The Collision of Art, Architecture, and Power at Mexico City Art Week
A Surreal Event at La Cuadra
Earlier this month, Mexico City Art Week unfolded as a whirlwind of creativity and spectacle, with one of the most anticipated events promising a unique convergence of architecture, performance art, and power. At the heart of the event was Marina Abramovic, the pioneering performance artist, presenting her work at La Cuadra San Cristóbal, a house and horse stable designed by the celebrated Mexican architect Luis Barragán. The property, recently rebranded as La Cuadra, is set to become a cultural center under the vision of businessman and architect Fernando Romero.
The event began with a sense of exclusivity, as a stylish crowd gathered in the corral of the Barragán property, just outside Mexico City. Guests were handed pink baseball caps emblazoned with the words “La Cuadra,” signaling the property’s new identity. Without much fanfare, three brown horses emerged from the stables, ridden by figures dressed in black and carrying white flags that bore the phrase “Art Is Oxygen.” Behind them, Abramovic appeared, dressed in black Comme des Garçons, accompanied by Pablo León de la Barra, the Guggenheim Museum’s curator at large of Latin American art, who shaded her with a large red tasseled umbrella.
Abramovic took her seat on a small platform in front of Barragán’s iconic pink wall, a backdrop that has become synonymous with his architectural legacy. The horses trotted around her as she read from a manifesto, her voice steady and deliberate. The manifesto, originally written in 1997, included bold declarations: “An artist should have enemies. Enemies are very important”; “An artist should die consciously, without fear”; and “Don’t forget we have art, and art is oxygen.” When she finished, she declared, “We have lunch!”
The audience was then seated at long tables adorned with silver reflecting orbs. An opera singer in red emerged, singing the lunch menu in a dramatic, operatic style. “Taco, taco, taco, taaaacoooo,” she sang, her voice echoing as a camera drone buzzed overhead. The performance was playful, yet it felt disconnected from the deeper themes of art and spirituality that Abramovic is known for.
The Disorienting Collaboration
The two-day event, which included a one-day performance workshop, was intended to celebrate the launch of La Cuadra as a cultural center. However, what unfolded was a series of happenings that felt more like a parody of the relationship between artist and patron than a meaningful collaboration. The event had been shrouded in secrecy, with much buildup leading to Abramovic’s appearance, but the most striking aspect was the superficiality of the interaction between Abramovic and Romero, the visionary behind La Cuadra.
Abramovic, whose fame and notoriety stem from her groundbreaking work in performance art, has built a career on pushing the boundaries of the human body, emotional endurance, and the relationship between artist and viewer. Her 2009 retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art, “The Artist Is Present,” cemented her status as a cultural icon, as she sat silently for eight hours a day over three months, inviting visitors to gaze into her eyes. Now 78 and recovering from a recent knee replacement, Abramovic was invited by Romero to perform new works to mark the announcement of La Cuadra.
Yet, the collaboration felt disorienting and devoid of depth. The manifesto she read was not new; it had been recited publicly many times before. The workshop she led was an abbreviated version of her Abramovic Method, typically offered at her institute in Greece for a hefty fee. Even the operatic menu singer seemed to reference her earlier work, “7 Deaths of Maria Callas,” but in a way that felt more like entertainment than art. Abramovic herself did not consider these interventions to be artworks, dismissing the idea that everything she does is a performance. “A manifesto is a manifesto,” she said in an interview. “A lecture is a lecture.”
Still, for many, Abramovic’s presence alone is enough to turn any event into a performance. Her global brand, which now extends to wellness products and spiritual retreats, blurs the lines between artistic inquiry and commercial endeavor. At La Cuadra, this tension was palpable, with the event feeling less like a spiritual exploration and more like a branded marketing campaign.
The Vision for La Cuadra
Fernando Romero, the businessman and architect behind La Cuadra, has grand ambitions for the property. Once known as the Egerstrom house or Cuadra San Cristóbal, the building is a prime example of Barragán’s “barroco agazapado” style, which merges modernist principles with Mexican vernacular architecture. Romero plans to transform the house into a museum showcasing his design collection, build an art collection, establish an artist residency program, and create a series of pavilions designed by other architects. The center is set to open in October, marking the first time the house will be accessible to the public.
Romero’s devotion to Barragán’s legacy is undeniable. He has spoken of his admiration for the architect since his days in architecture school. However, the collaboration with Abramovic at La Cuadra felt more like a superficial nod to Barragán’s influence than a meaningful engagement with his work. Abramovic’s interventions did little to acknowledge the history of the house or its cultural significance. Instead, the event seemed to treat Barragán’s architecture as a backdrop, reducing its timeless beauty to a mere prop.
This disconnect was particularly evident in the workshop Abramovic led. Participants, including this writer, were greeted with a banner featuring Abramovic on horseback, Photoshopped against Barragán’s pink wall. The image, taken from her autobiographical piece “The Hero,” felt out of place in the context of the event. Dressed in lab coats and noise-blocking headphones, participants were led through a series of exercises, including silent sitting, slow walking, and eye gazing. The experience was meant to evoke a sense of monastic reverence, but it ultimately felt more like a pared-down version of Abramovic’s signature methods.
The Abramovic Method
Abramovic’s methodology, as demonstrated in the workshop, is rooted in her belief in the power of presence and endurance. Participants were asked to surrender their cellphones and watches, immersing themselves in the moment. They were instructed to eat raw vegetables from shallow bowls of tepid beet-tinted water, to count grains of rice and lentils, and to embrace silence. These exercises, while challenging, were meant to strip away distractions and focus the mind. Yet, in the abbreviated version offered at La Cuadra, the depth and intensity of Abramovic’s full Method were lacking.
The workshop concluded with Abramovic’s abrupt departure, leaving participants to finish their tasks in silence. “The Abramovic Experience has concluded,” a team member announced, signaling the end of the session. The experience was fleeting, leaving little time for reflection or connection with the space and its history. Abramovic’s focus on the present moment felt at odds with the historical weight of Barragán’s architecture, which seemed to call for a deeper exploration.
The Tensions of Art and Commerce
The collaboration between Abramovic and La Cuadra highlighted the tension between art and commerce that has come to define much of Abramovic’s later career. Her status as the “grandmother of performance art” has made her a global brand, with her name and image attached to everything from wellness products to spiritual retreats. While this has expanded her reach, it has also blurred the lines between her artistic practice and commercial ventures.
At La Cuadra, this tension was evident in every aspect of the event. The manifesto, the workshop, and even the operatic menu singer felt like elements of a carefully curated brand, rather than a genuine artistic expression. The decision to hire an opera singer to sing the menu, for instance, referenced Abramovic’s earlier work but lacked its emotional and artistic depth. It felt more like a playful indulgence than a meaningful performance.
The branding was further reinforced by the pink baseball caps handed out to guests, emblazoned with the words “La Cuadra.” These tokens of the event served as reminders of the cultural center’s new identity, but they also underscored the transactional nature of the collaboration. Abramovic’s presence was not so much a celebration of Barragán’s legacy as it was a marketing tool, designed to attract attention and prestige to the fledgling cultural center.
The Legacy of Luis Barragán
Luis Barragán’s architecture is a testament to his unique vision, which blended modernist principles with Mexican vernacular forms and a deep sense of spirituality. His use of bold colors, particularly his signature pink, and his playful manipulation of light and space have inspired devotion in architects and artists around the world. At La Cuadra, his legacy was evident in every detail, from the pink walls to the floating staircases and the gold leaf canvases that reflected the light.
Yet, the event at La Cuadra did little to engage with Barragán’s legacy in a meaningful way. Abramovic’s interventions, while visually striking, felt disconnected from the space and its history. Her manifesto, though powerful, was delivered against a backdrop that seemed more like a prop than a source of inspiration. The horses, the pink wall, and the opera singer all combined to create a sense of spectacle, but the event lacked the depth and nuance that Barragán’s work deserved.
The disconnect was particularly evident in the way the event treated Barragán’s architecture as a backdrop rather than a central element. His work is not just a setting; it is a living, breathing entity that invites reflection, contemplation, and connection. By reducing it to a mere prop, the event missed an opportunity to explore the ways in which Barragán’s architecture could intersect with Abramovic’s performance art, creating something truly innovative and meaningful.
A Missed Opportunity
In the end, the collaboration between Abramovic and La Cuadra felt like a missed opportunity. The event had all the ingredients for something extraordinary: a world-renowned artist, a iconic architectural setting, and a promising new cultural center. Yet, the result was a series of disjointed happenings that felt more like a marketing campaign than a genuine artistic collaboration.
For Abramovic, the event was a chance to expand her global brand, but it did little to advance her artistic practice or engage with the cultural and historical context of the space. For Romero and La Cuadra, it was an opportunity to establish the cultural center as a major player in the art world, but the event’s transactional nature undermined its potential.
The real tragedy was the way the event treated Barragán’s legacy. His architecture, with its intricate layers of meaning and spirituality, deserved more than to be reduced to a backdrop for Abramovic’s manifesto or a branding exercise. The event could have been a moment to explore the intersections between Barragán’s modernist spirituality and Abramovic’s bodily and emotional endurance. Instead, it felt like a superficial nod to two great cultural figures, without any real depth or engagement.
As La Cuadra moves forward, it will need to grapple with the challenges of living up to its ambitious vision. The center has the potential to become a vibrant space for art and culture, but it will need to do more than host star-studded events. It will need to engage meaningfully with the legacy of Barragán, while also fostering innovative and deeply thoughtful collaborations with artists. The event with Abramovic was a step in the wrong direction, but it also serves as a reminder of the possibilities that lie ahead.