Erschienen in: Ana Roldan, Edizioni Periferia, Luzern 2009.
Two sticks are propped against a wall. They lean towards each other at eye level. The ends are tapered forming pointed arrows; there is a grip in the middle. Despite these features, it is hard to see the objects as being particularly dangerous since their wood tips are much too frail and fragile. Ordinarily such weapons are deliberately made to appear frightening but here, instead of the usual stone or metal tips attached with deadly intent, the wooden ends of Two long weapons without armor, 2006, are coated with a thin layer of wax. It is almost as if they themselves need to be protected from harm.
For several years now, objects that would seem to go a long way back in history have played an important role in Ana Roldán’s installations and performances, including weapons of sorts, chairs and vases. Roldán does not duplicate the traces that mark years of use in historical furniture but adopts only their formal vocabulary. Geographically, the artist draws inspiration from Latin America, Asia and Europe, regions that are also linked to stages of her per- sonal biography. Do the items possibly belong to a protagonist who has just left the scene of the installation? Or are they possibly playing a part in a drama, symbolically standing in for the characters?
Once asked whether he considered design a method of general expression, Charles Eames replied, “No—it is a method of action.” According to Eames, designing articles of daily use also means that potential users are encouraged to take a certain kind of action. Roldán exploits this performative property of design and applies it to the art context when she casually props archaic spears against the wall of an exhibition venue, as she did in 2008. Using the spears would be possible but is not intended in this situation. Her weapons have never been put to use and hence become a symbol of virtual power that has no need to actualize its potential. In the current art context of Western Europe, the ritualized implication of an action is quite enough. It is a curious kind of power that conveys no sense of menace and is not really compelled to make use of its options.
While Two long weapons without armor is essentially a descriptive title, the title The plot of the five masquerades, 2008, indicates a narrative, a plot. Five protagonists made of wood make an appearance in this work. The similarity to simple spears is immediately evident, for they have all the requisite features: a pointed end, a grip and a polished stone. But there the similarity ends, for the materials do not function as they did in archaic weaponry. The obsidian has not been used to make an arrowhead; it is now a smooth and shiny handle. And the soft wood that forms the tip of the spear has become even softer by being coated with wax.
The ve items have obviously been thoroughly masked before being permitted to come on stage; the customary use of their visible materials has been subverted. Part of the plot has presumably already taken place before viewers enter the scene. Some of the poles are lying on the oor, for all the world as if they had been abandoned in the midst of combat. Is this a game, a battle, a ritualized performance? Not only do the poles themselves remind us of a story from the past but also a material like obsidian, which conjures instruments of hunting and warfare like those made by Central American peoples in pre-Columbian times. This extremely hard stone of volcanic origins was used by the Aztecs to make the tips of arrows and spears. Historians believe that the spear was the first tool ever deployed as a means of killing from a distance. Archaeological research shows that comparable tools were used in warfare and in hunting over 200,000 years ago. According to Konrad Lorenz, being spared the distasteful experience of killing prey with our own hands and teeth has had devastating consequences: it has made it easier for us to overcome the inhibition, shared by most animals, of killing members of our own species.
Sometimes we can’t be sure whether Ana Roldán is confronting us with a deadly weapon or a helpful support. With their angular handles made of ob- sidian on top and tapering to sharp tips at the bottom, the two rather odd crutches in My favorite antagonist, 2008, are both hurtful and helpful. It is not inconceivable that both qualities—hurting and helping—could coexist, for instance, when they impact two di erent bodies. A preferred opponent is both loved and hated. The behavior that results when using a tool for its designated purpose is usually obvious in the case of everyday objects. A knife cuts and stabs; a walking stick facilitates walking. But what do you do with a thing that embodies contradictory qualities? Before actually handling a tool, you have to get a handle on how to use it from one situation to the next. Often borrowing their formal vocabulary and materials from archaic forms of life, Roldán’s scenarios of action from di erent ages and cultures acquire a compelling, vibrant presence. The supposedly found pieces from the daily life of history have returned as characters in a dramatic legend.