Body Poetic

November 22, 2020

Dancer and performance artist Candela Capitán grapples with voyeurism and sexuality in her provocative work. She uses her body and exploratory movements in order to empower herself and that which is feminine. Much of her work exists on Instagram, where she plays with her own image and troubles the ways in which we choose to portray ourselves online.

Photographer Caroline Mackintosh created an exclusive editorial with Candela to further explore identity, the feminine, and the sexual. Mackintosh adds a layer of voyeurism to Capitán’s poetic movement, which already considers this idea. She does this by photographing the dancer’s physical monologue that deals with this theme.

Interview by Willa Beck
Photos by Caroline Mackintosh
Styling by Lia Sadeghi
Hair & Makeup by Susanna Jonas

Inspired by how Candela puts her body on display to examine these themes through movement, South African born Mackintosh recognized the dancer’s undeniable force and chose to capture it for office.

The Spanish contemporary dancer is capable of evoking nature and poetry with her body, and has bridged the fashion industry and contemporary dance without even trying. She is studying to become a choreographer and is interested in the ways in which dance connects to other disciplines. Of course, dance informs everything she does in her life.

Read our conversation below.

Where do you live?

Barcelona.

How would you describe yourself and what you do?

So, sorry my English is not so good… So, I’m especially more focused in dance, and my trajectory is about dance, ballet and contemporary dance. Right now I’m studying choreography in my school… El Instituto de Teatro de Barcelona. But I always love to work with other disciplines. Dance in more special ways, like find choreography in another, like, campus… Like, I always work with fashion and photography because I always had a lot of friends from other disciplines. Since I was super young, I worked with movement directors…

How did you find dance?

I started at four years old, studying ballet. I never was super comfortable with ballet, but in my city we didn’t have contemporary dance. When I was, like, 15, I moved to another small city, Andalucia, I’m from the south of Spain, from Cadiz, and I moved to Sevilla and then I moved to London to study contemporary dance. When I finished the medium studies of dance, I came here to Barcelona to study a degree. It’s super interesting because the university of dance usually is more focused on being a dancer and here we have the degree of choreographer that is not super usual to study this.

Has being a choreographer changed how you dance?

Yes, of course, but I always had this thought about dance, like, I never wanted to be a normal dancer. I never wanted to be in a normal company. I’ve always had this connection, like, the dancer’s life is so difficult. They spend a lot of time doing what the choreographers say, and they don’t have… for me it's so mathematical. They don’t have the “art” part. Of course, yes, but it’s not the same because you are not doing your own thing.

Like, they are executing someone else’s vision.

Yes.

What story are you telling with your body in this series of photos taken by Caroline?

I think Caroline wanted to express the same life that I have with my dance and my vocabulary, especially on Instagram. Because I use Instagram, like… My usual life, you know, like my photos usually don’t… como que mis fotos estan en espacios muy caseros. (My photos are in very home-made spaces) And it’s like… el espectador (the viewer) can see my private life, and I’m not in a theatre or… I’m not shooting what I’m doing in a theatre or in a museum. I usually focus on site specifics, we call it. I usually use Instagram like site specific because Instagram is for the instant—to shoot your private life, and I portray this concept through art.

So this series of photos is referencing that; your life on social media and how you choose to share your art and private life simultaneously?

It’s not about my private life, but I use Instagram in not the dancer’s way… I put my concept in a more common manner. I think Caroline wanted to represent the same in her photos and all the references were about me. She took the same poses and the same directions as my Instagram. In my photos, in my art, I usually work with the feminine, sexuality, and… how you say... voyeur…

Voyeurism?

Yes.

So what was it like creating these photos?

It was super nice, I feel super comfortable with them. She took my world in art and she, I don’t know, she represented my art with her photos.

Do you feel like there was an understanding between the two of you of what that looked like?

Yes, of course. I don’t know, I love the photos. They’re so good, it’s like a professional way of doing things. I care about quality, and the photos, in movement and my concepts, and she took everything and put them in a professional way and with great quality. Also, it’s super interesting because I usually use my camera for my performance. I have a performance in a web forum called Chaturbate, and I talk about voyeurism. It’s super interesting when you have another [spectator], because I’m usually alone and it’s so difficult to... como, configurar una conversación (create a conversation), with the screen, you know?

On Chaturbate, you can’t see your viewers. So, does this feel as if you were alone?

I wanted to say that it’s interesting, what the conversation that I have with my screen, but with Caroline, we also played with a mirror that I use a lot, also. I… como que no tengo que estar pendiente (like, I don’t have to be aware)... When I work alone, I need to pay a lot of attention to a lot of things, so with Caroline, I don’t have to. I just was thinking about my movement and the form of my body, and she was taking care of the visual things.

Do you consider yourself a model?

Now we have the name of talents, but I don’t like it. I don’t know, I work with my body, and at this time, we have the opportunity to work… Fashion is not super comfortable with models anymore, they want something else… I don’t consider myself a model, but I work like a model a lot of times.

What about a performance artist?

Yeah, performance art is a big concept, and the configuration of my pieces is closer to performance art than dance, but I come from dance, and my vision of the body is more connected with dance. These meanings are super confusing, like, it’s so difficult and it’s not so important but it’s interesting for me because my thoughts are that dance is a lot of things and we cannot put it in a form, a technique… For me it’s more interesting to think that I’m a dancer because I have studied dance for twenty years. But I’ve also studied performance art, and I’m closer with performing dance.

Can you talk a little bit more about the exploration of voyeurism in your work?

I used to work with new technologies and social media and how it’s connected with art, that sometimes it's like the opposite when you are super millennial, the system is not so comfortable with millennials and social media. And I love to create a connection in these two worlds. I work with voyeurism more in how the body connects with the platform and with the screen, and how you can say the same with a screen than in live performance. This is more or less… like, in a sexual way, voyeurism is not my specialty. I love the naturality and the nudes, but it’s not in a sexual… my language is not about this. It’s more like, como, la naturaleza?

Nature?

Yeah, el cuerpo (the body), and how this connects with the new age.

So bridging nature and technology?

Yes, and when you put your body in social media you are doing voyeurism. You put your body on a screen and everyone can see it and you are not como no… no puedes ser consciente cuando la gente te está viendo.

Like, you don’t know when someone else is looking at you?

Yes, this is voyeurism.

That’s so interesting. So you’re drawing attention to the fact that we all partake in voyeurism, whether we are aware of it or not, when we participate in social media?

But I’m saying that you always, like when you have your page open for everyone, you are doing voyeurism because you cannot… a lot of people are watching you and you cannot control it.

How does dancing on the internet change the art itself?

I don’t know, it’s another language. You can edit your body, your video, and the timing, and the space. In dance, we work with space, time, composition. You can change everything and you can connect with wherever you want. Also, you lose a lot of things because you are not feeling the same energy. Dancers usually are not so comfortable with social media, but I think you need to be present and to take in the things about everything… With technology you can make a lot of things that you cannot do with live performance. Also the opposite… I don’t like... como quitar, echar, nada.

Quitar is, like, remove, right?

Yeah.

Ok, I get it. What music most inspires you?

I love a lot of different music. I like classical, electronic, and… sorry when I’m speaking English I forget a lot.

It’s okay, I’m the same with Spanish.

Like, experimental. Now I love Lucrecia Dalt. I did two videos with her. She is from South America, but she lives in Berlin.

What is your favorite song to dance to?

I don’t know… I like Jean Jacques Perrey.

What about him do you like?

He is, like, the first electronic music…

Is there anything else you want to add about the photos with Caroline?

It was super nice, like, we created a nice atmosphere because she has this feeling that she wanted to be super close with me and my work and this was super nice. I’m not always super comfortable with shooting because it’s not my work, but I work because I need money, but I don’t know, it’s not my favorite thing. I was super comfortable because she wanted to create my thing and also we created a super nice atmosphere and connection. I don’t know, it was so nice.

That’s lovely. Where can people find your work?

So, I have my millennial work, and my social media work on Instagram, but it’s super different from my live performance. I have my live performances in Vimeo. I’m creating my own website now but it’s not finished.

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Blending her background as a poet and visual artist, Sneed’s work reflects on themes of identity, nature, and connection. Her paintings capture the beauty and spirit of the animals she encountered, alongside reflections on her own experiences as part of the African diaspora.

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The Things People Are Ashamed To Take Photos Of: The Photography and Films of Yuhan Cheng

Yuhan’s latest exhibition of photo and video work titled 窗子外 Outside the Window, Inside the Tank 鱼缸里 takes its namesake from what could’ve been a mundane encounter. A month after moving to New York City from Chengdu, China, they stumbled across an abandoned fish tank left curbside. It reminded them of “the rotating fish in a tank that faded into the background of their mother’s home in Chengdu”, a thread connecting childhood familiarity that transformed into a symbol of greater significance in adulthood. A tank is a world within a world; a microcosm secluded from the broader chaos of the outside. Since then Yuhan has captured the other kinds of “fish tanks” closest to them in their photography and short films. Not literal ones necessarily– but intimate confined spaces in Chengdu and NYC where time stands still.

In the midst of taking snapshots of loved ones, Yuhan decided to turn their tender but examining lens on themselves. They realized shooting self-portraits unraveled a deeper understanding of their own nonbinary gender and queer sexuality. Yuhan admits in one of their short films “I hide from looking at my own body.” Yet, in the seclusion of their room which doubles as a dark room, Yuhan began to develop their first nude photos chronicling the subtle wounds; bitten cuticles, bruises, and scrapes they’ve accumulated involuntarily, once again documenting the things people choose to hide.

窗子外 Outside the Window, Inside the Tank 鱼缸里, debuted at FAR-NEAR Studio Hours a gallery in Chinatown focused on expanding the art world's view of Asia and Asian artists curated by Lulu Yao Gioiello. The event merged Yuhan’s works from the past three years, including 70 photographs, three short documentaries, and one installation. There was something uncanny about the gallery’s atmosphere – from the dollar store teal green curtains obscuring every window to the clusters of framed photos mimicking how photos of relatives are displayed in one’s childhood home, to the darkened lighting that was both disorienting and cozy. All these details were meticulously chosen to imitate the rooms depicted in Yuhan’s films and photography. In other words, the audience was invited to Yuhan’s “fishtank”, to share the odd balance of comfort and unease of being known intimately. We talked to Yuhan at Cafe Reggio to understand how their latest body of work came into being.

Initially, I was exploring my friends’ identities through the lens, but slowly, it became a tool to confront and understand my own queerness and gender identity.

Ora Margolis— Were any memories/childhood experiences you had in Chengdu important to how you've developed as an artist?

Yuhan Cheng— Growing up in Chengdu, especially in a military household, shaped and gave me a source of contention how I understood my identity. There was always a sense of conflict when it came to my body and feeling like I didn’t quite fit the expectations around me. This tension has been a driving force in my practice, pushing me to explore identity and belonging in my work.

Tell us a bit about your latest exhibition Outside the Window, Inside the Tank at Far. What headspace were you in when taking these photos?

YC— Outside the Window, Inside the Tank is about the fluidity of self; our bodies, our environments, and our identities. The idea of water as both a symbol of confinement and freedom is central to the photos and film that comprise the exhibit. This fluidity much like how I see my experience moving between Chengdu and New York, where similar feelings follow me no matter where I am. Water mirrors the body, the frame, and the room, which are all containers of the self.

Previously, you’ve said you wanted the exhibition space to look "like your room". How did you make that happen and why is your NYC room important to you?

YC— My room in NYC is an extension of my identity. It’s where I feel vulnerable and where I explore myself most openly. It’s a manifestation of my sense of self. I recreated certain elements in the exhibition—the green sheer curtains, the dollar store shower curtain with bubbles, and the center installation depicted a self-portrait deteriorating in water, reminiscent of a fish in a tank. This room, like any other room or container, magnifies the tension of self-exploration.

Has your idea or comfort with your gender identity and /sexuality changed since you’ve delved into photography?

YC— Yes. The process of photography and filming has been a mirror to my own understanding of self. Initially, I was exploring my friends’ identities through the lens, but slowly, it became a tool to confront and understand my own queerness and gender identity. The process of photographing my queer friends and then myself allowed me to come to terms with who I am.

How did you and Lulu Yao of FAR-NEAR Studio meet, and what makes her a good collaborator?

YC— We first connected when I reached out with my series Princess of Funan River. Lulu understood the struggles and complexities in the work and she invited me to expand on those ideas with her. Our collaboration has worked because Lulu truly resonates with the themes I’m drawn to, like fluidity, transformation, and the intimacy of navigating belonging.

After completing Fish Tank and Remnants of an Amateur Film, what kind of movie do you want to make next?

YC— Right now, I’m more focused on writing. I need to understand what I want to say before making another film. Writing helps me find clarity;it’s a crucial part of my process.

What kind of camera do you use and why?

YC— I use a Canon AE-1. I started with it and I still love it. It's small, spontaneous, easy to use, and light. It allows me to capture moments naturally without overthinking.

What's your biggest fear?

YC— Being disconnected from my sense of self, from others, and from the things I love.

When do you feel most like yourself?

YC— It’s during those fleeting moments when I complete a project. That feeling fades quickly, leaving me searching for the next project to reconnect with that sense of fulfillment.

How do you want people to feel when they interact with your art?

YC— I want them to feel whatever resonates with them. I don’t want to prescribe the experience; it should feel right for each person.

Your work focuses on the close knit communities that surround you or various metaphorical “fish tanks”. What communities do you feel closest to?
YC— The queer artist community, both in Chengdu and NYC, has been a source of comfort and understanding for me. There’s something about shared struggles and shared creative language that feels like home.

What's the biggest difference between living life as a queer artist in NYC and in Chengdu?

YC— In both NYC and Chengdu, I’m learning more about myself. NYC offers a sense of freedom, while Chengdu is home, a place of comfort and history. Neither place defines me but both are significant parts of my path.

What are your next moves/goals?

YC— I want to continue exploring both film and photography, expanding my narrative style and experimenting across mediums. During my show, I found new ways of seeing my photographs such as by adding a window screen between frames or letting a self-portrait fade and grow mold in water. These approaches allowed me to see my work not just as 2D images but as 3D objects.

I want to keep pushing the boundaries of how photo and film can interact, and I’m also interested in trying photojournalism. My focus remains on collaborating across mediums and continuing to accumulate experiences that I can translate into sincere honest work.