Barbican Centre
£19
In a season of London exhibition openings dominated by major retrospectives of trailblazing female artists, the Barbican’s Beatriz González show is an extremely worthwhile addition. Known to many in her home country of Colombia as ‘La Maestra’, González is considered to be one of the most influential artists to come out of Latin America, and this vast collection of over 150 works spanning her six-decade-long career leaves you with no questions as to how she garnered such a reputation.
Though she herself rejected the label, González has often been associated with the Pop Art movement, and there is a Warholian quality to much of her work, which uses images of figures from mainstream media and pop culture as subjects, ranging from Queen Elizabeth II to Jackie Onassis to Botticelli’s Venus. González paints these icons in a two-dimensional style, in typically bright, vibrant block colours that feel reminiscent of the Factory kingpin’s cartoon-like screen prints of Marilyn Monroe and Debbie Harry.
Where the painter distinguishes herself from Pop Art figuresheads is the often deeply political nature of her work, which she used to comment on and criticise the pervasive violence and corruption in her country. Her 1981 piece ‘Decoración de interiores (Interior Decoration)’ sends up then-president Julio César Turbay’s image of excess and frivolity in stark contrast to the violent regime he oversaw, portraying him at a lavish party. The work was originally printed on a strip of fabric stretching 140 metres, which the artist then sold in one-metre strips to members of the public. Here, it is hung as a curtain as a nod to the government’s attempts to pull the wool over the public’s eyes.
There is a Warholian quality to much of her work, which uses images of figures from mainstream media and pop culture
Another standout of show is a series of paintings entitled ‘Los suicidas del Sisga (The Sisga Suicides)’, which are based on an image of a young farmer couple who gained attention in the 1960s after the story broke of their tragic joint suicide. González noted how the photograph of the couple that ran in newspapers had begun to degrade after being reproduced so many times, causing their facial features to flatten and blur. Like much of her work, these paintings exemplify the artist’s fascination with the media and how the Colombian establishment utilised it to shape and distort public opinion.
Her use of images pulled from newspaper clippings and celebrity culture also recall the work of Rose Wylie, whose celeb-inspired paintings are currently lining the walls of the Royal Academy. Interestingly, Wylie is not the only one of her pioneering peers on the London retrospective circuit with whom she shares connective tissue - her frequent use of furniture as canvas reminds me of Tracey Emin’s 1994 work ‘There’s a Lot of Money in Chairs’, currently on view in the Tate Modern. Domesticity was central to both artists’ work, with Emin famously restaging her living quarters (like in the iconic ‘My Bed’), while González transformed common pieces of furniture into works of art, such as in ‘Nací en Florencia y tenía veintiséis años cuando fue pintado mi retrato (esta frase pronunciada en voz dulce y baja) (I was Born in Florence and I was Twenty-Six when my Portrait was Painted (Sentence Uttered in Low and Soft Voice)’, in which she imposes her recreation of the ‘Mona Lisa’ into the space previously occupied by a mirror in a coat rack which stood, and still stands today, in her home in Bogotá.
Indeed, González’s famous ‘interventions’, which use household items like televisions, dressers and wicker baskets as frames or bases for her paintings, were an important part of her oeuvre and make up a sizable portion of this show. Her colourful style especially pops on these otherwise mundane backdrops, and she often uses these works to inject humour and playfulness. In ‘La última mesa (The Last Table)’, a large-scale recreation of ‘The Last Supper’ is emblazoned upon a drab dining table, which sits beside a painting of Christ being taken down from the cross, fitted into the base of a metal bed frame as though the martyr is being put to bed.
Beatriz González passed away at the age of 93 in January of this year, making this reflection on her once-in-a-generation career feel all the more poignant. Paying a visit to this splendid survey of her most consequential work at the Barbican feels like the perfect way to pay tribute to an artist who, right up until her death, used her talent to challenge mainstream opinion and shine a light on those who needed it most.
