On photography considered as taxidermy
Nora Aslan photographs individuals of various species kept in museums of natural history. Over the ironic illusion of embalming techniques, an eternity of stuff, fabrics and plastic, she superimposes an/other life suspended in time—the sort of documentary life that photography allows, in this case much more shrewdly tricky since the object/subject of the photo is a simulacrum, an appearance, a fixed form of wildlife’s untamed freedom as pure and plain exterior. As if photography could be the new taxidermy.
But the quarry Aslan excavates in search of a casting of zoological characters for her enigmatic scenes is wider, and quite diverse. It comprises the palpitation of the animal portrayed alive, ornamental backgrounds wisely chosen from the bibliographic collection of the artist, records of dioramas—one of the inspirational sources for the exhibition’s layout—, wallpapers which range from decorative fantasies to goblins, and painting’s details. Plus, in her own words: “Domesticated natures: plant nurseries, gardens, and corners of gardens from 18th Century paintings.”
Anyhow, I must say that this list is deceitful and certainly unfair. Because it may lead us to believe we’re witnessing an archivist’s game, a simple compilation of images empowered by empathy—at the verge of becoming a modest scrapbook—or, worse, the customary library of zoological icons in various formats we’re used to look at, along with its repertoire of melancholic allegories. Let us understand that Aslan’s exhibition has nothing to do with such things.
A peacock welcomes the visitors showing its back and walking at ease—although it is inside a hard-to-define bidimensional enclosed space—and an actual stuffed bear stares at us with its button eyes: the two poetic ends, or perhaps the essential, secret clue of a remarkably programmatic whole, for the régisseur (the illusionist) Aslan to discover, in the most usual element, the other side of a new dramatic quality, an unexpected expression. Here, combinatory arts and crafts are displayed with subtility to dismiss any suspicion of exotism, and so enter into a precise, ambiguous territory, where what is strange, unforeseen and disquieting—all those things that cause discomfort out of uncertainty—insist on being uncannily familiar.
Guided by the passion of a portraitist, the heart of a zoologist, the patience of a poacher, and the imagination of a naughty child, Aslan is not able to resist the consistent temptation to orchestrate—with a sense of humor that doesn’t exclude creepy feelings and flavors—this shivery atonal score of skulls, antlers, menacing or bare claws, sensual and rough furs, beaks, legs, feathers, and fangs that sound and resound, enter and exit scenes crossing spaces, frames, fields, and perspectives. All of them findings in an artificial setting as overprecise as circus-like.
Through traditional collage, cutting and pasting by hand, as well as digital editing, overlapping, and layering—in compositions so dynamic as to dislocate the most well-adjusted structures—Nora Aslan tries out this sort of atypical version of a lost cabinet of curiosities in order to assemble her kaleidoscopic rhapsody of atavic daydreams, indescribable fables, hermetic episodes, and expansive, massive metaphors.
Eduardo Stupía
March 2015
Traducción: Bárbara Belloc