Manifestantes y Obreras is a series of graphic works based on research into Soviet textiles in the 1920s and 1930s and the social role of art related to clothing and textile design, specifically the work of Varvara Stepanova, Nadezhda Lamanova and Vera Lotonina.
This type of thematic and propagandistic design included, among the most general themes, industrialization, the glorification of progress and working conditions in factories, fields and shipyards. Artistic impressions of these themes were used as unusual propaganda tools.
For this series, these representations were adapted to create graphics based on contemporary images of working-class women in demonstrations and protests.
Manifestantes y Obreras is a series of graphic works based on research into Soviet textiles in the 1920s and 1930s and the social role of art related to clothing and textile design, specifically the work of Varvara Stepanova, Nadezhda Lamanova and Vera Lotonina.
This type of thematic and propagandistic design included, among the most general themes, industrialization, the glorification of progress and working conditions in factories, fields and shipyards. Artistic impressions of these themes were used as unusual propaganda tools.
For this series, these representations were adapted to create graphics based on contemporary images of working-class women in demonstrations and protests.
1944 – First, I found those “marked to die” when I was thirteen. It was in Transylvania, Hungary, at the end of World War II. My father, my relatives, my friends from school had been “marked” with a yellow star of David sewn in the clothes at chest level to identify, terrorize, intimidate, and then deport them to extermination camps. You could feel in the air that something terrible was about to happen.
1980 – Almost forty years later, already living in Brazil as a photographer dedicated to the indigenous cause, I accompanied some doctors on medical aid expeditions. Since 1973, during the “Brazilian miracle” years, the Yanomami territory in the Brazilian Amazon was invaded with the opening of a highway. With mining, the search for gold, diamonds, cassiterite, clandestine, and not-so-clandestine mines flourished. Many Yanomami were victims, marked by these dark times when the disease reached their land. Our modest salvation group, just two doctors and I, plunged into the Amazon rainforest. Our intention was to start organizing work around health problems. One of my activities was to register the Yanomami communities in archives. To do this, we hung a sign with a number around the neck of each Yanomami: “vaccinated.” It was an attempt at salvation. We created a new identity for them, without a doubt, a system alien to their culture.
2008 – It is this ambiguous feeling that has led me, sixty years later, to transform the simple record of the Yanomami as people, “marked to live,” into a work that questions the method of labeling people for any purpose. Now I see this work, an objective effort to organize and identify a population at risk of extinction, as something on the edge of a conceptual piece.
Claudia Andujar
1944 – First, I found those “marked to die” when I was thirteen. It was in Transylvania, Hungary, at the end of World War II. My father, my relatives, my friends from school had been “marked” with a yellow star of David sewn in the clothes at chest level to identify, terrorize, intimidate, and then deport them to extermination camps. You could feel in the air that something terrible was about to happen.
1980 – Almost forty years later, already living in Brazil as a photographer dedicated to the indigenous cause, I accompanied some doctors on medical aid expeditions. Since 1973, during the “Brazilian miracle” years, the Yanomami territory in the Brazilian Amazon was invaded with the opening of a highway. With mining, the search for gold, diamonds, cassiterite, clandestine, and not-so-clandestine mines flourished. Many Yanomami were victims, marked by these dark times when the disease reached their land. Our modest salvation group, just two doctors and I, plunged into the Amazon rainforest. Our intention was to start organizing work around health problems. One of my activities was to register the Yanomami communities in archives. To do this, we hung a sign with a number around the neck of each Yanomami: “vaccinated.” It was an attempt at salvation. We created a new identity for them, without a doubt, a system alien to their culture.
2008 – It is this ambiguous feeling that has led me, sixty years later, to transform the simple record of the Yanomami as people, “marked to live,” into a work that questions the method of labeling people for any purpose. Now I see this work, an objective effort to organize and identify a population at risk of extinction, as something on the edge of a conceptual piece.
Claudia Andujar
Choreographic action based on a reinterpretation of the Dance of the Quetzals, one of the few pre-Hispanic ceremonial dances that survived evangelization in Mesoamerica and is still performed in the Nahua-Totonaca region of Mexico. The piece proposes a synthesis of the dance, focusing on specific movements: the greeting to the four cardinal points and the essential gesture of gratitude underlying the reverence performed by the two dancers. Of the original colors of the plumes, only white, black and a red line remain, alluding to blood and life.
Reverencia is part of a broad project to recover and reread traditional dances of pre-Hispanic and colonial origin based on the analysis of the narrative, symbolic, sound and choreographic parts that compose them.
Choreographic action based on a reinterpretation of the Dance of the Quetzals, one of the few pre-Hispanic ceremonial dances that survived evangelization in Mesoamerica and is still performed in the Nahua-Totonaca region of Mexico. The piece proposes a synthesis of the dance, focusing on specific movements: the greeting to the four cardinal points and the essential gesture of gratitude underlying the reverence performed by the two dancers. Of the original colors of the plumes, only white, black and a red line remain, alluding to blood and life.
Reverencia is part of a broad project to recover and reread traditional dances of pre-Hispanic and colonial origin based on the analysis of the narrative, symbolic, sound and choreographic parts that compose them.
The word huipil comes from the Nahuatl word “Huipil” meaning “my cover”. The huipil also serves to reflect and distinguish the identity of an ethnicity and a socio-economic position. The huipils in canvases are unwritten histories, or monuments. The canvas reconfigures and preserves the memory of a town.
The word huipil comes from the Nahuatl word “Huipil” meaning “my cover”. The huipil also serves to reflect and distinguish the identity of an ethnicity and a socio-economic position. The huipils in canvases are unwritten histories, or monuments. The canvas reconfigures and preserves the memory of a town.
The word huipil comes from the Nahuatl word “Huipil” meaning “my cover”. The huipil also serves to reflect and distinguish the identity of an ethnicity and a socio-economic position. The huipils in canvases are unwritten histories, or monuments. The canvas reconfigures and preserves the memory of a town.
The word huipil comes from the Nahuatl word “Huipil” meaning “my cover”. The huipil also serves to reflect and distinguish the identity of an ethnicity and a socio-economic position. The huipils in canvases are unwritten histories, or monuments. The canvas reconfigures and preserves the memory of a town.
1944 – First, I found those “marked to die” when I was thirteen. It was in Transylvania, Hungary, at the end of World War II. My father, my relatives, my friends from school had been “marked” with a yellow star of David sewn in the clothes at chest level to identify, terrorize, intimidate, and then deport them to extermination camps. You could feel in the air that something terrible was about to happen.
1980 – Almost forty years later, already living in Brazil as a photographer dedicated to the indigenous cause, I accompanied some doctors on medical aid expeditions. Since 1973, during the “Brazilian miracle” years, the Yanomami territory in the Brazilian Amazon was invaded with the opening of a highway. With mining, the search for gold, diamonds, cassiterite, clandestine, and not-so-clandestine mines flourished. Many Yanomami were victims, marked by these dark times when the disease reached their land. Our modest salvation group, just two doctors and I, plunged into the Amazon rainforest. Our intention was to start organizing work around health problems. One of my activities was to register the Yanomami communities in archives. To do this, we hung a sign with a number around the neck of each Yanomami: “vaccinated.” It was an attempt at salvation. We created a new identity for them, without a doubt, a system alien to their culture.
2008 – It is this ambiguous feeling that has led me, sixty years later, to transform the simple record of the Yanomami as people, “marked to live,” into a work that questions the method of labeling people for any purpose. Now I see this work, an objective effort to organize and identify a population at risk of extinction, as something on the edge of a conceptual piece.
Claudia Andujar
1944 – First, I found those “marked to die” when I was thirteen. It was in Transylvania, Hungary, at the end of World War II. My father, my relatives, my friends from school had been “marked” with a yellow star of David sewn in the clothes at chest level to identify, terrorize, intimidate, and then deport them to extermination camps. You could feel in the air that something terrible was about to happen.
1980 – Almost forty years later, already living in Brazil as a photographer dedicated to the indigenous cause, I accompanied some doctors on medical aid expeditions. Since 1973, during the “Brazilian miracle” years, the Yanomami territory in the Brazilian Amazon was invaded with the opening of a highway. With mining, the search for gold, diamonds, cassiterite, clandestine, and not-so-clandestine mines flourished. Many Yanomami were victims, marked by these dark times when the disease reached their land. Our modest salvation group, just two doctors and I, plunged into the Amazon rainforest. Our intention was to start organizing work around health problems. One of my activities was to register the Yanomami communities in archives. To do this, we hung a sign with a number around the neck of each Yanomami: “vaccinated.” It was an attempt at salvation. We created a new identity for them, without a doubt, a system alien to their culture.
2008 – It is this ambiguous feeling that has led me, sixty years later, to transform the simple record of the Yanomami as people, “marked to live,” into a work that questions the method of labeling people for any purpose. Now I see this work, an objective effort to organize and identify a population at risk of extinction, as something on the edge of a conceptual piece.
Claudia Andujar
68 refers to the graphic design elements that were used in the 1968 Olympics in Mexico. The work of designers Wyman and Terrazas was based mainly on elements of Mexican popular culture, in particular Huichol art. At the time, the Mexico 68 logo revolutionized graphic models. This project is explicitly based on images of the dresses worn by the hostesses during the event. In the piece, the original design was modified, continuing the lines that formed the word Mexico, leaving it veiled, alluding to the silence and concealment of the massacre of students in Tlatelolco.
68 refers to the graphic design elements that were used in the 1968 Olympics in Mexico. The work of designers Wyman and Terrazas was based mainly on elements of Mexican popular culture, in particular Huichol art. At the time, the Mexico 68 logo revolutionized graphic models. This project is explicitly based on images of the dresses worn by the hostesses during the event. In the piece, the original design was modified, continuing the lines that formed the word Mexico, leaving it veiled, alluding to the silence and concealment of the massacre of students in Tlatelolco.
1944 – First, I found those “marked to die” when I was thirteen. It was in Transylvania, Hungary, at the end of World War II. My father, my relatives, my friends from school had been “marked” with a yellow star of David sewn in the clothes at chest level to identify, terrorize, intimidate, and then deport them to extermination camps. You could feel in the air that something terrible was about to happen.
1980 – Almost forty years later, already living in Brazil as a photographer dedicated to the indigenous cause, I accompanied some doctors on medical aid expeditions. Since 1973, during the “Brazilian miracle” years, the Yanomami territory in the Brazilian Amazon was invaded with the opening of a highway. With mining, the search for gold, diamonds, cassiterite, clandestine, and not-so-clandestine mines flourished. Many Yanomami were victims, marked by these dark times when the disease reached their land. Our modest salvation group, just two doctors and I, plunged into the Amazon rainforest. Our intention was to start organizing work around health problems. One of my activities was to register the Yanomami communities in archives. To do this, we hung a sign with a number around the neck of each Yanomami: “vaccinated.” It was an attempt at salvation. We created a new identity for them, without a doubt, a system alien to their culture.
2008 – It is this ambiguous feeling that has led me, sixty years later, to transform the simple record of the Yanomami as people, “marked to live,” into a work that questions the method of labeling people for any purpose. Now I see this work, an objective effort to organize and identify a population at risk of extinction, as something on the edge of a conceptual piece.
Claudia Andujar
1944 – First, I found those “marked to die” when I was thirteen. It was in Transylvania, Hungary, at the end of World War II. My father, my relatives, my friends from school had been “marked” with a yellow star of David sewn in the clothes at chest level to identify, terrorize, intimidate, and then deport them to extermination camps. You could feel in the air that something terrible was about to happen.
1980 – Almost forty years later, already living in Brazil as a photographer dedicated to the indigenous cause, I accompanied some doctors on medical aid expeditions. Since 1973, during the “Brazilian miracle” years, the Yanomami territory in the Brazilian Amazon was invaded with the opening of a highway. With mining, the search for gold, diamonds, cassiterite, clandestine, and not-so-clandestine mines flourished. Many Yanomami were victims, marked by these dark times when the disease reached their land. Our modest salvation group, just two doctors and I, plunged into the Amazon rainforest. Our intention was to start organizing work around health problems. One of my activities was to register the Yanomami communities in archives. To do this, we hung a sign with a number around the neck of each Yanomami: “vaccinated.” It was an attempt at salvation. We created a new identity for them, without a doubt, a system alien to their culture.
2008 – It is this ambiguous feeling that has led me, sixty years later, to transform the simple record of the Yanomami as people, “marked to live,” into a work that questions the method of labeling people for any purpose. Now I see this work, an objective effort to organize and identify a population at risk of extinction, as something on the edge of a conceptual piece.
Claudia Andujar