April 10, 2004
Cuban Art Series #5: Angel Delgado's Transgression
[I apologize for the scatological nature of this posting, but . . . he did it, not me!]
by Jerome du Bois
Fourteen years ago Cuban artist Angel Delgado, in the middle of an exhibition called "The Sculpted Object" in Havana, took off his jeans, squatted over a copy of Granma, the Cuban Communist Party official newspaper, and dropped his cargo. He got six months in prison for this (a) act of "public scandal" (the cops) or (b) act of "transgressive aesthetics" (the art critics). And not a single Cuban artist or intellectual raised his or her voice in protest -- neither at the act, nor the jail sentence, nor anything else.
I'm going to let Orlando Hernández tell the story briefly, and I'll comment on Sr. Delgado's infantilism; and then I will show that Sr. Delgado has, for over a decade, (a) made a career out of art he learned about in prison, from prisoners, while at the same time (b) passing over in silence the plight of all Cuban prisoners other than himself.
The Defecator: Prisoner #1242900
(. . . and they all moved away from him on the bench.)
From Art Cuba: The New Generation, edited by Holly Block; from an essay by Orlando Hernández:
When Angel Delgado landed in jail in early 1990, he discovered that the prisoners had developed a kind of artwork closely linked to their living conditions. These handicrafts were made of unconventional materials: soap and smallish pieces of cloth. Angel began sculpting soap and painting religious images on fabric. He could then trade these pieces for clean sheets, condensed mil, or cigars, which -- along with freedom -- were the most coveted things in prison. But Angel had already worked with unconventional media and materials. In fact, that was precisely why he ended up in jail: he had defecated on a newspaper during the exhibition El ojeto esculturado (The Sculpted Object, Centro de Desarollo de las Artes Visuales, Havana, 1990.) His act was intended to be merely provocative, even artistic (excrement seen as the human sculpture), but the Ministry of Culture and the police saw it differently. [This is how Sr. Delgado described it years later: "I realized an intervention that was not meant in the political sense one wanted to ascribe to it, but rather artistically: namely, to make a 'sculptured object' in a biological manner by defecating on a copy of the newspaper 'Granma'."] They stressed the importance of the newspaper -- an issue of Granma, the official organ of the Cuban Communist Party -- and Angel was declared guilty of "public scandal," sentenced to six months in jail, and incarcerated like a common criminal under the number 1242900. No one took up Delgado's case while he was a prisoner. Everyone just continued with their normal activities. Not only governmental agencies and institutions -- as would be expected -- but also intellectuals and artists. Later they could all wash their hands and consciences with those sculpted soaps and then dry them on the painted towels. It was an ugly beginning for Cuban art in the '90s, wouldn't you say?
I would. The artists kept their mouths shut, like mesmerized toads, in Sr. Manuel Vazquez Portal's memorable phrase. But, even before that, Delgado's stunt itself was an ugly, infantile, and unworthy act for an adult artist. It may even have been calculated for p.r. While people were standing up in classrooms and on street corners, in cafes and in clandestine newpapers, and angrily saying "The Revolution is a Lie!" and getting slammed for years, Sr. Delgado squats like a toad to deliver the angry message of a two-year-old -- and gets a six-month sentence.
So he did his six months, and then out he comes with two new artforms learned in prison from prisoners, which he then proceeds to flog for the next decade or so. Here are four examples of the handkerchiefs, and four examples of the soapcarvings. Each of these pieces sells for $600-$900, about two- to four-years' pay for a Cuban doctor. (Courtesy of the New Orleans dealer Jonathan Ferrara.)
I have tried to find out whether Sr. Delgado has raised his voice, or used his now-considerable resources, for the cause of those who, without knowing it, enriched him by providing him with a nice new faux-outsider art niche. As far as I have been able to determine, he hasn't.
In his novel A Stained White Radiance, James Lee Burke provides us with a memorable phrase about a crooked preacher so slick "he could steal the stink off shit without getting the smell on his hands."
You aren't that good, Angel.