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  <url>
    <loc>http://evavelasco.art/projects</loc>
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    <lastmod>2022-08-02</lastmod>
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      <image:loc>https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/56f77d307da24fac0ed1d365/1459734419958-C5XDEC3EN4K8I6XKEEP1/IMG_0572.JPG</image:loc>
      <image:title>Projects</image:title>
      <image:caption>This work problematizes the notions of high and low brow culture. By inserting cheap and flashy materials--the brightly colored tulle and golden thread used in carnival costumes in the Canary Islands--into the gallery space, the limits of distinct cultural brows become blurrier; they are social and institutional constructions. The context determines what is art and what is tacky. The work's vibrant hues aim to make viewers interrogate predetermined associations with color: magenta and yellow are generally located on the opposite side of the spectrum of what is considered sophisticated and worthy of “Art.” The plinths, an integral part of the work, emphasize the absurdity of any preconception. Traditionally used as an index of the "object of art," they serve no purpose in this case: the sculptures do not need them and actually could not exist if they were placed upon these geometric institutional supports. Esta instalación cuestiona los conceptos de alta y baja cultura. Al introducir materiales llamativos y baratos en el espacio de una galería de arte (en este caso, tul acrílico e hilos dorados, utilizados habitualmente en el carnaval de las Islas Canarias), la barrera entre estas dos nociones se diluye y se revela como una simple proyección, solo sombra. En suma, una construcción social e institucional: el contexto determina qué es arte y qué es kitsch.  Los colores chillones cuestionan las ideas preconcebidas sobre tonos como el magenta o el amarillo, habitualmente situados al otro lado del espectro de lo que &lt;&lt;sofisticado&gt;&gt; o parte de la alta cultura. Por su parte, los pedestales, parte integral de la obra, subrayan lo absurdo de estos prejuicios. Tradicionalmente usados como indicadores del &lt;&lt;objeto de arte&gt;&gt;, no desempeñan función alguna en este caso: no sólo no son necesarios, sino que, de hecho, estas esculturas dejarían de ser tales si las colocásemos encima de ellos.</image:caption>
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      <image:loc>https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/56f77d307da24fac0ed1d365/1459142321975-KTML36SLLWI7HEI3A23F/VelascoPena_Eva_04.jpg</image:loc>
      <image:title>Projects</image:title>
      <image:caption>These sculptures explore how to create movement and volume in a 2D material. With just a few gestures, binding or pulling the strings, the acetate"comes to life" in never-ending wavy shapes. The kinetic pieces are constantly in motion: they twirl around with the slightest movement of the air around them, always reacting to the viewers passing by.   The colors and material, film-like acetate with black marks or in bright simple colors, resonate with cinema, particularly Spanish film from the early 80s and French film from the 60s and 70s. The first piece includes small drawings based in Almodóvar´s "The Skin I Live In" as well as quotes from Almudena Grande´s novel "Castillos de cartón". Grande´s story depicts the coming of age of three art students in early eighties Madrid, an allegory of Spain's coming of age as a country at that time. The second piece plays with the bright colors seen in films from the 60s, a palette that later on became Pedro Almodóvar's trademark. Estas esculturas exploran como crear movimiento y volumen partiendo de un material 2D. Con tan solo unos pocos gestos de los hilos, tirando y enredando, el acetato "despierta" y se transforma en una espiral de ondas sin principio ni fin. Las piezas quinéticas están en constante movimiento, pues giran con la más mínima corriente de aire, rotando siempre al paso del espectador.  Tanto el color como el material, acetato transparente con marcas en negro y tonos básicos brillantes, evoca el material y colorido utilizados en cine, particularmente las cintas producidas en los primeros ochenta en España y en los sesenta y setenta en Francia. La primera escultura incluye pequeños dibujos basados en "La piel que habito" de Pedro Almodóvar, así como citas de la novela "Castillos de cartón" de Almudena Grandes. Esta última retrata la llegada a la madurez de tres estudiantes de Bellas Artes durante los años de la movida madrileña, una alegoría en clave bildungsroman de la transición que el país estaba atravesando en ese momento. La segunda pieza juega con los colores característicos de cinematografía francesa de los años sesenta y setenta, tonos que se convertirían tiempo después en la marca personal chez Almodóvar.</image:caption>
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      <image:loc>https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/56f77d307da24fac0ed1d365/1459106295549-JBKRPO3O488IOUGKHX2V/IMG_0257.jpg</image:loc>
      <image:title>Projects</image:title>
      <image:caption>Inspired by images from the films of Jean-Luc Godard´s  and Almodóvar, this new project is a work in progress that explores the past and present of cinema: the old and new ways of being a film voyeur. Here, partial works depicting Yvonne and Véronique, the two female characters  in Godard´s film La Chinoise. Le voyeur es un nuevo proyecto en desarrollo. Inspirado en momentos de la filmografía de Jean-Luc Godard y Almodóvar, explora viejas y nuevas formas de ver cine, nuevas y viejas formas de ser un voyeur del séptimo arte. Estas son parte de las imágenes del proyecto, basadas en Yvonne y Véronique, protagonistas femeninas de La Chinoise.</image:caption>
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      <image:title>Projects</image:title>
      <image:caption>The Oracle is a metaphor about the unsettling feeling of being "in between": from the feeling of waking up not knowing if what we had just dreamt was a fantasy or reality, to the feeling of knowing for a fact that there are political turns that will take us to a unknown and unsettling future, a future very different from what feels like an already lost past.  </image:caption>
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      <image:title>Projects</image:title>
      <image:caption>The Foldings study the characteristics of coloured tulle as material. At first glance a flimsy and delicate fabric, it becomes stiff and shows an unexpected vibrancy in colour in just one fold. Foldings explora las características de un material aparentemente simple, el tul de color. Una tela delicada y casi imperceptible en una sola capa, que con tal sólo una doblez toma cuerpo y revela una intensidad de color inesperada.      </image:caption>
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      <image:loc>https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/56f77d307da24fac0ed1d365/1616214062167-6ZR7FHWDP40L3DC7YNEO/IMG_0418.jpg</image:loc>
      <image:title>Projects</image:title>
      <image:caption>Arthropology is a study of NYC art world "fauna" through candid shots taken by a participant-observer out in the field. This is a game of form, colour, and the poetics of chance. Art objects are not the primary subject. Indeed, artworks become one more fixture in the environment, often forming part of the background. Despite being mediated by photography, the aura of these works (which in a few cases are extremely well known) continues to be powerful: the viewer needs to slow down and look closely in order to formally analyze the image and see what is actually happening. There certainly are moments of humor and irony. In some pictures gallery-goers (the fauna, that is) "melt" into the works of art. In others, elements of institutional critique emerge--such as the waiter next to Warhol's Campbell's Soup Cans or the man looking at the Sarah Charlesworth's womanless dress. The sequence of the images is not casual; some work in pairs, some in trios... It is up to the viewer to discover the relationship between them. This is Arthropology, NYC fauna amidst its flora, in its natural habitat. Artropología es un estudio de la &lt;&lt;fauna&gt;&gt; del mundo del arte en la ciudad de Nueva York a través de fotografías espontáneas. Un juego de color y formas en el que el arte pasa a ser el fondo. En algunas instantáneas, el aura de las obras es tal que no puede ser ese fondo, a menos que nos paremos a analizar formalmente la composición de lo que pasa alrededor de estas piezas maestras.  Ahí da comienzo el juego: quedan por descubrir grandes dosis de humor e ironía. En algunas imágenes el espectador se funde con el fondo. En otras, lo hace, pero ni tan siquiera lo mira. También podemos encontrar una mirada desde la crítica institucional, como en el caso del camarero junto a las latas Campbell o en el del hombre que mira el vestido sin cuerpo, pero con formas de mujer. Las fotos están encadenadas y hay que descubrir la relación de pares, tríos... Fauna entre la flora, en su hábitat natural.</image:caption>
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      <image:title>Projects - #sinoessiesno (¡Hermana, aquí está tu manada!)</image:title>
      <image:caption>On April 26, 2018, four judges, three men and a woman, issued a sentence in one of the most notorious rape trials in recent times in Spain, my home country. A group of 5 men, who called themselves “La Manada” (The Wolf Pack”), raped a woman on July 7, 2016. She testified during the trial that after they trapped her in a stairway she neither confronted them, nor posed any resistance. She feared for her life and surrendered to everything they did to her because she wanted to survive. Her identity was not officially released (although it was shamefully leaked and shared on online automobile forums). According to Spanish law, this was not rape: if a victim does not resist, the crime is considered merely to be sexual abuse. The morning that the sentence was scheduled to be read, something unprecedented happened in the country: hundreds of women congregated at the courthouse doors. As soon as the word “abuse” was mentioned, protesters raised their voices so loudly that it was not possible for the judges to continue reading the sentence. They had to stop several times because of the noise. Within hours, word of the events had spread through mass and social media. The hashtag #Cuéntalo (tell your story), very much in the spirit of #metoo, was the spark that got it started. But so many others followed: #lamanada #nosotrassomoslamanada (we are the pack) #yositecreo (I do believe you) #hermanaaquiestatumanada (sister, here is your pack) #noesno (no is no) #sinoessiesno (if it is not yes, it’s no) Thousands filled the streets in the downtown areas of major cities in Spain, where women kept rioting and protesting for days. Women across the globe, including in London, Paris, and Berlin, joined in solidarity. In some cities, the government tried to stop these spontaneous protests, but it was impossible. I am a Spaniard who has lived in the US for more than 12 years. In April 2018, I was five months pregnant with my first child and my feelings were a mixture of happiness and sadness: I felt happy and hopeful about these spontaneous explosions of solidarity but very sad, because our justice system did not protect us. In addition to #metoo and #Cuéntalo on social media, the feminist strike in Spain on March 8 was still very fresh in everyone’s minds. Women had withheld labor that day to demonstrate the importance of their work, inside and outside their homes: “If we stop, the world stops” was the slogan that those women chanted in the streets. The networks that had helped bring the strike to fruition were still strong. I called the Spanish Consulate to find out what kind of events were being organized in New York in solidarity with what was happening at home. I called other associations; I called the Embassy: Nothing. The New York Times covered the protests that arose in the aftermath of the La Manada decision, but, as far as I knew, nothing was happening on our side of the Atlantic. I felt a kind of media-induced vertigo: I was seemingly so close, yet so disconnected (perhaps not an uncommon feeling for a pregnant women living so far from her family). I decided to respond to politics in an aesthetic fashion. In addition to the Spanish strike of March 8, the US Women’s March of 2017 was also fresh in my mind. I decided I would undertake an activist art intervention in the civic space of Central Park: I bought dozens of fluorescent pink post-its and inscribed them with the hashtags associated with the lack of justice in Spain as well as with the broader #metoo movement. They would be a subtle, yet productive interruption, flapping in unison on the fence that encircles the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir. The heavy spring rain did not allow me act for two days. I spent this time reading the almost 400 pages of the sentence. No text has ever made me stop so many times before being able to continue. I finally went to the Central Park reservoir, and, with my partner’s help, I put up the notes and photographed the reaction of people passing by. It was a simple gesture to spread awareness and my solidarity with the Spanish rape victim. To honor her. To let her know that she was and is not alone. That there is another, far vaster, pack of women behind her. I chose an iconic landmark with foot traffic where both locals and visitors would pass by. I decided to repeat the same gesture in my country the following month. I chose The Parque del Retiro in Madrid and the Puente de Triana in Seville (abutting the neighborhood where a number of the men of La Manada hailed from)—similar locations with flowing water behind iron railings. People passed by, people stopped, people took pictures, some without noticing the notes were there. Many stopped to talk, some to thank me. Women from China to Chile left their own messages on the blank folios I interspersed throughout. There were men too. Not as many as I would have liked. Not all of them had the kind of reaction I would have hoped for. We do not need to convince other women. What we need is more men in the streets protesting beside us, demonstrating with us, concerned about us. Letting us pass the legislation we need in order to be protected. I was carrying one inside of me all that time. My hope is that by the time my son can go and shout in the street with all of us, it will no longer be necessary. But the next step is for men to shout along with us. We women already know. My son will know.</image:caption>
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      <image:title>Projects</image:title>
      <image:caption>On March 8, 2019, nearly a year and after the first of my interventions in Central Park, I decided to repeat the installation. After seeing thousands of women, from all backgrounds and ages, marching together claiming their rights during the previous year, I decided to pose what felt like a necessary —even inevitable— question: How can men be part of Feminism? Watching the reaction of males passing by was priceless. There was a man that asked to leave his own message for other men: “be a ready shoulder,” he wrote. Some others said thanks for the work. However, the most moving moment was watching a mother and her two sons. When the boys approached the fuchsia notes, they were curious and asked her: “Is this a game? Can we take them?” She smiled and very calmly responded “It’s not a game. But we are going to read them together.” My son turned 6 months old that day. I hope we too will read together soon. ———————— A finales de abril de 2018 desperté con una noticia que me hizo sentir una ola de rabia e impotencia como pocas en mi vida: la sentencia de La Manada. Leí desde Nueva York, donde vivo, las casi 400 páginas de esa sentencia mientras veía en la distancia cómo las calles se inundaban de miles de mujeres con un sentimiento muy parecido al mío. Con una diferencia: cerca de mí no hubo ninguna movilización, ninguna muestra de solidaridad. En aquel momento, embarazada de cuatro meses, sentí una soledad inmensa. Y decidí sacudir esa soledad, esa rabia y ese miedo con mi propia manifestación, mi propio homenaje, mi propio grito por mis hermanas. Un día después todo esto se materializó en forma de intervención en Central Park. Los mensajes allí reproducidos fueron las consignas, que también funcionaron como hashtags, de aquellos días: #hermanaaquiestatumanada, #cuéntalo, #metoo #sinoessiesno… El fucsia, distinto al morado que utilizásteis en vuestro lado del océano, como analogía del color de los pussy hats que llevamos en la marcha en contra de Trump un año antes. Ya en el séptimo mes de embarazo, reproduje la instalación en el parque del Retiro de Madrid y el Puente de Triana en Sevilla. Los tres lugares, muy similares, sirvieron para que las y los que por allí pasaban reprodujesen y se hicieran eco de mi voz, de nuestras voces. Este 8 de marzo mi hijo cumplió seis meses. Y durante todo este tiempo me he preguntado cómo puede ser él también parte de ese cambio. Por esa razón decidí volver al lugar de la primera intervención. Los mensajes fueron una vez más los mismos, aunque la pregunta otra. Porque en inglés «to ask» significa preguntar y también pedir. Pedir y preguntar, un año después, cómo pueden formar los hombres parte del feminismo. Mientras encontramos respuestas entre todos, yo seguiré preguntando, pidiendo y exigiendo con la voz, el lápiz y la cámara un lugar y unos referentes dignos para mi hijo.</image:caption>
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      <image:title>Projects - Eva Velasco - “Sleep of Reason” - Compton Goethals Gallery, NYC</image:title>
      <image:caption>(2017 - ) The projects in this Sleep of Reason explore, via formal and aesthetic means (burning, piercing, suturing), the traumatic political situation of late 2017 and the triumph of Trumpism. The works are realized on clear sheets of acetate; they are transparent, while nonetheless doubled by shadows cast on the walls. In this sense, they possess the logic of a haunting: they are both absent and present. Indeed, the title of the exhibition is drawn from Francisco de Goya y Lucientes’s most famous print, entitled The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters, which hails from his “Caprichos (Caprices)” series (1797-98). Goya advocated for the values of the enlightenment; his points about the merits of rationality over nightmarish chaos continue to be relevant for our present.</image:caption>
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      <image:title>Projects</image:title>
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  </url>
  <url>
    <loc>http://evavelasco.art/about</loc>
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    <lastmod>2016-04-06</lastmod>
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      <image:title>About</image:title>
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  </url>
  <url>
    <loc>http://evavelasco.art/contact</loc>
    <changefreq>daily</changefreq>
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    <lastmod>2021-11-14</lastmod>
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  <url>
    <loc>http://evavelasco.art/new-page</loc>
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    <lastmod>2022-12-06</lastmod>
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