Carlos Garaicoa Carta a los censores (Letter to Censors) 2003

Faced with the deterioration of his native city and the apathy of state institutions responsible for its conservation, Carlos Garaicoa decided to focus his work on architecture, ruin, and utopia. For the artist, the city’s malleability and unpredictability are a source of inspiration.  Carta a los censores is a strongly critical piece: a political condemnation of the deterioration and closure of movie theaters in Havana and the impossibility of recovering them. The work concentrates on identifying specific formal questions of architecture and addresses such issues as image and thought control, using movie theaters as the pretext for his reflections.
Identification
Title
Carta a los censores (Letter to Censors)
Production Date
2003
Object Number
2017.039a-j
Credit Line
Collection Pérez Art Museum Miami, gift of Jorge M. Pérez
Copyright
© Carlos Garaicoa Manso / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York
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Physical Qualities
Medium
Gelatin silver prints
Dimensions
10 Sheets, each: 12 3/4 x 15 3/4 inches
Visual Description
Carta a los censores (Letter to Censors) by artist Carlos Garaicoa is a series of 10 gelatin silver prints made in 2003. The black and white prints are neatly displayed in a horizontal row of white frames, each measuring a little over fifteen by twelve inches. The frame to the left is displayed vertically, while the rest of the pieces are displayed horizontally. Garaicoa captured these images within a tight frame composition, meaning that the subject matter takes up most of the image space and almost touches the outer edges of the picture. Each of these prints is made up of images of decaying buildings. Each building boasts classical and ornate details that have lost their luster, harkening back to a lost time. The paint that covers these buildings is faded and flaking off of its surface. Facades with moldings of sleek geometric patterns of the Art Deco style hide under a layer of dirt and debris. Several windows and doors that perhaps once welcomed light and people are shuttered closed. Attractive lettering in stylized cursives and block prints spelling inviting words like Cuba, Apolo, and Record appear dirty and forgotten. Several of these old and unkempt yet beautifully aesthetic buildings display evidence of the current world around them – drooping power lines obscuring their splendor, a few ordinary citizens hanging out on a sidewalk, and rickshaw bikes with no one on them. The entire collection of images seems to display the crumbling splendor of a bygone era and a feeling that ‘all good things come to an end’.
Carlos Garaicoa
Carlos Garaicoa — b. 1967, Havana; lives in Madrid and Havana
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