'Talking Pictures: Camera-Phone Conversations Between Artists' will be open through December 17th, 2017.
While the digital medium has faced skepticism within traditional art circles, Pantone's innovative approach challenges preconceived notions, highlighting the evolving landscape of artistic expression in our current era.
To enhance the immersive experience, Gochez was present at the exhibition, engaging with attendees through photography and conversations, shedding light on her integral role in bringing the project to life. The collaboration between Pantone and Don Julio was a nice addition to the week, showcasing how the digital realm can breathe new life into traditional art forms, ultimately bridging the gap between the old and the contemporary.
Over the weekend, we caught up with Pantone to delve into the details of how the project came about.
So what intrigued you about merging kinetic art with a tequila brand?
Mexican culture has influenced so many aspects of the art world and beyond, so I was thrilled to partner with Tequila Don Julio to invite guests to celebrate modern Mexico through new visual mediums that celebrate the country's heart and soul — paying homage to its people, culture, and landscape — in a truly unprecedented way. I was deeply inspired by Tequila Don Julio’s latest creation “Por Amor” (For Love) which is a bold and vibrant "Love Letter to Mexico."
Through kinetic art and digital expression, I was able to bring their new visual world to life and guide attendees on an immersive journey into the vibrant heartbeat of modern Mexico that I’m thrilled for everyone to finally see in Miami.
How did you translate the concept of the love letter into your artistic practice, especially considering it was Don Julio's brainchild?
I pulled inspiration from the incredible visuals that have played a pivotal role in this campaign to authentically tell the story of Mexican people and their culture through a creative lens. This exhibition reimagines this story through new mediums and experiences that invite viewers to perceive and appreciate the profound significance of capturing a nation's soul and elevating it onto a global stage.
How was working with Thalia Gochez? Tell us about how it all came together.
It was an honor to work with Thalia Gochez, a Mexican-American photographer who captured beautiful visuals for the "Por Amor" campaign that represent the magnificent culture of Mexico. These images take a new form in the exhibit as I incorporated them into an interactive sculpture that guests are encouraged to connect with. Participants are encouraged to become integral parts of the living art.
Can you elaborate on how you designed the exhibition to achieve this element?
There are two key elements: one is the immersive projection mapping experience that surrounds the spectators. The other is the Chromadynamica sculpture that integrates the Thalia Gochez photographs. The guests are encouraged to walk, sit, have a drink, or simply hang out on it.
What do you hope attendees take away and think about?
I want them to experience the art, and connect with my idea of dynamism, but also take a breather from all the art fairs, sip on Tequila Don Julio, and enjoy art in a relaxed environment.
Was it always the plan to have her photograph attendees?
Yes. It was an honor to have Thalia Gochez capture the event with the same touch that she captures the essence of Mexico.
The collision of an analog past and digitized future is a recurring theme in your work. How do you navigate this intersection, especially in the context of Art Basel when the art world has historically had a bit of an aversion to the shift?
The digital age is here. The art world doesn’t necessarily need to embrace it in a literal way, having art fairs only display art that only lives on the internet such as NFT, but it’s a good idea to keep an open mind, and to use new technologies to keep art and creativity moving forward. That’s why I feel that my work sits in the middle of those two concepts.
Are there any other exhibitions you suggest people check out if they liked this one?
Art Basel, Design Miami, Untitled, Nada, Rubell Museum, Superblue.
[Originally published in office magazine Issue 20, Fall-Winter 2023. Order your copy here]
What is your ideal office?
I love a live-work studio. Waking up to an instant reminder of what you didn’t finish yesterday. It really scratches that Irish-Catholic Guilt work ethic itch. Lol.
How often do you check your phone?
Way too much. I am making a concentrated effort to reduce my phone time.
Which artist, alive or dead, would be your dream collaborator?
The people who invented the CrunchWrap Supreme.
How did you get into art?
Drawing. I drew a lot of monsters as a kid. Full-page character studies with notes about their abilities.
What's the most memorable dream you've ever had, and did it impact your waking life?
I had a dream where I was in a pitch-black room, but I could hear the smell, and feel a giant engine roaring in space. I woke up talking in my sleep saying, “Like an engine in the dark.” This led me to paint my first “flier painting” which was titled Like an Engine in the Dark. This initial concept was to create a visual language that suggested a larger event or experience, where much like the sensory cues of the engine in the dark the viewer was only provided with a small peek into that world through the hand-painted flier. This set me on a path of visually and conceptually exploring the language of communication. This obsession, which has lasted over a decade, pushed me to a place where I started taking my art practice much more seriously.
What does play look like to you?
I have been lucky enough to develop an art practice that I really enjoy, so my work is wrapped up in play. But my total full mind and body ‘play’ is when I’m with my kids. Having kids has worked wonders for my perspective and professional practices.
When was the last time you took a break?
Sleep is the cousin of Death.
What’s the last item you lost?
Probably something I haven’t realized I lost yet.
Is there anything you’re trying to lose?
I haven’t smoked a cigarette in over a decade but still dream about them and have daily cravings.
What advice would you give your younger self?
FOCUS!
Who was the last person you hugged, and how did it feel?
My daughter. It’s the best feeling in the world. She’s 1 and she loves me!
What’s next on your reading list?
I try to alternate between Sci-Fi (Orson Scott Card and Octavia E. Butler) and Art History stuff. I really enjoy Science fiction; it’s like junk food, but I get more mentally from the art history stuff. Right now I’m reading 33 Artists in 3 Acts by Sarah Thornton. It's pretty interesting, but the next book I am going to read is HELL DIVERS. It’s about a post-apocalyptic sky diving reconnaissance team.
Big Blind Dice (top)
How can a modestly sized oil painting depicting a still life, scene or person, connect powerfully to a viewer who then discovers—as was my experience—that they share a great deal with their maker? This seems like magic. At first I was awestruck by Hamrogues paintings as paintings. When I later discovered we shared biographical details and liked/disliked the same things, they began to feel magical, paranormal; even occultic. That much of the subject matter in Hamrogue’s paintings — candles, demons, skulls and blood — are items associated with the occult only amplified the uncanniness.
Hamrogue appropriates imagery from neo-noir films and pulp crime novels; chains, leather, snakeskin, card suits and broken glass. Together, these elements create a very American portrait, or hint at the experience of a woman in America. Pulp crime novels and slasher films are always stories of violence against women. Like many people I know, each night before bed I watch an episode of Dateline, or 20/20. Nine times out of ten I know who did it; the husband, or the boyfriend. In reality based media, women entertain while being destroyed. In fictional films and books, the same story. These are the stories people are lulled to sleep by. A woman is killed, or a woman kills a man who would kill her.
Someone smarter than me might know why this is what we watch.
Black Onyx (left)
Blue Pyer (right)
Urizen's Corner (left)
Ace's Window (right)
Sex is said to be the opposite of death. This seems debatable. Depending on where you’re from or what you’re willing to admit, many of the images depicted in Hamrogue’s paintings could also be associated with sex. Candles, definitely, but that feels like a sad scene, a twilight-of-your-life-rekindling-the-marriage scenario. Demons, skulls and blood; not for me, but maybe for certain people in Portland, or wherever Satanists make love in America. Chains, leather and snakeskin, definitely sex. Card suits and broken glass, why not, some people have sex with their sofas.
The experience of living is the experience of having no control. The world spins around us and we hold on tight, able to change absolutely nothing but our reaction to the velocity. Death gets closer millisecond after millisecond. We’re the ejected pilot, struggling to smile while the ground speeds toward us; the big final curtain, a wet thud, a splash and we’re done. Sex is the one fuck you we can offer in our powerlessness. Pleasure only, only pleasure, without meaning beyond indulgence. Painful and ironic that one side effect of sex is the creation of life, and that babies have to don the pilot’s uniform without having first consented.
Hamrogue once described her paintings to me as “erotic thrillers.” She’s also said they’re partly about sex, and all about death. She mines the visuals of a media landscape built on stories of violence against women and refashions it, eradicates the context, negates the function and makes it her own; now just a painting, illustrating no story, selling nothing but beauty.
Canto XX (left)
Roman (right)
Imagine the hangman’s noose fashioning itself into a pretty bow. Imagine the gun range target as a colorful abstract painting. Imagine the connection.
Sex and death, death and sex. Big themes, big art. All the old stuff. Good artists point at it. Great artists shove it in your face.
Hamrogue and I have lots in common, but what those things are don’t matter. What does matter is that I could see it in her work, without knowing how, or why. Painting is just another language, containing countless other languages. Rare and special is the feeling of being spoken to, and I’ve felt that feeling.
