For about as long as Mexico’s premier art fair, Zona Maco (now in its 21st year), has existed, there has been Guadalajara Art Weekend, or as it was previously known, PreMaco. An hour’s flight from Mexico City, Guadalajara (often abbreviated GDL) has a vibrant art scene that takes advantage of her larger sister city’s limelight to showcase it.
This year’s edition was calmer than in past years, in part because the crowd that usually descends on Guadalajara headed north to check out Monterrey’s budding art scene as an alternative. Still, the weekend was jam-packed with exhibition openings, parties, and open studios, including the likes of Alejandro Almanza Pereda, who opened a solo at Curro Gallery; Jorge Méndez Blake, whose humongous studio is part exhibition space, part factory, and laboratory; and Cynthia Gutiérrez, who is currently the subject of a major survey at Museo de Arte Carrillo Gil in Mexico City.
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My first stop on Friday night turned out to be the highlight of the weekend. Two exhibitions were taking place in an old mannequin factory that was recently converted into an arts space. Last year, the building was in poor condition, with little intact floor to speak of and battered mannequins lurking in the shadows. The space is much less gritty now—the floor has been tiled and plants hang in the entry hall—though one woman mentioned having spotted a couple of mannequins tucked away in a corner. She said she planned to take them home for an art project.
Abstract paintings and clean, geometrical sculptures occupied the lower floor, but upstairs on the roof was the real attraction: a show by Guadalajara-based collective Hooogar, presented in collaboration with Albania, a gallery based in San Juan, Puerto Rico.
The collective’s members span ages 20 to 25, and represent the cutting edge of the city’s art scene, which is known for the strength of its artist-run spaces and emphasis on all kinds of collaboration. Yet, the show, titled “Esto No Es Guadalajara” (This Is Not Guadalajara), brought together young artists from outside the city, from the Dominican Republic to Colombia, showcasing the young collective’s impressive reach.
The works exhibited explored questions of gender and race, synthesized through this generation’s ability to talk about these issues in a way that is neither precious nor preachy but playful, ironic, and deeply vulnerable. In the words of Hooogar curator María Jose Téllez, “we want to give a home to art that hasn’t been given a form yet.”
Marián Roma’s Dust Lcker (2022), for example, is a long, rusted knife, with a collection of items dangling from its deer horn hilt: a ladle filled with resin, encasing a toy bear holding a pill; a sprig of wheat; skeleton keys; a piece of bone. Scratched into the rusted metal is a solemn promise, “I vow to be the mutilated baby they claim me to be,” the artist wrote, referring to their transness and the attendant gender-confirmation surgeries associated with transitioning.
An excellent video work by Geraldine Rivera was also on display. Playing from an old-school box TV, El absurdo que es calor (2022) is a two-part video in which in woman in a blonde wig finds herself in a car with a man in a Donnie Darko–esque rabbit suit. Their ensuing conversation and her interior dialogue—all filtered through deeply saturated, retro-futuristic aesthetics—paint a familiar scene: two strangers in the night, about to get intimate. They both seem put off by each other, but they’re both in it now. In the second part of the video, the young woman is having a conversation with her gallerist, who tells her she needs to tie her work more closely to her identity as a Puerto Rican woman, that unless she exoticizes herself more, she’s not going to get any attention.
The collective began as an extended hang-out session, when early members used to plan movie nights together. Over time, these young artists had the idea to stage an exhibition in one of their homes. Last year, Hooogar made a huge splash with their Pre-Maco exhibit, which took place in a semi-abandoned building. The party was a hit too, drawing crowds and eventually, the police. This year’s party, ironically titled “Esto Si Es Guadalajara” (This Is Guadalajara), took place in a modest cantina, while the DJ, filmmaker Rodrigo de la Mora, spun classic cumbia throughout his set. That’s about as GDL as it gets.