2014 Chapter 8 Art and Ethnography Miquel Barceló and Isaki Lacuesta

Chapter 8
Art and Ethnography: Miquel Barceló and Isaki Lacuesta – Earth Magicians?
Wenceslao García Puchades and Miguel Corella Lacasa

Copyright © 2014. Intellect Books. All rights reserved.
(Re)viewing Creative, Critical and Commercial Practices in Contemporary Spanish Cinema, edited by Duncan Wheeler, and Fernando Canet,
Intellect Books, 2014. ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/bibliotecaupves-ebooks/detail.action?docID=2091488.
Created from bibliotecaupves-ebooks on 2023-02-28 13:40:32.
The slimy is docile. Only at the very moment when I believe that I posses it, behold by a
curious reversal, it possesses me.
(Sartre, 1969: 608)
I
n an article in which the film critic Carlos Boyero (2011a) reported on the award-winners
at the 2011 San Sebastian International Film Festival, he stated that Los pasos dobles/
The Double Steps (Lacuesta, 2011) ‘is not only unintelligible, but also vainly pretentious,
deadly boring and a narrative failure in its attempt to mix legends and realism’.1 These
statements by the provocative journalist gave rise to an immediate response which had a
considerable impact in the press and created a slight stir on the internet; specialist journals
on Spanish cinema became the battlefield for the film’s champions and detractors (Boyero,
2011b; Lacuesta, 2011; Minder, 2011; Pàmies, 2011).
It is worth recalling this heated argument in order to emphasize one of the principal
points of debate which will help ground our analysis of both this film and El cuaderno de
barro/The Clay Diaries (2011), also directed by Lacuesta, which, stemming from the same
idea, could be considered a companion piece to Los pasos dobles. The main issue at hand
is the controversy surrounding the supposed unintelligibility of the film, a question that
Boyero links to a hypothetical formal defect in the film: the failure to integrate the two
levels of legend and reality. Contrary to the film critic’s position, Lacuesta defends the idea
that the film could be understood by a child because they have an innocent and primitive
perspective uncorrupted by the learning process.2
The fact that the plot of Los pasos dobles is organized around the search for an unknown
masterpiece, and El cuaderno de barro is a documentary about an artistic performance, allows
us to turn to old topics of artistic literature to analyse these two films. The figure that Baudelaire
proposed as ‘the painter of modern life’ was a new artist that had to reflect the spirit of a time
embroiled in a constant process of movement and renewal, who abandoned academic formality
and eschewed classical influence in order to purify their own vision. Perhaps, like Lacuesta’s
Barceló, Baudelaire’s painter adopts the innocence of a child, the ability to rediscover the world
with the naivety possessed by those who are still recovering from an illness, those who have
been near death, or the energy and the drunkenness of a savage (Baudelaire, 1964[1863];
Balzac, 2000[1831]). Boyero’s criticism reproduces a typical formula in the tradition of
pictorial criticism by stating that the principal reason for the film’s failure lies in the fact that
it is ‘vainly pretentious’. The excess of pretentions, the wish to reconcile legend and reality, is
what supposedly makes the viewing experience more tedious than watching paint dry.
(Re)viewing Creative, Critical and Commercial Practices in Contemporary Spanish Cinema
In line with the logic of the critique, we need to pose the following questions. Where, in
the film critic’s opinion, does this failure originate? Where exactly is this excess of pretension
which renders Los pasos dobles redundant for him? The answer is in credibility: that is,
the translation of legend into reality. Therefore, Lacuesta’s failure is Frenhofer’s failure: the
painter protagonist of The Unknown Masterpiece who tries to paint a figure that seems to
come out of the painting. Balzac’s great painter goes crazy because he thinks that the woman
he has painted is about to come to life and emerge from the painting, while his painter friends
just see a scribble of jumbled lines from which only a foot can be distinguished. Frenhofer
believes he is Pygmalion’s reincarnation: like Scotty, the protagonist of Vertigo (Hitchcock,
1958), they both confuse legend with reality (Stoichita, 2006). They are both victims of an
excess in thought and pretentiousness, characteristics identified by artists such as Cézanne,
Picasso, Rilke and Schönberg on reading Balzac’s short story (see Ashton, 1991).
This initial approach to Lacuesta’s diptych could be summarized in the two views
expounded in the most important debate which emerged in relation to the premiere of
Los pasos dobles. On the one hand, Boyero believes the film is unable to translate legend
into the reality of the film fiction. It is a failure because it has mixed the reality of the
legend with the fiction of reality: a failure of the metamorphosis of Augiéras’ biography
into Barceló’s life, and the metamorphosis of Barceló’s life into the black protagonist of Los
pasos dobles. It is a failure because it has not managed to build a credible story originating
from a legend, and has proposed only a ‘folk depiction of rituals and ceremonies from
Mali’ (Boyero, 2011b) that leaves the viewers indifferent since they do not recognize any
real meaning in something that is only presented as ‘cryptic exoticism’ (Boyero, 2011b).
Ultimately, it is a failure of someone who has not managed to provoke in the European
viewer the emotion of someone who appropriates a magical object to imbue it with a new
meaning. On the other hand, we have the Catalan director’s view, stating that the film can
be understood by anyone as long as they adopt the naive perspective of a child or a savage;
the perspective of a viewer who observes reality without the typical baggage of the modern
western intellectual.
‘Poïpoïdrome’ and ‘Magiciens de la terre’
A curious coincidence can assist us in understanding the epistemological antecedents to

this argument. In 1963, the artist Robert Filliou, in collaboration with the architect Joachim
Pfeufer, devised the Poïpoïdrome, a space for ‘the functional relation of thinking, activity,
and communication’ (Filliou and Pfeufer, 1975). The term ‘Poïpoïdrome’ derives from the
expression ‘poipoi’, which was used by the Dogon tribe when two of its members met and
had to answer questions such as the following: ‘How is your meadow? How is your family?
How are your cattle? How are your poultry? How is your house?’ The answer to these
questions could be a simple ‘poipoi’ before leaving, or sometimes the dialogue would be
repeated (Filliou and Pfeufer, 1975).
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Despite the fact that the Poïpoïdrome plan has not been completely developed, it shows
a 24m2 building divided into four halls where different activities are proposed ‘in order to
challenge conventional thinking and to bring the viewer to a heightened state of mental
and creative activity’ (Higgins, 2002: 201–2). In 1978, as an assignment from the Pompidou
Centre in Paris, Filliou and Pfeufer built a version of the Poïpoïdrome as a ‘Hommage aux
Dogons et aux Rimbaud’. This installation displayed pictures, videos and objects collected
during a trip to the Dogon Country in Mali, which they both had visited years before. The
Poïpoïdrome was presented as a space that favoured creative experimenting, since it made
possible visitors’ interaction with objects and images from the Dogon culture. While this
exhibition took place, Filliou and Pfeufer travelled to Mali again to explain their Parisian
installation to the Dogon people. The result of this trip was a film in which the artists intended
to show the curiosity and interest aroused there by the Parisian installation (Martin, 1989).
The ‘Poïpoïdrome: Hommage aux Dogons et aux Rimbaud’ developed by Filliou and
Pfeufer in 1978 appears as the point of reference in another exhibition called ‘Magiciens
de la terre’, which took place in the Pompidou Centre more than ten years later. In its
catalogue, Jean-Hubert Martin, curator of the exhibition, referred to this piece of art as the
testimony of ‘the possibility of a dialogue between people from different cultures’ (Martin,
1989: 8). Martin thinks that the Poïpoïdrome represents a space for dialogue and ways of
communication that lead to cultural exchanges which can have unexpected results. On
this basis, the curator developed the exhibition as a space where the viewer could ‘talk’
to western contemporary art and the art of those ostensibly peripheral cultures (African,
Asian, South American, Australian, etc.) in a new way, thus avoiding using the colonialist
categories which modernity has ‘normalized’.
From our perspective, Los pasos dobles reproduces (redoubles, to use a pun in relation
to the Catalan director’s films) Augiéras’ steps in his trip to Mali in the same way that Jean-
Hubert Martin redoubles Filliou and Pfeufer’s Poïpoïdrome with Magiciens de la terre.
Conversely, echoing Filliou and Pfeufer’s return to Dogon country to make a film and
confirm the tribe’s interest in their work, El cuaderno de barro documents Barceló’s return to
Mali to show its inhabitants his performance of Los pasos dobles: a work that, as stated by the
Catalan artist, emerges from his experiences in Dogon country. This coincidence enables us
to grapple with the supposed unintelligibility of Lacuesta’s films by using categories that led
to an argument prior to the appearance of Magiciens de la terre in the field of art exhibitions
at the end of the 1990s.
We will try and suggest that the success of Lacuesta’s diptych, as was the case with Martin’s
exhibition or Filliou’s Poïpoïdrome, must be understood not as the credible presentation of
the translation of cultures emerging from other spaces, but as the construction of an ‘Other’
space to talk with other cultures: a space where objects move from their origin and take
place in a rhizomatic relation, by means of which Europe tries to enact a critique through the
encounter with different cultures – even if this entails renouncing the logical presentation
of words. Thus, we can understand the conflict between the critic and the film-maker as the
disagreement between two perspectives towards the cultural other: those of the modern
123
and the postmodern spectator. Whereas the critic observes the ‘other’ through the prism
of logical intelligibility, searching for a credible and univocal sense, the film-maker views
it through that which is hidden and believes that sense can only be gleaned from the
unexpected experiences, untranslatable into words, of different lives.
In what follows, our intention is to develop these questions in further detail from
a postmodern way of looking at other cultures, in line with the Magiciens de la terre
exhibition.
The Postmodern Perspective on Other Cultures in Magiciens de la terre
The postcolonial theorist Thomas McEvilley (1992a and 1992b) considers that Magiciens
de la terre opens up a process of decentralization of art and recognition to otherness and
multiculturalism that could be termed ‘the postcolonial facet of post-modernity’ (see also
Guash, 1997). This critic believes that the strategies used by this kind of postmodern
exhibition marks a rupture with the model of the modernist exhibitions at the beginning
of the twentieth century. These exhibitions were characterized by taking tribal objects out
of the small hall of curiosities and the first ethnographic museums where they had been
exhibited throughout the nineteenth century, and placing them within the neutral and aseptic
environment of the gallery and the white cube (see McEvilley, 1999). Free of their context
and gathered under the term ‘primitive art’, all these tribal objects were subordinated to the
western historical chain, and presented themselves as simple accessories to the progressive
temporality of modern art in order to make it possible to classify and organize all the tribal
cultures into a hierarchy, by rendering the superiority of western civilizations legitimate
regarding their colonial conquests (McEvilley, 1992a, 1992b).
Conversely, the postmodern exhibition was not part of the conflict over the priority of
historical centralism; rather, it allowed a dialogue between different cultural systems to
occur. The postmodern programme of art history focuses its studies on the canons within the
relativity of a time and a culture: therefore, its objective is not only to search for a common
linear temporality, but to insist on difference in itself (McEvilley, 1992b: 71). The strategy
used by the postmodern exhibition is an attempt to experience different art and tribal
objects without a unifying principle; to lead the viewer in their tour around the exhibition.
It involves replacing the intensity of the historical sense with the ephemeral encounter by
proposing an appropriate relational space, in order to renew intercultural dialogue through
the simple experience of the materiality of objects (McEvilley, 1989: 22).
In spite of this diversity, all the objects had been selected according to a criterion; as the
curator stated in the preface to the catalogue:
All the objects gathered have been chosen because they make sense, even if, or perhaps
even because, that sense cannot be translated into words. The principal question is to
know why the objects that have a precise meaning in their original context are sometimes
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Art and Ethnography
understood, appreciated and valued with a new meaning that we give them. When we
find out the origin of the misunderstanding, its consequences are fascinating, since the
object comes to a sort of second life that has a meaning given by us which it did not have
before. This drift, instead of leading to rejection, should stimulate a deeper reflection.
(Martin, 1989: 9)
However, to what untranslatable sense does the curator of the exhibition refer? Martin
believes that the exhibited objects in Magiciens de la terre are not ‘simple functional or
material objects or tools’ but also ‘metaphysical-valued receptacles’. Therefore, the exhibition
is predicated on the idea that both artistic and tribal objects have an ‘aura’ or ‘magic’ – an
‘energy’ that transcends what is material or rational. In Martin’s words: ‘The term “magic” is
the most commonly used to describe the intense and inexplicable influence exerted by art’
(1989: 8–9). The process of creation in the artistic environment appears as the space of activity
or discipline that takes the place devoted to what is spiritual or metaphysical in our society. In
other words, the artistic act – in a manner akin to ritual or religion – has a common energy
shared by human creation, and is incarnated in multiple cultural directions.
Martin states that artistic practice represents the moment of metamorphosis when matter
turns into something magical, when the earthly and the divine coincide in the same object.
The art object, like the tribal one, reveals that original moment. Both forms of practice share
‘the attachment to earth’ and recall the search for the ‘lost paradise of collective creation’
(1989: 10). From this vantage point, non-western cultures rise from the obscurity imposed for
so long on them by the West, and turn into the place where that search could be undertaken.
Once the exhibition parameters are defined, only the viewer’s subjective appraisal remains.
Since the objects are displaced from their original context, the viewer has to interpret them
by discovering new meanings which can be reached only by moving away from western
rational forms of knowledge. According to Martin, ‘[s]ensitivity, instinct and intuition take
on a fundamental role in a judgement that cannot be limited to rational formulas’ (1989: 9).
In this situation, it is the viewer’s rather than the artist’s subjectivity which comes to the
fore. The postmodern exhibition, states McEvilley (1992b: 59), takes control of the viewer to
induce them into its system of definitions, implications and proposals: a mute but converging
system. In line with this conception, the postmodern exhibition could be said to transform
the museum space into an ‘Other’ space, where the viewer’s perspective has to make do
without recourse to the logic of conventional discourse, and commence on a continuous
search for new meaning emerging from the encounter with the objects displayed.
In short, Magiciens de la terre breaks with modern exhibitions in the following ways. First,
it replaces the emphasis of the exhibition experience from the ‘time’ variable to the ‘space’
variable, and makes the western spectator search for new meanings without the orientation of
a discourse determined by the progressive and linear logic of western historiography. Second,
in the absence of a familiar logos, the exhibition proposes a dialogue around what is hidden,
intuitive, and/or emotional. To this end, it uses objects that represent that magical process of
incarnation of the creative energy in matter, those elements of the earthly which have a certain
125
aura. Third, in the realm of what is hidden, in this ‘Other’ space where magic and earth meet,
the spectator must search for new forms of dialogue between what is close and far, what is
familiar and strange, the ‘us’ and the ‘other’, always avoiding the collapse of this division.
The Postmodern Exhibition in Lacuesta’s Diptych
As we have suggested, Lacuesta’s diptych could be understood in terms of this ‘Other’ space
that favours intercultural dialogue through double images. By using the recurrent image
of the traveller in Los pasos dobles, we could say that Lacuesta’s films invite the spectator
to explore these images as if they were the hints that a traveller – someone who does not
know where they are coming from or going – finds in the middle of the desert. Thus, in this
complex task, the traveller is expected to retrace their steps and look at the hints provided
by Lacuesta in his film multiple times, in the manner that Lacuesta and Barceló investigate
Augiéras’ footsteps, or as Martin did with Filliou.
Los pasos dobles – and to a lesser extent, El cuaderno de barro – presents us with the concept
of a film space completely different to that of conventional representation. In Deleuzian terms,
we could state that this film would show ‘any-space-whatever’: ‘a space which is defined by parts
whose linking up and orientation are not determined in advance, and can be done in an infinite
number of different ways’ (Deleuze, 1986: 111–22, 120). In order to achieve this, Lacuesta
previously has deprived the sense experience of meaning, something that can be achieved,
as Deleuze has taught us, only through operations which subtract pure temporality from the
narrative rules of action according to the logic of cause and effect – or from the ‘sensory-motor
schema’ of ‘action images’ (Deleuze, 1986: 155–59, 197–216). These operations give rise to
what Deleuze terms ‘pure optical-sound image’ (1989: 3) or ‘crystal-images’ (1989, 86–69). He
states that a film image ‘crystallizes’ (1989: 270–80) when its actual image relates to its own
virtual image: that is, when the real and the imaginary become indiscernible.
Through what filmic operations does Lacuesta build these meaningless spaces? We
would like to suggest that the answer is ‘symbolic montage’. As highlighted by Rancière in
reference to Godard’s Histoire(s) du cinéma/History of Cinema (1988–98) in The Future of

the Image, we could say that the symbolic montage used by the Catalan director in Los pasos
dobles is constituted simultaneously by a negative and an affirmative operation. Through the
former, Lacuesta aspires to the pure presence of the ‘ostensive image’ ‘without signification’,
in its ‘being-there-without-reason’. He thereby shows us the images removed from their
conventional contexts and assembled with heterogeneous elements initially compatible,
causing a clash, a violent conflict (Rancière, 2007: 56–67; 23–4).
This transformation of familiar images into strange ones makes us question the conventional
meaning ascribed to images within perceptual reality. Following Rancière’s interpretation of
Godard’s film, it could be suggested that through the collision and distance of these images,
Lacuesta reveals the secret of the world: ‘that is, the other world whose writ runs behind its
anodyne or glorious appearances’. By means of this ‘machine of mystery’ the director constructs
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Art and Ethnography
a meaningless space, ‘not to contrast worlds’, but to present it as the ‘element that provides
the term of measurement of the incommensurables’ (Rancière, 2007: 57–58). Therefore, this
destructive or negative operation is linked to a second constructive or affirmative one by which
the director restores familiarity, an occasional analogy that attests to a dual relationship, ‘a
shared world where heterogeneous elements are caught up in the same essential fabric, and are
therefore always open to being assembled in accordance with the fraternity of a new metaphor’
(2007: 57). Through this affirmative procedure, Lacuesta reinstates the iconic potentiality of
an original communion by juxtaposing heterogeneous but analogous elements. From our
perspective (and as we have stated throughout this text), this figure is simply the communion
of the divine and mundane, the magical and earthly, the exceptional and conventional.
This is how the juxtaposition of shots of the Dogon people’s tasks and rituals with those
surrounding Barceló’s artistic practice must be understood. Emptied of their conventional
meanings, the images of natives doing the washing in the river, grinding grain or dancing
around the fire, seen together with the images of Barceló painting with watercolours or
interacting and beating mud in his performance, are shown according to the intensity of
their sounds, colours and forms in motion. Without a logos to depend upon, the viewer
has to engage with these ‘pure optical-sound images’ both magical and mundane, through
sensations and emotions in search of a renewed meaning.
The task undertaken by the director in Los pasos dobles, and continued in El cuaderno
de barro, not only consists of representing Augiéras’ legend, but re-presenting ‘the cosmic
theatre of the stars’ – something that guided the French writer’s life and that he finally tried
to represent in his Unknown Masterpiece: a bunker hidden in the middle of nowhere, whose
walls were covered with drawings and paintings. To that end, Lacuesta juxtaposes Augiéras’
fiction with Barcelo’s real life in Mali, previously having emptied his images of their
conventional meanings. First, he shows us the legend of the French writer and painter using
native African men who, with the exception of the well-known Malian actor Hamadoun
Kassogue chosen to play the colonel, had never acted before. Second, he depicts Miquel
Barceló’s story in his workshop in Bamako. One night, after telling Augiéras’ legend to a
group of friends, he convinces them to look for his hidden bunker. Through these operations
Lacuesta blurs the boundaries between fiction and documentary, and manages to make the
real and imaginary indiscernible: in other words, he makes the images of myth and reality
the same thing. This is the cosmic theatre of images built by Lacuesta: a theatre in which the
viewer feels obliged to engage with the images, be they actual or virtual, in order to discover
new meanings that question our notions of creativity.
Conclusion: From the Intelligible to the Monstrous
We would like to end this chapter with a discussion of one of the first scenes from El
cuaderno de barro. It is the film’s prologue and shows Miquel Barceló with his Dogon friends
talking over the dinner table. They are engaged in a game which consists of creating an
127
atmosphere for conversation and creative dialogue through inventing a witty and hilarious
image. Amassagou claims that he has seen how mermaids are caught; according to him, their
human component is thrown into the river and their tail is eaten in Mopti. In some respects
this image responds to those beings referred to as ‘monstrosities’ by Jean Paul Sartre in his
preface to Frantz Fanon’s The Wretched of the Earth. According to the French philosopher,
a ‘monstrosity’ must be understood in the Greek mythological sense as a being with the
features of two or more species at the same time (McEvilley, 1996; Sartre, 1963). Now, in our
opinion, this procedure of creative metamorphosis from double or monstrous images is the
same as the one Lacuesta turns to in his diptych.
We began this chapter with reference to the controversy generated over the intelligibility
of the film – a question that the film critic Carlos Boyero linked to a failure to integrate two
fields: legend and reality, fiction and documentary. Through our analysis, we hope to have
convinced the reader that the result has become a ‘monstrosity’ in a non-pejorative sense.
Lacuesta’s diptych offers the viewer a round trip without a map through a space where the only
way to find one’s way is via monstrous images: double images that, like the albino’s, synthesize
the elements of a disjunction maintaining the distinction between them (cf. Deleuze, 2004).
It is a trip where past, present and future gather in a ritual time that invites the viewer to find
once again what the West has lost, that for which they feel nostalgia – defined by Martin in
terms of ‘magic’ and ‘earth’. Lacuesta and Barceló take on the guise of shamans organizing a
ritual by which, through double images, they create a space of creation of meaning travelled
by the ‘me’ and the ‘other’, thereby bringing Derrida’s sentence to life: ‘the me as other and
other than myself, he makes or I make an exception of the same’ (2005: 16).
Notes
1 Lacuesta replied to Boyero’s article in the paper La Vanguardia with ‘La crítica espectacular’
(‘The spectacular critique’) (Lacuesta, 2011). This was also a response to an article titled
‘Paso Doble’ by Sergi Pàmies (2011). In addition, Lacuesta’s blog was named after his article:
‘La crítica espectacular y otros pasatiempos’ (‘The spectacular critique and other pastimes’):
http://lacriticaespectacular.blogspot.com.es.
2 Lacuesta states this in an interview that can be found on You Tube: http://www.youtube.
com/watch?v=6MNxkbWRZCA.
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(London: Phaidon).
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elpais.com/diario/2011/09/20/cultura/1316469603_850215.html, last accessed on 12 July 2012.
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(1996). ‘History, quality, globalism’ in T. McEvilley and G. R. Denson (eds.), Capacity: History,
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Minder, R. (2011). ‘Miquel Barceló’s African Adventure’, New York Times, 5 December, available
at http://www.nytimes.com/2011/12/06/arts/06iht-Lacuesta06.html?_r=4&pagewanted=1&
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Chapter 8

Wenceslao García Puchades and Miguel Corella Lacasa

‘Poïpoïdrome’ and ‘Magiciens de la terre’

A curious coincidence can assist us in understanding the epistemological antecedents to

The Postmodern Perspective on Other Cultures in Magiciens de la terre

The Postmodern Exhibition in Lacuesta’s Diptych

reference to Godard’s Histoire(s) du cinéma/History of Cinema (1988–98) in The Future of

Conclusion: From the Intelligible to the Monstrous

(2011b). ‘Lamentable Concha de Oro al exotismo críptico’, El País, 25 September, available

Centre Pompidou), 8–11.

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