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CATHERINE TAFUR: YEARNING TO BE FREE
March 8 - April 12, 2019
“We live in a society which is the most aggressive in the world, and we live under conditions of almost unparalleled freedom. We therefore have the opportunity to eradicate a good part of the illegitimate violence that plagues our lives and that is destroying the lives of many who are much less fortunate.”
- Noam Chomsky, The Legitimacy of Violence as a Political Act (1967)
The New Colossus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
Emma Lazarus, 1883
(On a plaque mounted inside the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty)
Maus Contemporary is excited to announce Catherine Tafur: Yearning To Breathe Free, the artist’s first one-person exhibition with the gallery.
The United States was born in racist genocide. A group of European men discovered that there were no white people on Turtle Island and thus slaughtered its non-white inhabitants and stole this land. They subsequently kidnapped Africans and forced them into the cruelest and most despicable form of labor exploitation, chattel slavery. Racism in the service of capitalist greed has been the engine behind the “progress” of America and its expansion and rise in power. Capitalism demands the exploitation of labor, and if someone must be subjugated, let it be the ‘Other’, the outsider, the alien, whether those persons be within our borders or in a land far away.
Segregation, Native American reservations, the Chinese Exclusion Act, and Japanese internment camps are just some of the racist institutions that preceded today’s anti-immigration laws such as the zero-tolerance policy of family separation and the Muslim ban. Hierarchical systems of domination such as capitalism, white supremacy, and patriarchy are deeply embedded in the consciousness of America and entrenched in our cultural DNA.
The xenophobic and unjust policies of the Trump regime are a continuation of a long process of racial subordination and capitalist exploitation in the history of The United States. Trump’s denigration of immigrants is something that I take offense to personally, being an immigrant myself. These pieces depict both the cruelty of our nation and the struggle against its oppressive forces. The image of white serpent represents white supremacy in America.
Terrorism is not temporal. It perpetuates, proliferates, through the psychology of its victims. It seizes upon their dreams. The shellshock can last a lifetime, or even longer. Some researchers believe that such intense internal suffering can manifest itself within a complex post-traumatic stress disorder that is passed down from generation to generation through an altered epigenetic expression.
Catherine Tafur relocated to the United States with her family in 1984 to flee such rapturous violence at the age of eight. The Peruvian-born painter has subsequently spent a lifetime untangling the terror she witnessed in early childhood from the harassment she endured as a queer, multiracial immigrant in the overwhelmingly white American suburbs of Delaware during her adolescence. Her drawings and paintings therefore manifest a politics of survival alongside the attendant psychology of someone wrestling with a history of injustices. If painting is a method of mourning, then it is also an act of retribution for Tafur. After all, some of the best chapters from her oeuvre include chaotic scenes of klepto-capitalism run amuck; queer rebuttals to the status quo served by a triumvirate of androgynous angels; and imploded scenes from our current cycle of globalized military malaise.
And if political resistance often feels like a Sisyphean task in the twenty-first century, then painting is an arena for emotional release. More specifically, Tafur has turned the genre of history painting into a feminist project. Her work reflects on the artistic avant-garde’s intertwined legacy with disillusionment and violent revolution.
Although very young when she lived in Peru’s capital city of Lima, Tafur could still comprehend the cost of living through the reign of terror dispensed by the Sendero Luminoso - Shining Path. Aligned with Maoist Communism, Shining Path’s optimistically Orwellian name betrayed an ulterior motive through the 1980s: to replace the country’s recently-established democracy with a “New Democracy,” doublespeak for dictatorship. Violence took many forms for soldiers of the Shining Path: the indoctrination of rural peasants, the extensive bombing campaigns, the assassination of more than 250 public officials, and an estimated total killing of over thirty thousand people between 1980 and 2000.
Arguably the group’s favorite target, though, was Peru’s electrical infrastructure. Power outages in Lima were a common occurrence. During these outages, the Shining Path would burn enormous hammer and sickle insignias in the hills high above Lima, reminding its residents of their apocalyptic fate.
Witnessing such spectacular atrocities unfold around her compelled Tafur to imagine her relocation to the United States as a panacea for life’s troubles. Then as now, America represented a pipedream for immigrants fleeing violence; it was a place of relative physical security. However, the United States also held a complex socio-economic system of prejudices that prohibited Tafur from snugly assimilating into her new surroundings. Growing up as a queer woman of color in such a normative zone of whiteness, Tafur experienced numerous transgressions against the intersectionality of her identity — outbursts of homophobia and xenophobia from a nation that still expected its immigrants to assimilate or disperse.
excerpt from “The Personal Is Always Political: The History Paintings of Catherine Tafur”, an essay by Zachary Small included in Tafur’s monograph "Yearning To Breathe Free"
Translating the sinister underpinnings of our times into a visually powerful body of work, Tafur brings us representations of the human struggle for a normal and dignified existence. Surreal and grotesque, her paintings embody both personal experiences and universal yearnings.
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click on WIDEWALLS logo to read the full article by Jelena Martinović.
The cultural shock of childhood immigration can leave a deep psychic mark, and lead to a lifelong search for identity. My family was able to leave the violence plaguing Peru in the 80s and transplant me into the safety and promise of the US, one the greatest oppressors in the world.
I need to know where I come from. I look back and see the Peru of my childhood, but when I look deeper and further back there’s pre-colonial indigenous Peru.
As a queer multiracial immigrant woman living in the US, my desire is always to be in solidarity with the oppressed. While examining my Peruvian roots and the experience and mix of cultures that make me who I am, it becomes difficult to tease out what comes from adjacency to the coastal Lima elite, versus what comes from the resilience of pre-colonial Andean culture. This is further complicated by how my North American adult lens affects all of this. This exhibition is an examination of this search for identity and the complications that arise.
“During the 80s and into the early 90s, Peru was terrorized by a communist-Maoist-guerrilla-insurgency group called the Communist Party of Peru – Shining Path, or in Spanish, ‘Sendero Luminoso.’ They began an armed struggle against the State, killing tens of thousands of innocent people, ravaged the countryside in the sierra and made their way to the coastal capital, Lima, where my family lived.
I grew up with constant blackouts (because the Senderistas would target and dynamite the electrical towers) and bombs that shook our house, waking me at night, as I screamed for my mom. My childhood mind had no knowledge or understanding of what was really going on in Peru, so all I knew was that Sendero were communists and communists were monsters because they bombed and killed people. Imagine my shock when I first read the communist manifesto as a teenager in the U.S. and found that this wasn't necessarily the case. My memories of Sendero's bombs and my childhood fear of communism are the seeds that led to my interests in political systems. My experience of moving to American suburbia was confusing because I was very safe, but miserable. Being a lesbian immigrant in the late 80s and early 90s in suburbia was awful. I also was slowly learning about the malevolence and violence of capitalism. I'm now anti-capitalist as I'm sure is obvious with paintings such as Rana Plaza in Savar: Death of a Thousand Workers (2014, shown hereunder).”
- excerpt from Catherine Tafur’s conversation with artist Eric Fischl included in Tafur’s monograph "Yearning To Breathe Free"
Catherine Tafur
Rana Plaza in Savar: Death of a Thousand Workers
2014
oil on canvas
60 by 55 in. (approx. 152,4 by 139,7 cm)