Alejandro Rincón

Alejandra Rincón, 1981 yılında Tuluá-Valle, Kolombiya'da doğdu. BFA'sını Universidad de los Andes'te (2013) ve MFA'sı Universidad de Bogotá Jorge Tadeo Lozano'dan aldı (2018).

Arjantinli yazar Jorge Luis Borges’un şiir hakkında söylediği gibi: Şiir dilden doğar, çünkü her dil dünyayı hissetmenin bir yoludur; her dil olası bir edebiyat.Kariyerinin başında, audiovisual dilinden etkilendi. Başkalarına “dünyayı hissetmenin bir yolunu” göstermek istiyordu. Yani, gözlerini yakalayan günlük nesnelere ve deneyimlere odaklandı. Bu deneyimleri yakalamak için genellikle bir video kamerası kullandı. Her şeyi ve her şeyi kaydetti. Doğal olarak, her şey dünyanın gözlemlenmesiyle ve audiovisual dilinin kendisinin anlaşılmasıyla başladı: zaman ve hareket. Sonra yavaş yazmaya ilgi duymaya başladı, o kadar yavaş ki her şey aynı çerçeve gibi durmuş gibi görünüyor. Minimal hareketle ilgileniyordu, “burada hiçbir şey olmaz” düşüncesini ifade ediyordu ama bir şey gerçekten oluyor: zaman geçiyor.

Son zamanlarda kelimeler kullanmaya başladı. Yazı yazmaya daha çok ilgi duyuyordu. Hikayenin kırılma kurallarını gezmeyi tercih eder, istikrarsız yazılımlar yaratır, bu da, yazısında farklı unsurların katmanları olarak görünen mezarları keşfetmek için zaman sıralamasını geride bırakır: olaylar, gerginlikler, karşıt pozisyonlar, diğer yazarlardan alıntılar, farklı çağlardan gelen karşılaştırmalı unsurlar ve hafızalar.

Almost a conversation, 2020

A woman looks at the television screen; the television radiates its light on her face. The screen and the woman "are turned towards each other". The eyes are fixed on the screen, the hands are nervous, the foot is swaying from side to side, the body is expectant, patient; the flickering and constant light of the screen covers the atmosphere of the space and shelters the woman's body. A text on the wall that operates as the subjective voice of the thought of another who sees, perhaps the voice of the screen, her voice narrated in the third person? A silent conversation like a mantle on a table. And since it is a cloak, silence that it is, it also shelters In that mantle that is the video projection we read: [...] she is silent/brings her hands to her face/shut up/then lights a cigarette [...].
They all seem to converse, they go back and forth in a return of the image that becomes possible in what is happening, in the meeting. They frequent each other in a space that binds them, that agglutinates them and creates intimacy. The living room of the house.

The day turns, 2020

Thought and experience become visible in writing, in this case, in the writing of a video. During the three months that I have been away from the functional and instrumental logic of life, I have concentrated more insistently on watching time go by. This means that I have become even more sensitive to natural and everyday phenomena, such as sunrise and sunset. These phenomena respond to the nature of the cosmos. The earth revolves around the sun, rotates on its own axis producing day and night. I have not stopped thinking that I am in constant rotation with the earth, (in a certain way it makes me feel that day and night also occur inside my body) I am one with the earth; constant movement, a day is absolute repetitive circularity. Light and its different gradations affect objects and modify the way we perceive the earth's atmosphere. A day can begin overflowing with luminosity and end drowned in an inexhaustible storm. Confinement has allowed me to tirelessly witness the passage of time even in its most minimal manifestation: the inclination of the shadow of objects, the intensity of color on them, the slanted light projected on the walls, to mention a few. The day turns is a narration of time itself, stringing together other worlds (the vegetables on a supermarket shelf, the silent animal life, the objects in a house: a record player) to generate metaphorical circularities of echoes and resonances of the narrative of time.

I stumbled on the sky, 2018
Neon
Variable dimensions

It is an installation of neon texts, which although it does not attempt to build a coherent and logical block of text, it can be read in a linear way as if it were a poetic phrase. The text has fragments of computer error codes that make it difficult to read fluently, which highlights the stumbling. To stumble is to get tangled up with something, a form of awkward contact with the world, which can be the entrance to a new horizon of meaning, which establishes new routes and coordinates to understand the world we stumble upon. To stumble with the sky is to recognize the possibility of groping, of overcoming emptiness and death both in the brokenness of things and in technological damage.