful in the pieces related to the Oklahoma City bombing) that is emphasized by the ubiquitous self-portraits of the artist displaying a permanent expression of sorrow and bearing a slight resemblance to Christ. As the artist notes, when an image appears isolated in the center of an empty background, you create something that is perceived as a religious object.
The most striking element of the paintings and collages included in the show Breakout is the virtual absence of the brilliant colors that have characterized Cruz Azaceta's past work. Instead, most of the paintings are done in earth tones, with charcoal over wood, layers of gesso, and a splattered coating of shellac. In addition to this very austere selection of materials, the painter uses photographs, metal studs, stuffed animals, barricades, and other found objects. What is remarkable is the strong contrasts created through the opposition of hard surfaces and soft objects (such as toy balls or cloth), sharp metal edges and flexible meshes, as well as shiny and opaque materials. An interesting contrast is the use of small-scale photos in large-format paintings. This forces viewers to double focus, encourages a second reading, and draws them to the surface of the painting, in this way, imposing a symbolic involvement. Cruz Azaceta does not pretend to make great revelations through his self-contained mediasphere deluged with violence and its unglamorized simulacra but only attempts to offer incontestable arguments for his hopelessness.
NAIEF YEHYA