David Correa
A man…more like a boy.. fighting against his own slumping body ad spasmodic breathing–an endless cycle of urgency within to decenter the reality of his own physical reality, to dismiss the exhaustion of his own body, to transmogrify the essence of his laborious existence… to defy all accounts of systematic reality, to avoid the simulation of his sex and biotic wordly components–of any hierarchy of man embedded in the perceptions of him, to wield death– beyond simply integrating with the instrument of labor.. but to really be, to become, to embody,
the Boy– the Tool.
On Thursday, August 29, 2024, at 7:00 pm, David Correa concluded his summer studio residency with YoungArts by activating the historic "Jewel Box" building on the YoungArts Campus in Miami, FL. This mid-century modern landmark, designed by architect Oscar Niemeyer, is renowned for its striking glass façade adorned with stained-glass murals by Brazilian artist Alfredo Volpi. Curated by Catherine Camargo (2017 Visual Arts), the activation showcased artifacts and remnants from Correa’s past performances, with his debut short film, Weeping a Petroleum Lubricant, as the centerpiece. The film explores the struggle and transformation of "the Boy," a character embodying the tension between survival and exploitation.
Weeping a Petroleum Lubricant was not intended to simply exhibit a collection of multidisciplinary artist David Correa’s works but to decenter the symbolism of each physical object on display, rendering them, their perception, and their original meaning blurred. Steel pipes welded into transfigured shapes, plastic gasoline vessels filled with light blue liquid, and battered pieces of smashed car bumpers were meticulously arranged across the concrete floors. These objects, deemed “relevant” by the stark, clinical lighting that dictated their focal points, rested on blue tarps reminiscent of a crime scene. The thin line between instruments, tools, the body, and the hierarchy of potential strength between them all is evident as you observe the DNA-like documentation of past physical performances directed and produced by Correa, often employing human bodies as materials alongside others such as tarps, automobile parts, and medical gauze.
This decentering of a single-faced concept in the gallery space mirrors the narrative of decentering the universal portrayal of the body and all its preconceived physical thresholds of strength, malleability, and precipice. Through a series of illustrated live performances acted out over the last few years—sometimes by the artist himself, or by loyal performers he often employs—Correa consistently depicts a boy grafted to a gasoline-powered tool, engaging in acts of burning fuel and pull-starting combustion engines. These performances weave narratives of rebellion, martyrdom, and the laborer’s relationship to tools. Correa draws inspiration from historians, philosophers, and theorists who explore posthumanism and the human body as a modifiable system. Among his influences are Paul-Michel Foucault, a French historian whose theories primarily addressed the relationships between power, knowledge, and liberty, and how they are used as forms of social control through various institutions—concepts central to Correa’s practice. Correa is also informed by Jean Baudrillard's Simulacra and Simulation, exploring concepts of hyperreality; Albert Camus's Le Mythe de Sisyphe; and Achille Mbembe's Necropolitics. His performative practice blends political theory, mythology, art history, and philosophy, depicting the Latin laborer's desperation, resentment, and sorrow through surreal imagery and hyper-stimulated narratives.
The main character in these performances and activations which can be discerned as theatrical productions, is the child— “the Boy.”. The boy is in constant protest, stripping the engine of its function, leaving it as a vestigial limb, an artifact of spectacle, while remaining bound to the now useless instrument–an intuitive thirst for redemption. Within the same vein, “the Boy's” narrative sense of self incrementally propels a bound trajectory toward a sense of advancement and maturation. “The boy” is closer to a farm animal than a man, with his survival seemingly dependent on his utility and ability to instrumentalize himself. He therefore exists within a blurred boundary—like the offspring of capitalism—a living, human example of the tension that holds incompatible forces together. This evolution is depicted through his utter neglect for his own body, as seen in the cyclical, laborious acts of pleading with both his body and the machine—considered by him to be one and the same—with a final goal to defy all realistic restraints of man.
These concepts can double as embedded collective memories of resilience for Latin Americans, such as the Colombian-descended artist/director (DC), and for other minority groups in America, many of whom have found little relief in the contemporary transition from indentured to domestic labor. The theatrical development of this main character occurs alongside Correa’s practice, with his current body of work showcasing his first-ever short film—Weeping a Petroleum Lubricant. This film, along with related, and often physically worn documentation, is represented as artifacts within the non-traditional gallery space.
Weeping a Petroleum Lubricant was not intended to simply exhibit a collection of multidisciplinary artist David Correa’s works but to decenter the symbolism of each physical object on display, rendering them, their perception, and their original meaning blurred. Steel pipes welded into transfigured shapes, plastic gasoline vessels filled with light blue liquid, and battered pieces of smashed car bumpers were meticulously arranged across the concrete floors. These objects, deemed “relevant” by the stark, clinical lighting that dictated their focal points, rested on blue tarps reminiscent of a crime scene. The thin line between instruments, tools, the body, and the hierarchy of potential strength between them all is evident as you observe the DNA-like documentation of past physical performances directed and produced by Correa, often employing human bodies as materials alongside others such as tarps, automobile parts, and medical gauze.
This decentering of a single-faced concept in the gallery space mirrors the narrative of decentering the universal portrayal of the body and all its preconceived physical thresholds of strength, malleability, and precipice. Through a series of illustrated live performances acted out over the last few years—sometimes by the artist himself, or by loyal performers he often employs—Correa consistently depicts a boy grafted to a gasoline-powered tool, engaging in acts of burning fuel and pull-starting combustion engines. These performances weave narratives of rebellion, martyrdom, and the laborer’s relationship to tools. Correa draws inspiration from historians, philosophers, and theorists who explore posthumanism and the human body as a modifiable system. Among his influences are Paul-Michel Foucault, a French historian whose theories primarily addressed the relationships between power, knowledge, and liberty, and how they are used as forms of social control through various institutions—concepts central to Correa’s practice. Correa is also informed by Jean Baudrillard's Simulacra and Simulation, exploring concepts of hyperreality; Albert Camus's Le Mythe de Sisyphe; and Achille Mbembe's Necropolitics. His performative practice blends political theory, mythology, art history, and philosophy, depicting the Latin laborer's desperation, resentment, and sorrow through surreal imagery and hyper-stimulated narratives.
The main character in these performances and activations which can be discerned as theatrical productions, is the child— “the Boy.”. The boy is in constant protest, stripping the engine of its function, leaving it as a vestigial limb, an artifact of spectacle, while remaining bound to the now useless instrument–an intuitive thirst for redemption. Within the same vein, “the Boy's” narrative sense of self incrementally propels a bound trajectory toward a sense of advancement and maturation. “The boy” is closer to a farm animal than a man, with his survival seemingly dependent on his utility and ability to instrumentalize himself. He therefore exists within a blurred boundary—like the offspring of capitalism—a living, human example of the tension that holds incompatible forces together. This evolution is depicted through his utter neglect for his own body, as seen in the cyclical, laborious acts of pleading with both his body and the machine—considered by him to be one and the same—with a final goal to defy all realistic restraints of man.
These concepts can double as embedded collective memories of resilience for Latin Americans, such as the Colombian-descended artist/director (DC), and for other minority groups in America, many of whom have found little relief in the contemporary transition from indentured to domestic labor. The theatrical development of this main character occurs alongside Correa’s practice, with his current body of work showcasing his first-ever short film—Weeping a Petroleum Lubricant. This film, along with related, and often physically worn documentation, is represented as artifacts within the non-traditional gallery space.
“...it's my hypothesis that the individual is not a pre-given entity which is seized on by the exercise of power. The individual, with his identity and characteristics, is the product of a relation of power exercised over bodies, multiplicities, movements, desires, forces…”
(The History of Sexuality, Volume 1: An Introduction 78; Michael Foucault).
Written by Catherine Camargo,
Curator, writer, and founder of Queue Gallery | Q Magazine, Miami, FL.
MAISON