Andinos: Encounters in Cusco, Peru

Bentín's first photobook, published by Rizzoli, depicts Cusco locals against their built environment, to reinforce an understanding of Los Andinos as they coincide with modernity and to remove the romantic versions of indigenous people pictured against their landscape and devoid of social context.

Adding another layer to his portrayals, Bentín collaborated with anthropologist Francesco D’Angelo to build a socio-anthropological photographic study offering commentary on the spatial modernity, social hierarchies and struggles against the idealized depiction of indigenous people.

Each image is accompanied by observations of nearby community members to guide readers through individual expression, and cultural modes of recognition. The paired images and commentary serve to articulate modernity in Andean society, creating new language and access points to go beyond documentation and bring life to representations of indigenous people.

Inspired by the popularity of Humans of New York, Bentín saw the resonance of connecting people across physical space. Focusing on commentary around ways of dressing, types of work, and occasions, Bentín creates universal touchstones to build recognition between readers and the subject of his images.

Read Bentín’s own observations in our interview below.

What does the publication of this book mean to you?

I started working on this project right after I left high school in Lima, Perú, and as I was moving to New York City to study photography. I really had no idea what I was doing, but my curiosity and determination to understand the realities of my country firsthand kept me going. Initially, this was only meant to be my thesis for The School of Visual Arts, but as the project moved forward, I started dreaming about the possibility of making it a book. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine we would end up working with one of the most important editorials in the world, Rizzoli New York, and publish their first book on Peru by their first Peruvian author and one of their youngest authors ever published. I am beyond grateful for the trust that everyone at Rizzoli had on this project and me, especially my editor Martynka and our publisher Charles Miers.

Tell me a bit about the process of working with Francesco D'Angelo. How did that shape your work?

Francesco and I have known each other for a very long time, our families have always been close, but we had never worked together before. After my initial experience in the Andes in 2016, I had thousands of questions, crazy ideas in mind, and a lot of energy, so my first thought was to speak with Francesco. At the time, Francesco was living in a community in Maras, Cusco, as the anthropologist for a restaurant that was opening nearby. He helped me settle on the first community I visited, Kaccllaracay, and we spoke about many of the ideas from the project. Francesco became officially involved in 2019, after I had spent many months living with and photographing the Andes, when I started to question how we could use these portraits to create a dialogue between Andinos.

Using the portraits I had taken during my travels, Francesco devised the methodology to interview neighbors from nearby communities about who they thought the people photographed were, where they thought they lived, and what they thought they did for work, among other questions. By doing so, we meant to break through the stereotypes often associated with Andinos and see how the people themselves see each other based on the perspectives of local people about other Andinos.

Through these captions, we are able to see how Cusqueños relate the traditional, to the rural, and the modern to the urban; progress and modernity are understood as the distance a person stands from the “dirt.” One can see this interplay in the interviews with local Andinos, as they note the dichotomy between themes such as: open shoes versus closed shoes, high altitude versus low altitude, uneducated versus educated, and agricultural versus nonagricultural. At the same time, symbols of modernity stand out to people, such as a laptop representing a good education, a paid job, and a home in the city. These interviews show the complexity of defining modernity in simple terms, as well as the social logic at play in local Andean perspectives.

What feeling or understanding do you aim to convey to readers of this book?

One of the main purposes of this project, even before the possibility of a publication existed, was to help demystify Peruvian culture. Many of us who are not familiar with the realities surrounding the Andean society of Cusco view them through a problematic dichotomy. On the one hand, “The Perfect Postcard” shows the Andes as a magical, lost-in-time place, and the Andinos as pure and almost magical people who are a static version of old folkloric tales. On the other hand, in “The Image of the Poor,” we can observe an insensitive and antiquated postcolonial narrative elaborated by the people of the capital to project a sense of superiority over those who did not inhabit the economic center of the country. With the publication of this book I hope to bring awareness to the realities of the Andean Society of Cusco and to compel the reader to get to know the campesinos, so often looked at through Western perspective as “others.”

How does your photography convey both tradition and modernity, do you feel they are at odds in your work and Peruvian culture?

One of the most fascinating aspects of Andean culture, which I learned during my time living in the rural communities of Cusco, is their ability to assimilate new cultures or ways of thinking into their own. This is mostly visible nowadays through the way Andinos practice religion, the syncretism they have achieved between their traditional beliefs on the earth, mountains, and the sun with the Catholic teachings of Spanish conquistadors blend in a truly remarkable way. From small details, like the Virgin Mary always wearing a triangular robe in the shape of a mountain, to bigger feats like the “Virgen del Carmen” Festival of Paucartambo, where you’ll find masked characters dancing around the town for days on end revering both Christian and pagan beliefs alike.

Just like with their religious beliefs, Andinos are seen conveying both modernity and tradition through their clothing, their poses, and their appearance, as a whole on the photographs taken for this project. For example, Lucia, who you see in a beautiful hand sown “pollera”––a traditional Andean skirt––is also wearing what appears to be a pair of Converse sneakers or Eulogio, who is wearing “ojotas,”––traditional Andean sandals––formal pants and a dress shirt is wearing a North Face jacket to keep from the cold instead of a traditional “poncho”. These photographs are meant to fill the gap between what we define as modern or traditional by encouraging individualism to portray the complexity of being a contemporary Cusqueño.

These photographs are meant to fill the gap between what we define as modern or traditional by encouraging individualism to portray the complexity of being a contemporary Cusqueño.

Are there any photographs that have a unique story/significance to you that you'd like to highlight?

Most of the photographs in this publication have a unique story and significance to me. As I thought about how to approach this project back in 2017, I came to the realization that the only way to truly understand Andean culture would be to completely immerse myself in it. To do so, I moved to 5 different rural communities in the Andres, where I lived for about three weeks each. For the first couple of weeks in each community, I wouldn’t take my camera out of its bag at all, the only purpose during those days was to build relationships with the individuals who lived in these communities. From cutting down trees and making firewood to help us keep warm with Luis in Cuyo Grande, to going every Sunday to church and singing “Apu Yaya Jesucristo” to the top of my lungs with Saturnina and her family in Choquecancha, or celebrating Corina’s 5th birthday with Evelyn, Alain, Andrea and the rest of the family in Choquepata, and even drinking Chicha de Jora––a traditional alcoholic drink from the Andes made from fermented corn––with Hipolito and Gabina until sunrise, as we shared stories from our childhoods overlooking the Sacred Valley in San Isidro de Chicon, these experiences are what this book is made of. I have always been someone who loves photographing the people he loves, from family trips to casual meetings with friends, my photography shines the most when there is a relationship behind the camera and in front of it. There is a warmth, a sense of love, and respect in these photographs that were naturally born from the relationships I built with every Andino featured in this project.

Art

Pamela Sneed’s Speaking Tongue opens at Dashwood Projects

November 15, 2024

Pamela Sneed’s latest exhibition, Speaking Tongue, will be on view at Dashwood Projects from November 20 to December 21. The show features twenty watercolor and ink paintings inspired by her recent trip to Kenya, where she was deeply moved by the elegance of giraffes, the landscapes, and the energy of Nairobi.

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.

This exhibition marks Sneed’s first solo show with Dashwood Projects and will be accompanied by a new book, also titled Speaking Tongue, to be released in December.

By Enzo Holdt
Artworks by Pamela Sneed

Art

Tiebreaker - Alvin Armstrong

November 15, 2024

There is a moment of silence right before the play. Just before the racket strikes the ball as it hangs weightless in the air, breathless and charged. It’s the fleeting yet decisive instant that can alter the course of the match, determining who wins and who loses.

Alvin Armstrong depicts this crucial moment in his new exhibition Tiebreaker, symbolizing the risks and rewards of competition. It’s an implication of something else at stake, where athletes push not only their bodies, but their spirits to the absolute limit.

The dynamic figures embody the strength, grace, and agility juxtaposed by the vibrant color palette evoking not just the joy of competition but the charged energy of the court.

Tiebreaker is opening Thursday, November 16th at Anna Zorina Gallery.

By Rea Brayshaw
Artworks by Alvin Armstrong

Art

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.