Se bebe sangre en español. Cine de vampiros

Por Jaime Perales Contreras

Renfield: "Aren't you drinking?"
Count Dracula: "I never drink wine”.

A fines de la década de los cincuenta, el productor y actor mexicano Abel Salazar buscaba desesperadamente al protagonista principal para hacer su película El vampiro (1957), una lectura mexicana de la novela de Bram Stoker, Drácula. Salazar, cuando fue a ver un espectáculo en el teatro Blanquita, en la ciudad de México, se encontró, dentro de una de las rutinas de la función de este legendario teatro de revista, a un joven alto, delgado y serio, de origen asturiano, de apenas 27 años, llamado Germán Robles. Salazar, cuando lo vio actuando, se dijo a sí mismo ¡Por fin he encontrado a mi vampiro! El actor español realizó una memorable interpretación cinematográfica de la novela de Stoker. Robles personificó al Conde Duval, un excéntrico y desvelado personaje, que acostumbraba a caminar de noche y que tenía entre sus hobbies dormir en un ataúd y morder mortalmente la yugular de sus víctimas. El aspecto lúgubre, ambientado en un oscuro pueblo de la provincia mexicana, hizo que un año después se realizara una secuela llamada El ataúd del vampiro (1958), que tuvo igual de éxito que la primera. A pesar del escaso presupuesto que se tuvo para una película de este género, es, probablemente, una de las mejores representantes del cine de horror mexicano. De hecho, se ha comentado la similitud en actuaciones, y de apariencia física, que existe entre Germán Robles y Christopher Lee, el actor inglés que personificó Drácula (1958), en diversas ocasiones, para la productora británica Hammer durante casi una década. Sin embargo, la influencia en la actuación de Lee en la de Germán Robles en El vampiro, es absurda, ya que la película mexicana se hizo un año antes que Drácula.

Con el reciente éxito que han tenido las películas y novelas de vampiros en Estados Unidos, como Twilight, de Stephen Meyer, que ha vendido 42 millones de copias, desde el 2005 y su primera adaptación de esta trilogía que recaudó ciento setenta y siete millones de dólares en las primeras siete semanas de su estreno, y de la innumerable cantidad de directores famosos que se han ocupado de la novela de Stoker, como Tod Browning, Roman Polanski, Andy Wharhol, Werner Herzog y Francis Ford Coppola, uno se pregunta si pueden coexistir vampiros latinoamericanos en un género literario que se originó en la Europa del siglo XIX. La respuesta es evidente. Se han realizado diversas películas sobre el género en el que algunas, es verdad, no han sido muy buenas, pero que otras pueden portar el estandarte de filmes de culto.

La primera ocasión en que se escucha al Conde Drácula hablar el idioma de Cervantes fue en 1931, cuando se filmó la versión al castellano de Drácula al mismo tiempo que se realizó la famosa versión de Tod Browning, que lanzó al estrellato al actor húngaro Bela Lugosi. Mientras se realizaba en el día la versión en inglés, en la noche, en los mismos estudios, se filmó la adaptación en español. La película trató de ser una copia exacta a la original, como se acostumbraba en aquella época para filmes de Hollywood muy exitosos. Incluso, el actor cordobés que lo personificó, Carlos Villarias, era físicamente similar a Lugosi y se le aconsejó que hiciera los mismos movimientos de capote que su colega húngaro. La versión en inglés no se distribuyó comercialmente en los mercados hispanos y, hasta muy recientemente, sólo se podía ver en cine clubs, en televisión o en video. Técnicamente, para muchos, la adaptación castellana, es mucho mejor que la de Browning. Esta joya, a diferencia de decenas de películas de la época que se perdieron, o fueron destruidas por el tiempo, se encontró la única copia almacenada en la filmoteca de la Habana y se puede ver todavía con agrado. Aunque, no sería, años después, con El vampiro, que se realizarían filmes con un sabor más latinoamericano del célebre personaje de Bram Stoker.

Después del éxito de El vampiro y de El ataúd del vampiro, el mismo Abel Salazar realizó otra película del género sin ninguna relación con sus dos predecesoras, titulada, El mundo de los vampiros (1960). La película presentó la clásica venganza que se da entre un vampiro contra uno de los descendientes que le dio muerte. Una novedad poco vista en esa época es que el héroe es mordido por una de estas criaturas y, por ello, paulatinamente, vemos, durante el desarrollo de la película, su lenta transformación. Lo interesante es que el protagonista se encuentra en la duda moral de corromperse, y matar para sobrevivir, o de dar fin a su vida. Esta idea cinematográfica de vampiros benignos más tarde se explotaría en películas norteamericanas sobre el género como The Lost Boys (1983), en la serie de televisión Forever Knight (1992) o en la reciente True Blood (2008) de HBO. Sin embargo, muy probablemente la primera ocasión en que se plantea este dilema fue en esta modesta película mexicana realizada hace más de cincuenta años.

Otra película interesante del género fue La invasión de los vampiros (1963). El filme tiene un aspecto original, el vampiro que aterroriza a un pueblo mexicano del siglo XIX es asesinado por uno de lo lugareños. Cuando el varón Frankenhousen, muere por una estaca, todo los cientos de sus víctimas regresan a la vida en forma de vampiros humanos y, de pronto, el pueblo enfrenta una amenaza peor que la anterior. La banda sonora, realizada por el compositor Luis Hernández Bretón, influyó para que se diera el carácter lúgubre de la cinta. Los constantes sonidos laminares de tipo experimental, recuerdan lo que posteriormente sería la audaz música del polaco Krzysztof Penderecki en The Exorcist (1973) o de Jerry Goldsmith, en Planet of the Apes (1968). A pesar de su poco presupuesto, no es descabellado preguntarse si esta película influyó para que se hiciera el filme producido por los estudios de horror británicos Hammer tres años después, titulado The Plague of the Zombies (1966).

Otra película divertida de la época, fiel al género, fue la protagonizada por Rodolfo Guzmán Huerta, mejor conocido como El Santo. En Santo contra las mujeres vampiro (1962), el superhéroe mexicano se debate a muerte contra una tropa de bellas y diabólicas damiselas. Este filme, curiosamente, ganó un premio en un festival de cine fantástico en París, y, por ello se empezó a extender su popularidad; fue, además, un éxito inmediato de taquilla y una de las únicas películas de este luchador que se dobló al inglés. Años más tarde, el filme se comentó satíricamente en el programa Mistery Science Theater 3000, lo que hizo que su popularidad aumentara y que se generaran nuevos aficionados al Santo.
La película se ha mostrado regularmente en festivales, como es el caso del de cine fantástico en Málaga, España. Asimismo, Cuba, en coproducción con España y la República Democrática Alemana, también se animó a filmar una simpática película de dibujos animados llamada Vampiros en la Habana (1985). La película trata de una conspiración, por apoderarse de una fórmula que les permite a los vampiros humanos resistir el sol. Este filme cubano, por cierto, fue seleccionado entre las 30 mejores películas de animación por el Consejo Cultural del Instituto de Cine.

El cineasta Guillermo del Toro ha sido uno de los defensores latinoamericanos más entusiastas del género. Su opera prima, Cronos (1993), relata la historia de un parásito vampírico que habita en un escarabajo metálico, hecho por un alquimista medieval. El parásito al encajar la aguja en la piel de la persona, le da el atributo de la juventud. Sin embargo, a su vez, descubrimos que no hay nada que se otorga gratuitamente, ya que convierte a la víctima en un vampiro humano que tiene la necesidad de saciar su sed alimentándose de sangre fresca. El mito de Fausto, mezclado con la tradición del género gótico, se engarza en esta interesante historia.

América Latina ha tenido sus ojos atentos al género de vampiros. Es verdad que, en la mayoría de las ocasiones, los filmes se han hecho con poco presupuesto (casi todas han sido tipo B) y con efectos especiales que a veces nos producen una sonrisa. Sin embargo, varios argumentos tienen un ingenio similar a la de las grandes producciones cinematográficas. Y, esto, sobre todo, es, ultimadamente, lo más importante, y lo que hace a una película memorable. Hace algunos años, a Ray Bradbury se le preguntó su opinión sobre el potencial desplazamiento de los efectos especiales sobre una buena historia. Bradbury contestó que no había tal desplazamiento. Los efectos especiales eran, para el novelista, una novedad técnica complementaria y concluyó: ¿De qué sirve lanzar fuegos artificiales sin dirección, ni rumbo, en un cielo completamente vacío? El efecto es instantáneo, como espectacular, que, a los pocos minutos, se olvida. Así ocurre con los filmes con efectos especiales que carecen de un buen argumento. Y Ray Bradbury, como se puede ver con algunos filmes en la actualidad, tenía razón.

Jaime Perales Contreras es colaborador de Literal, Latin American Voices

An Interview with Friedrich Katz

"It is remarkable that the past influences Mexico, more than many other parts of the world”.

By Eduardo Estala Rojas*

Friedrich Katz (Vienna, Austria, 1927) is not only one of the most significant historians and anthropologists in the second half of the twentieth century, but also one of the most important archival researchers concerning the history of the Mexican Revolution.

Since he came to Mexico in 1940, he showed a special interest in the culture of Mexico, its language, customs, and history. Although at first he did not speak Spanish, he rapidly perceived the kind of situation that Mexico was living in those times, and realized what his professional calling was going to be.

Even though he has resided in Europe and in the city of Chicago for most of his life, all of his research has been related to different periods of Mexican history. He combines broad interpretations with a meticulous attention to details.

Actually, Friedrich Katz is a Morton D. Hull Distinguished Emeritus Professor of Latin American History at the University of Chicago. The “Katz Center for Mexican Studies” at this university is an acknowledgment of his professional work.

A GREAT PASSION FOR “EL CENTAURO DEL NORTE”

Friedrich Katz’ historical passion has been without any doubt the great personality of Doroteo Arango Arámbula, better known as Francisco Villa. His two-volumes book, “Pancho Villa”, (Era Editions, 1998), is one of the best biographies written about this historical and legendary figure of the twentieth century. This research work on Francisco Villa also examined other great figures of the history of Mexico such as Emiliano Zapata, Francisco I. Madero, and Porfirio Díaz.

During this interview, Dr. Friedrich Katz dealt with both Mexico’s history and his own life. He also mentioned some of the reasons that led him became a historian and an anthropologist of Mexico.

—Let’s talk about your arrival to Mexico in 1940 during the government of Lázaro Cárdenas del Río. What was your first impression of the country?

My first impression… I was thirteen years old. I did not speak Spanish and had never been in Mexico before. It seemed a completely strange country to me. I liked the palm trees and the houses. People seemed friendly but at the same time reserved. I can say that my first impression of the country was spontaneous and positive. Mexico was very different from Europe and the United States. Thanks to my father and above all to our Mexican friends who came to visit us, I very soon became fascinated by Mexico’s history.

One of my strongest impressions after I arrived in Mexico was the contrast between the deep pessimism that pervaded war torn Europe, and the profound optimism that was the hallmark of “Cardenista” Mexico. Lázaro Cárdenas had transformed and carried out profound social changes such as land reform without any violence. He had challenged some of the most powerful American business interests, its oil companies, and the U.S. government had taken no drastic reprisals. In contrast to Europe, Mexico was at peace. Although I was only thirteen years old and did not speak the language, I already shared the same optimistic perception about the future of the country.

—How did your interest in the mystical personages of the Mexican Revolution, such as Francisco Villa, Emiliano Zapata, and Francisco I. Madero arise?

Let’s see. First, I would say that my interest in the Mexican Revolution arose very early. In part, this was due to the fact that the generation that had participated in the revolution was very much alive, and I met many of them. Many of its veterans were in their fifties. Many of them had also participated in the “Cardenista” reform. People constantly wrote about revolutionary Mexico.

A second and more personal aspect of my interest in Mexico was the fact that my parents sent me to study at the “Liceo Franco-Mexicano” (a French-Mexican high school). We had lived in France and they wanted to make my school transition easier. I did not know a word in Spanish. French was spoken at this school, and we learned about France’s history. During the three Spanish class hours, we studied Spain’s history. Mexico’s history was not mentioned at all. I did not like that. I was opposed to it. This “feeling of opposition” inside me made me more interested in Mexico. So, I started talking to Mexicans about their history. I read whatever I could in regard the Mexican Revolution, the history of Mexico, and also its pre-Hispanic roots. Interest for Mexico’s evolution and its history played an increasing role in my life.

I was six years old when we had to leave Germany and escaped to France (I come from Austria but lived in Germany in 1933). The police came to look for my father who had written several articles against Hitler. The French government expelled us five years later because we were refugees. After this, we came to the United States, but we only had a temporary visa. In 1940 we arrived in Mexico, where my parents were granted political asylum. Finally, we felt safe. It is thus not surprising that I developed a great affection for Mexico.

All of these reasons led to my interest in Mexico and the great figures of its history. There were two aspects that specifically caused my particular interest in Francisco Villa. The first one is that Villa and Zapata were totally different from other important revolutionaries of the twentieth century. Lenin, Mao Tse Tung, and Ho Chi Min were intellectuals and leaders of political organizations. In contrast, Villa was semi-illiterate. As far as I know, he never attended any elementary school. Nevertheless, he was able to lead a sixty to eighty thousand-men army and also to transform his guerrilla army into a regular army. He was also able to administer the state of Chihuahua, gain popular support and the respect of the Wilson administration in the United States. How did this semi-illiterate individual achieve such successes? It cannot be said that he had had intellectual advisers that made all this possible. He did the most of it by himself.

The second reason for my interest in Villa is that he was the most controversial figure of the Mexican Revolution, even more than Zapata. People, especially in Chihuahua, either loved or hated him. There were very few neutrals. This fact also interested me. There is a third aspect that fascinated me. This is the “legend of Villa”. His legend not only exists in Mexico but also here in the United States. Villa is probably the best-known Mexican besides Moctezuma and Benito Juárez. One of the greatest challenges I faced was to separate history from legend. That was extremely difficult. On the one hand, Villa left no archive and only some memoirs. On the other hand, he liked his own legend. He also established a connection with Hollywood, which perpetuated these legends. This fact enormously intrigued me. Finally, I was also interested in the complex agrarian situation in Northern Mexico, which was intimately linked to the Villa movement.

— How did you organize your historical work about these persons and their lives? They are very revealing indeed. You show in most of your books not only different stages of the Mexican Revolution, but also compare them to historical processes in Latin America.

To better respond, I have to divide my answer in two parts: its general and theoretical aspects, and the sources I utilized. First, it was necessary to properly analyze the social problems that led to the revolution in a comparative perspective. I had to compare it to other revolutionary movements, in order to find similarities and differences between them.

Secondly, I had to consider the international scenario that influenced the revolutionary movement in Mexico. This was very important. For example, it can be said that the greatest changes in Mexico took place when the United States were involved in conflicts outside of the continent. Even when the United States were not directly involved in such conflicts yet, they were already indirectly implicated in them. The “Cardenista” reforms occurred when the Nazi menace was emerging in Europe. The government of the United States was worried over Nazi influence in Latin America. At that time, Mexico was the most anti-fascist country in Latin America, and Lázaro Cárdenas was its president. This is one reason why during his administration, the United States tolerated Mexico’s expropriation of United States oil companies. By looking at the international situation, it is easier to us understand the internal development of the Mexican Revolution.

In this context, my aim was to examine both Mexican and international sources. Villa left no papers, but a large part of his collaborators’ papers had been sold to libraries in the United States. One such source was constituted by the papers of one of his most important advisers and administrators, Silvestre Terrazas, which were sold to the Bancroft Library at the University of California in Berkeley. I also had to examine both reports from foreign diplomats and intelligence agents from the United States, France, Great Britain, Spain, Austria, Germany, Cuba, and Japan which forced me to carry out research in most of these countries.

—Mexican History is depicted in many novels. What do you think of them?

They are very important. Many of them such as the works of Carlos Fuentes and Mariano Azuela present a wonderful and realistic image of the Mexican Revolution.

—How would you define the relationship between the past and present in the historiography and social anthropology of Mexico?

It is remarkable that the past influences Mexico more than many other parts of the world including the United States. This is due to the fact that many people, until a short while ago, still continued to reside the same places where their families had lived. As a result, there was a family and regional historical tradition that went far beyond the description of the past in schools, books, movies, and the media. This family tradition is very important. It passed from generation to generation. In the United States, people change their residence every five or six years, moving from one place to another. Grandchildren have far less contacts with their grandparents and extended families.

Second, another fact that kept the memory of the revolution alive in people’s mind was that until it lost the presidency, the ruling “Partido Revolucionario Institucional, PRI”, considered the revolution a decisive part of its ideology. For example, every town has avenues bearing the names of revolutionary leaders such as Francisco I. Madero, Porfirio Díaz, or Francisco Villa. Their names have not being modified, or substituted by other names such as Victoriano Huerta for example. In contrast, in the former Soviet Union streets and cities named for revolutionary leaders were renamed. Two of the most important political parties in Mexico, the “Partido de la Revolución Democrática, PRD” and the “Partido Revolucionario Institucional, PRI”, keep affirming that they were the ones who consolidated the Mexican Revolution. In other words, the Mexican Revolution continues to envoy legitimacy in Mexico.

—Actually, Mexico is encountering different kind of problems (violence, drug trafficking, kidnappings). Some of them are very similar to those that occurred one hundred years ago, but within a cosmopolitan arena. What do you think of these challenges and how can they be overcome in this new stage in the history of Mexico?

Well, this is a very difficult problem. Some of the challenges that existed in 1910 are similar, while others are different. Unfortunately, two of them continue being the same. These are poverty and social inequality. The Mexican Revolution allowed the country to reach a period of stability that other Latin American countries did not have. Above all, unlike Mexico, so many Latin American countries turned into military dictatorships. In contrast to the situation that existed one hundred years ago, Mexico today is a democratic country, so that, substantial changes can be achieved through democratic means.

In addition, in 1810 and in 1910, Mexico was essentially a rural country. One of the main problems then was the political, economical, and personal power of the “latifundistas”, or large landowners. This problem does not exist today as it did before. What it exists today is a situation of misery and drug trafficking that did not exist before. These are very serious problems. The international situation of Mexico is different from what it was of one and two hundred years ago. During the nineteenth century, Mexico faced two major armed interventions, the war against the United States, and the invasion by France. Finally, Mexico’s educational level is far higher than it was one hundred years ago.

—In these moments, the festivities of the Centennial of the Mexican Revolution, and of the Bi-Centennial of the Mexican Independence are being organized. What do these celebrations mean to you?

As a historian, these festivities are of a tremendous importance for me due to the fact that all of my academic life has been related to the history of Mexico. Both celebrations are very significant for Mexico. In both cases, Mexico has a unique history. In South America, the Independence movements were largely borne by the middle classes. Obviously, in some places such as Venezuela, popular movements took place, but none of them can be compared to the great popular revolution lead by Hidalgo and Morelos. The Mexican Independence movement in 1810 was based on the popular classes and served their interests. The Mexican Revolution in 1910 also showed a tremendous and unusual participation of the popular classes. In my opinion, the main meaning of these events for the popular classes in Mexico today is that they should be aware of their own strength.“Through these celebrations, Mexican people should become more conscious of their own history, and of what the popular classes can do to transform their own country. Like other problems in Mexico, the tremendous poverty of so many people in Mexico played a major role on the outbreak of both the Independence Movement and the Mexican Revolution as well. Poverty continues to be a major problem for Mexico. This situation has not been resolved.

—Finally, the Mexican Independence movement began in 1810, and the Mexican Revolution in 1910. The Bi-Centennial celebration will be in 2010. It seems like every one hundred years, radical changes occur in Mexico. What changes will take place in 2010?

One great advantage of being a historian and not a politician is that we are only concerned about the past and do not have to predict the future. Mexico’s situation is very difficult, not only because of the problems mentioned before — delinquency, drugs, and social inequality — but also because of the global economical crisis that affects all countries in the world. I can only hope that in spite of all these obstacles, Mexico can progress and will resolve its greatest problem: its widespread poverty.

*Eduardo Estala Rojas is a Mexican writer, poet, and cultural journalist.

English Translation by Adriana Elizabeth Vera, from the Latin American History Program, Department of History, University of Chicago. Associate Member of the American Translators Association. Bachelor and Master Degree in Administration, ITESM, Mexico.


Photo by Luis F. Soto.

Jack Moriniere, Co Chairman of the Maecenas Group, talks to Literal

We continue with our series of interviews with the collectors of the upcoming exhibition at the The Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Cosmopolitan Routes, Houston Collects Latin American Art curated by Gilbert Vicario. This time we had the opportunity to talk to Jack Moriniere, a long time art collector and the Co Chairman of the Maecenas group.

RM:Could you explain to Literal´s readers what the Latin Maecenas group is all about and what has been your role during all these years of its existence?

JM: The Latin Maecenas was founded at the Museum of Fine Arts-Houston in the year 2000 and originally chaired by a socially prominent lady from Venezuela. The original purpose was, and is today, to support the Latin American Art Department, at the MFA-H, founded by the very important curator Mari Carmen Ramirez. The funds raised thru this organization are dedicated to the purchase of art for the permanent collection of the MFA-H. I became Chairman of the group in 2002 and am currently Co Chairman. Its activities consist of lectures by and meetings with important Latin American artists, art trips to major cities throughout the world, art fairs, visiting museums and important private collections. Every two years the group conducts a gala and has raised a minimum of $4 million for the purchase of art. Members of the group have also contributed art valued art, for the permanent collection, with a value of well over $5 million. The group will celebrate its tenth year anniversary this year and this is the primary reason for having the upcoming exhibition Cosmopolitan Routes: Houston Collects Latin American Art. This organization currently has about 50 members is open to anyone who has an interest in Latin American Art and desires to further their knowledge of the subject.

Rose Mary Salum: What triggered the desire to collect art?

Jack Mounier: Not actually certain as I did not grow up in a home with original art. Possibly a general interest that finally became specific.

RM: When did you start your collection?

JM:This started while I was in college at Texas Christian University in Fort Worth, Texas. Guess that I have always had an interest in art; however, I met an amazing dealer in Fort Worth by the name of Electra Carlin. She dealt primarily with American artist; however, she represented one from Spain, living in the US, and a few from Mexico.

RM:Do you focus on one specific country, current, etc? Please, elaborate

JM:In the beginning there was not a specific emphasis on country only contemporary artist primarily non figurative. As I became more involved with the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston and its Latin American Collection I realized that I had previously collected a reasonable amount of art from Latin America. Now this is the primary focus of my collecting.

RM:What is the favorite piece of your collection and why?

JM:It is very difficult to single out one particular work of art; however, one of my favorites is a charcoal drawing from the “La Modelo Series” by Antonio Berni dated 1961. This very captivating partially clothed young woman is one this very important Argentinean artists better known works. It is a very pleasing work and one that I am proud to own.

RM:Tell us a nice story about one of your pieces?

JM:At least thirty years ago I was in Mexico City, on business, and happened to have a few minutes to go to an art gallery near my hotel. While there I discovered a small gouache by Francisco Toledo entitled “Bañista y Animal” dated 1971. The exciting thing about this purchase of work by a very important Mexican artist is that I possibly paid US $500 and it is now worth approximately US $20,000. Even though this is a very good return on my investment I like the work so much that I would never consider selling.

Top Image: Eclipses, 2008 by Pablo Vargas Lugo. Photo by Carolina Salomón
Bottom Image: Francisco Toledo

The Second Conversation with Bernard Arocha, one of the Collectors of "Cosmoplotian Routes: Houston Collects Latin American Art"

As part of its 10th anniversary The Museum of Fine Arts, Houston will bring an exhibit titled Cosmopolitan Routes: Houston Collects Latin American Art. The first interview was with collector Gail Adler. You can read that conversation here. Bernard and Mary Arocha are members of the Maecenas group which has helped in sponsoring the MFAH´s collection. As collectors themselves, they were very kind to share their views with Literal´s readers.

Rose Mary Salum: When did you start your collection?

Bernard Arocha: I started collecting in 1988.

RMS: What triggered the desire to collect art?

BA: A lifelong appreciation of art. I grew up in North New Jersey about 14 miles from NYC, so it was easy to visit MOMA.

RMS:Do you focus on one specific country, current, etc? International modern and contemporary art.

RMS:What is the favorite piece of your collection?

BA:This is a hard one, like which is your favorite child, but if I had to pick one it depends on the day, and how they behave. Well I guess the Chamberlain for the favorite sculpture.

RMS: Can you share with Literal´s readers a nice story about one of your pieces?

BA: I purchased this piece in auction, but I lost the bidding the first time, then a few years later, to my surprise it came up at auction a second time. Of course this time I would not let anyone overbid me.

RMS:What do you have in mind for your next acquisition?

BA:I do not know yet, I think it will be love at first sight!

Top Image: Untitled, 1998 by Guillermo Kuitca. Photo by Carolina Salomón

Cosmopolitan Routes: Houston Collects Latin American Art. A Series of Interviews With The Collectors

The Museum of Fine Arts, Houston celebrates the 10th anniversary of the establishment of the museum´s Latin American art department with this one of a kind exhibit. Literal interviewed its curator Gilbert Vicario and the dialog was published in Literal´s fall issue. We went beyond the curator and we will soon present our readers some conversations that we had with the collectors themselves. Today we talked with Gail Adler which piece by the Argentinean artist RES made it to our cover.

Rose Mary Salum: When did you start your collection?

Gail Adler: My husband has been collecting all his life. I joined him in his passion when we married.

RM: What triggered the desire to collect art?

GA:An appreciation for pleasing, interesting and creative work

RM:Do you focus on one specific country, current, etc?

GA:No

RM:What is the favorite piece of your collection?

GA:An Agnes Martin white painting with very fine graphic lines

RM:Tell us a nice story about one of your pieces?

GA:Livia Marin’s “Fictions of a Use”. When we entered a gallery in Santiago there were thousands of lipsticks in multicolors and each lipstick was carved into a different shape. My husband asked the gallery owner if we could buy 32 lipsticks. The gallery owner asked why? My husband answered that our son collects chess sets, and he would love to select one that looked like a bishop, a pawn, etc. The gallery owner then called the artist who lives in London to see if that was o.k. She thought it was a brilliant idea. Then we selected all the pieces in 4 colors. When we returned home we bought a chess board, and created an extraordinarily beautiful chess set!

RM:What do you have in mind for your next acquisition?

GA:Nothing in mind. We buy what we like when we see it.

Top Image: Chica Azul , 2006 by RES
Bottom Image: Livia Marin’s Fictions of a Use.

Elogio de la belleza atlética

Por Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht (Fragmento)
Katz Editores


La fascinación de cada aficionado
Si usted es el aficionado promedio de nuestro tiempo, uno más entre esos millones de personas que miran especialmente deportes de equipo durante muchas horas, semana tras semana y año tras año, entonces las imágenes que tengo en mi mente al comenzar este libro le resultarán conocidas; si es así, usted reconocerá los intensos sentimientos que tales imágenes despiertan. Piense en alguno de sus héroes: en Michael Jordan o Dirk Nowitzki, en Pelé, Diego Maradona, Franz Beckenbauer o Zinedine Zidane, piense en Joe Montana, Jerry Rice o Michael Vick.
Ahora, imagine que su héroe está en posesión del balón mientras el otro equipo lo marca y lo acosa. En la última fracción de segundo antes de perderlo, y con un jugador del equipo contrario literalmente en sus barbas, su héroe lanza el balón por el aire. De pronto, el mundo allí delante se pone a funcionar en cámara lenta y, aunque probablemente el balón se dirija hacia su posición en el estadio, usted, sin posibilidad de calcular la trayectoria, teme -con la nerviosa pasión de un apostador que ha puesto todo su dinero en un solo número- que un jugador del otro equipo lo intercepte. Pero al tiempo que el balón va describiendo esa curva inesperada ante sus ojos y comienza gradualmente a descender, un jugador de su equipo, cuya presencia usted no había notado, aparece de pronto, justo en el sitio donde el balón descenderá. Los dos movimientos -el del balón en el aire y el del jugador que usted recién ha descubierto corriendo en el campo- están convergiendo en una forma que comienza a desaparecer en cuanto se vuelve visible. El jugador de su equipo alcanza a controlar el balón. Apenas, pero lo logra. Y no bien controla el balón, elude la defensa del equipo rival y comienza a correr en una dirección que nadie (ni siquiera usted mismo, por supuesto) podía haber previsto. Por un segundo, usted siente que el fuego de los ojos del jugador enciende los suyos. Entre esos movimientos, entre la mirada de los ojos del jugador y su propia percepción, el mundo, que lo absorbe, vuelve a su velocidad habitual, y usted ahora es capaz de respirar profundamente, con su pecho a punto de estallar de orgullo, alivio y entusiasmo, todo al mismo tiempo, por la belleza de la jugada que ya ha desaparecido y no se repetirá nunca más en tiempo real. El estadio ruge -no hay otra palabra- con otras 50.000 voces que ponen una poderosa música de fondo a la ola de alegría y vida en la que usted está sumergido. Horas más tarde, mientras camina del estadio a su coche, con el aire fresco del atardecer, cansado como nunca antes en la semana, usted recordará aquel momento del partido como uno de compacta felicidad. De nuevo, y ahora sin ninguna tensión, la belleza de la jugada llenará su pecho y acelerará el latido de su corazón. En el recuerdo, puede ver, una vez más, la forma de la jugada y, al tratar de retenerla, un impulso corre por sus músculos como si tomara cuerpo en usted aquello que sus héroes hicieron una hora antes.

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A veces, recuerdo el primer partido de la National Hockey League, al que asistí, allá por 1988, cuando aún era joven. Fue en el Forum de Montreal, un edificio aparentemente sin ningún interés, situado en alguna parte entre el centro y la periferia de esa ciudad, un edificio al que, sin embargo, los verdaderos fanáticos de ese deporte acostumbran llamar "el santuario del hockey". Un fuerte olor a nicotina de mejores tiempos "preecológicos" no había abandonado el laberíntico interior del Forum, que estaba hecho de escaleras mecánicas, genéricos puestos de venta, curvas escalinatas y espacios extrañamente amplios, que se sentían vacíos, incluso, cuando estaban llenos de espectadores, durante los intervalos. Sus paredes marrones desplegaban una infinidad de fotos con formaciones olvidadas hacía mucho tiempo, héroes de los Canadiens locales. Aquella noche, precisamente los Canadiens enfrentaban a sus archirrivales, los Boston Bruins. Recuerdo que el juego terminó con un empate 3 a 3, y con una pelea sangrienta entre los jugadores de ambos equipos. Años más tarde, leí el nombre de uno de ellos en un titular de la sección deportiva del New York Times: había sido relegado a ligas menores, y se había suicidado, unos pocos meses más tarde, en un motel de Dakota del Norte. La única entrada que había sido capaz de comprar fuera del estadio, ilegalmente, por supuesto (pues las entradas para los partidos de los Canadiens siempre estaban completamente agotadas por aquellos años), sólo daba derecho a ver el partido de pie, lo cual, incluso entonces, era algo muy excepcional en un estadio de hockey; y por buenas razones, ya que, desde esa posición, era casi imposible seguir las trayectorias que, rápidas como el relámpago, hacía el disco sobre el hielo. De modo que me concentré en el guardameta del equipo de Montreal que, según me habían dicho, era muy joven (cosa difícil de advertir bajo el casco y el grotescamente almohadillado uniforme que usaba), muy talentoso y claramente el preferido de la bulliciosa multitud. Lo que me fascinó inmediatamente fue el tic nervioso del guardameta: éste apenas mantenía su cabeza sobre las almohadillas protectoras de sus hombros, como lo hacen a veces las tortugas cuando se despiertan de su sueño. Pero, a diferencia de todas las tortugas que había visto, el joven guardameta movía su cabeza y su barbilla todo el tiempo hacia arriba rítmicamente, como si tratase de colocar en su sitio algún hueso desarticulado. Aunque este movimiento lo hacía parecer víctima de un colapso nervioso, y una víctima fácil para los atacantes de los Boston Bruins, las reacciones del guardameta eran sorprendentes. Estaban, literalmente, más allá de lo que cualquiera podía creer. En su guante, capturaba discos que habían sido disparados a máxima potencia desde una distancia de seis o siete metros como si los hubiese estado esperando desde el inicio del juego, con una calma rayana en el desprecio, que suspendía por varios segundos los movimientos de su cabeza. Ningún ataque rápido -y los ataques rápidos en el hockey sobre hielo son de veras rápidos- parecía impresionarle, mientras su mirada ponía inseguros a los atacantes rivales. Y, si era necesario, volvía inaccesible el disco, enterrándolo debajo de su gran cuerpo almohadillado. El nombre del guardameta era Patrick Roy, y el joven héroe del Forum de Montreal llegaría a ser, durante la década de 1990, uno de los más grandes (y más controvertidos) jugadores de hockey de todos los tiempos.