From the land of the symbolic, by Anabella Acevedo.
One comes into contact with the works of My Feet are My Wings (Mis pies son mis alas) and asks: What is there behind the obvious, or, what is the artistic work really claiming? Recognizing the previous work of Walter Iraheta, one knows that besides the aesthetic pleasure
that is experienced in front of a rigorous artistic creation, whether be it painting, photograph, installation or another medium, there is something more that searches to communicate, sometimes through irony or a sense of humor, other times through nostalgia, and still more
through pure suggestion. Moreover, each work in the series is part of a larger discussion that the artist has elaborated upon and can tell us with detail, if he were asked. In fact, in the blog openned by the artist in relation to this show we read:
"My Feet are my Wings is a collective of photographs in which exists an analogy between the object and the human being, the object as live matter, capable of evoking feelings and sensations, capable of passing on to us a large amount of information left in it, contained by the
energy of the people who participated in its making and those who will then make use of it. The object is a symbol of power, a symbol of belonging, of tenacity, of status, of style, of necessity, history, the beginning and the end. The object gives testimony to space and time." That is, the work is an allegory, as Heidegger explains it well: "The work is symbolic. Allegory and symbolism are the frameworks of representation under which the characterization of a work of art has moved for a long time." That is, the work goes beyond itself as an object of art and guides our look toward other realities. A shoe stops from being just an object of use and relates to us as a human experience, real or fiction.
When one thinks about photography, it is assumed that this allows the possibility of faithfully copying a fragment of reality. That is to say, we assign credibility to it as a primary characteristic. We do not doubt the existence of the shown as our eyes see it. Submerged in the enchantment of good photography, we don't think in that moment of light and shadow, compositions or games. Instead, we comfortably accept the condition as visual truth. This is not to say that it is not really this way. In My Feet are My Wings, for example, we see shoes of every type, in photographs and in installations, and the shoe portraits effectively remain to the world as real and possible. However, the disposition of the shoes, the composition of the series,
and the combinations and sets change the dimension of the real character that is presented to us, propelling us to look beyond to a new alegorical reality, in such a way that the shoes stop being just more objects whose senses give others their use, and begin to convert
into elements of reflection about reality and human nature.
On the other hand, photography as a fragment of reality that remains outside forms part of that chain of meanings already established by that initial fragment. In "Preludio," for example, there is a boot placed over a white sheet. We assume that it is a woman's boot and that the woman has taken it off. We also imagine that the taking off of the boot has been a prelude to an action that is only suggested to us through the composition and the title of the work. So, what Walter does to unite the boot, the white sheet, and the title is provide the objects with new contexts, and by that, new meanings. It does not matter if the artist has created a simulation by putting the boot on the bed to photograph it in the end. The thing of importance here is that not only have we've bitten the fishhook that's been thrown to us, but with indulgance.
Even in photodocumentary, photography has those both sides, that of the actual copied reality and the other filled with a multitude of significances. This unites the fact that the selection of the fragment of reality photographed has put the look of the artist, of the documentary
photographer, or of the innocent picture taker that only wants to record what's been lived or seen, in an impossible act of retaining an ephemeral moment. Therefore, the artist elects the object of his or her gaze (and in doing so has already designed a new being) and already knows how it appears in his eyes or recomposed according to a prior idea. In other words, the artist adjusts the reality to his lens. Walter Iraheta does both things by photographing shoes and feet
and applying new significance to them.
On the other side, photography places us in a precise moment that, nevertheless, opens us to the world and history, creating a narrative that starts from associations. But in the instant this has been fixed and the artist has captured it, such existing is gone, and its existence begins to take forms of discourse that the artist has iniciated--even before taking the photo--and what we see of the work we can continue or not, adding elements that come from our own history, from our particular experience in this world. Photography in its originality belongs to the artist, but it is also ours, like the shoes photographed by Walter that belong to someone else and that he makes his own through the camera, through their free disposition, and the act of transforming them into works of art.
On one hand, we have photographs whose origins come from exhumations done by the artist in Rabinal, Guatemala. Beautiful, elegant and sober, despite the profound sadness they hold and the terrible reality that alludes it. Next, we have installations like Mandala or Jardin, en which Walter has decided the character of the shoes, the grand part of them old and used, rescuing them from abandonment and giving them a new sense of dignity. There are also that photographic installations that establish a dialogue with artists like Magrite and Duchamp, and
with the ironic weight that they possess, seem to give the work the necessary balance that takes us away from the nostalgic horror and contemplation of beauty to the reflection over objects that define us--in this case, shoes.
One of the symbolic values of the wings is that of the "regeneration", which is precisely what Walter Iraheta finishes with in this work. By photographing portraits of the shoes, we are told about the feet, and doing so uncovers or grows the stories of life.
Anabella Acevedo, quetzaltenango, Guatemala, 2007.
My Feet are my Wings, by Monica Kupfer.
In Salvadorian artist Walterio Iraheta¿s photographs, shoes cease to be everyday items and become iconographic signs or symbols with personalities of their own. The pictures in his portfolio entitled ¿My Feet are my Wings,¿ which concentrate on images of footwear, mostly white shoes, is remarkable for its sense of harmony, its visual drama, and its narrative content.
In the stories that these photos embody, shoes¿worn, fixed, arranged in order, or dumped¿are the main characters. The image of a lady¿s single white boot lying among rumpled sheets in Preludio (Prelude) awakens thoughts of romantic experiences. The large mass of shoe soles pointing in the same direction in Cementerio de zapatos (Shoe Cemetery) brings to mind ideas about people marching together for a cause. Iraheta offers a plethora of possibilities for the imagination by representing humanity through their old shoes: one envisions men, women, and children, whole families, lovers, the living and the dead, people known and anonymous, commemorated or forgotten.
Moreover, Iraheta pays homage to art history and to great artists like Marcel Duchamp (two boots on a green field) or René Magritte (this is not a boot against a blue sky). The torn soles, the worn leather and the tongue sticking out of Zapatos rojos (Red Shoes) inevitably remind us of Vincent Van Gogh¿s paintings of tattered boots in which the artist echoed the hard life of the poorer classes. Closer to our own region and time, Iraheta shows sensitivity for the history of Central America in compositions such as Zapatos encontrados (Found Shoes), which resembles an archeological showcase of objects unearthed from a mass grave. His invitation to reconstruct history is both powerful and persuasive.
Just as some stories make us uneasy, other photographs offer a sense of balance. In Mandala, the monochrome and essential geometric structure of a circle of white shoes bears resemblance to a garden for meditation. On the other hand, his photograph Jardin (Garden), in which shoes are scattered arbitrarily over a gray surface, suggests the idea of order within chaos, and conveys a feeling of freedom, or even fun. The solitary object in Bota (Boot), dramatically lit from above, is more closely linked to the traditional Freudian symbolism of shoes as vessels for feet; as the objects of sexual fetishism.
It¿s easy to get carried away by the wide variety of associations Iraheta¿s photos suggest. However, this is only possible for the observer because his technique and presentation are so impeccable that they become imperceptible. There are no messy details to distract us from the images, whose balanced and traditional compositions offer a base for the flight of the imagination. It is no coincidence that Iraheta was initially known for his careful, almost precious, drawings and then by his paintings and mixed media works of nostalgic images that straddled the line between realism and surrealism.
Iraheta, who first studied at the National Arts Center in San Salvador, has gone through a process which began with traditional techniques, but continuously expanded to include any technique or material in the creation of artworks. His past exhibitions provide multiple examples, such as his ¿constellations¿ of discarded bottle caps; the objects and installations in his ¿Kryptonite¿ series that included meetings between Superman and the Virgin Mary; and his photographic and video series entitled Landschaft in which he used networks of electric cables to represent the contemporary landscape and our urban reality. As a creator, he is constantly moving towards new languages and topics, passing from one to another without losing his way in the search for aesthetic results. At times, however, his choices come dangerously (and consciously) close to being too kitschy, or he seems unnecessarily reticent to breaking with convention, in an effort to preserve a traditional sense of visual structure, and the sort of perfectionism and appreciation for detail that has characterized him as a draftsman.
What remains unchanged is the direct and enriching conversation Iraheta achieves between his work and its viewers. There are moments of mockery and humor, or of social consciousness, as well as more intimate passages related to love and memory. In some pieces, the focus is on himself as the subject, a natural consequence of the self-referentiality apparent in all of his oeuvre. In this exhibition entitled My Feet are my Wings, there are no images of anatomical parts or winged figures, but the references are clear. Although they are not depicted, we are reminded that our feet provide us with support as well as transportation, that shoes can pressure us but also give us freedom, and that, in many cases, they are left behind as proof of our passage through life.
Monica E. Kupfer, Panamá city.
