Eugenio Salas and Nato Thompson

Nato Thompson: As an artist from Guadalajara Mexico, when then moved to Toronto, Canada, and then finds himself in Philadelphia, what have you gleaned from each cultural scene that informs your ongoing practice?

Eugenio Salas: I went to school in Guadalajara but am not from there. I grew up in a town in Michoacán called Sahuayo that is near the border with Guadalajara’s state, Jalisco. When I lived in Guadalajara, I was focused on journalism and my perception of the contemporary art scene was from the outside. The community seemed a bit insular but active. There were lots of happenings, impromptu project spaces, and self-organized art projects. Arts funding was limited. Institutional support played a modest role, but it was not the main driving force. All these art initiatives were self-driven by artists and collectives utilizing their own resources, networks, and social status to circulate their work. They put their efforts into playing a role in the art market locally, nationally, and in some cases internationally.

Fast forward to my experience living and working in Toronto: I began contemplating art as a strategy to communicate with others and overcome my language limitations, and got involved with art-run spaces. In some ways they shared a similar sentiment to Guadalajara’s D.I.Y culture but were easier to access and participate in, perhaps because they received  government funding. Ultimately, these non-commercial galleries offered another venue for creating and circulating contemporary art besides the Canadian art market.

The availability of more art distribution channels and grant funding, as compared to Guadalajara, offered a greater range of possibilities for artists to imagine sustainability and move across non-commercial and commercial spheres. But ARCs (artist-run-centres) had their own struggles to survive and diversify their revenue sources. This pushed them to adapt to new models that included planning their programming far in advance, projecting growth and envisioning impact to justify their existence. This form of institutionalization left less room for impromptu initiatives and ARCs - originally created for artists to play and experiment - came to resemble public institutions like museums in some ways. 

In this context, most of the work that my peers and I created was in response to an invite to exhibit or a grant award. Realizing that I only completed work that was being backed by an external force, I began envisioning places to circulate my work beyond art galleries, such as in businesses, markets, and outdoor festivals. 

In Philadelphia, like Guadalajara, there are not a lot of resources, but artists and people in general are resourceful regardless of official narratives or regulations. I am thinking, for example, of South Philly drivers claiming the median as an alternative to address the lack of parking. There is a lot of activity in the city by art collectives and artist communities gravitating around shared spaces. I keep finding spaces or meeting local artists randomly through out-of-town acquaintances or exhibitions! It feels like a conglomerate of small silos. I yearn for meeting places or media outlets where artists from different disciplines and demographics can become aware of each other, collaborate, and create community.

But more than anything, I am inspired by Philadelphia’s self-driven ethos to continue developing a practice in which the field of activity extends to non-artistic contexts with projects driven by improvisation and resourcefulness.

NT: Your ethnographic experiences of making a life of art in these three different cities is quite compelling. Ranging from DIY to artist-grant culture, you are not only reflective of this process in your ways of surviving as an artist, but in your work itself. Do you see yourself ever selling art as a form of making a living or how do you see yourself paying your bills with your art? (Is this too simple a question?)

Question 2. You mentioned Niagara Falls Artist Host Program by Tone Olaf Nielsen & Morten Goll opened your eyes that art could be a service. What about art as a service inspires you and resonates with your own needs? Also, are there art historical or non-art historical inspirations for you?

ES: I am a self-taught artist. My proximity to the issue that I am working on is the main principle that guides me—from concept to execution. Much of my work deals with peripheral narratives and in-between spaces as they pertain to immigrant and queer people. My practice involves artistic disruptions of space and time employing participatory performances - often improvised and unexpected - woven into everyday life beyond art institutions. I am interested in ephemeral gestures, social interactions, and collaborations as alternative strategies to produce and circulate aesthetics.

As a process-based artist, I value the multiple forces that act upon a moment in time. The resulting outcomes are the result of a series of solicited and unsolicited inputs provided by multiple participants (collaborators, art administrators, gate keepers, colleagues, impromptu helpers), and influenced by the surrounding circumstances including spatial as well as conceptual or political implications (resources, space dynamics and regulations, etc.). I value the role of serendipity in shaping my work.

I came to art while working in the service industry. The idea of art as a service, first, was a way for me to reconcile being an artist with having a survival job that demanded a significant amount of physical labor and time, but more importantly engaging with people constantly. I saw the potential of embracing this reality and my employment as a canvas for artistic experimentation and saw its potential for dissemination. 

Some of the artists that I draw inspiration from are Artist Placement Group and Mierle Laderman Ukeles.

NT: I can relate to this and certainly I love both Artist Placement Group and Meirle Laderman Ukeles. I have been thinking a lot about Ukeles practice of late as her Manifesto for Maintenance Art of 1969 amazingly details not only the gendered nature of domestic labor but also the boredom and tedium of it. I find it so moving strangely. I wonder if you could say a little bit about these particular themes.

ES: You often like to incorporate the hidden labor or structures behind art presentations to make them more visible and participatory in the work itself. For example, in your project Breaktime/Overtime - Merch Store with Mitchell Art Gallery in 2020, you worked with the curator, director and installation team to make a store in the midst of their non-profit. What about this form of art appeals to you? What does it expose or make available to audiences?

I am glad you asked that question! This is something significant in my practice. 

With my work I am interested in hidden performances employing actions, energy, and resources to temporarily shift models and structures aiming to create knowledge that may affect not only audiences but also people involved behind the scenes. To me, Art does not live in a vacuum but is connected to a complex series of forces, expectations and mediations. I do not want to make art about ‘something’ outside but instead am interested how art can affect the people (including myself) and spaces involved in its making and presentation.

For example, my current project at RAIR, Fogones-Waste Feast is a continuation of my body of work exploring migrant labour, in which art institutions have played a participant role, beyond simply presenting the work to the public. During Tunnel (2010), the exhibition curator participated in the construction of the piece, collaborating on the physical labor with an immigrant construction worker and me. For The Supercake (2019), I worked in collaboration with food factory workers to build an edible installation that set the record for the largest cake in Canada and, with a socially engaged project, intervened in the practices of the partner gallery that generally prioritizes object-based art. For The Supercake Merch store (2020), I developed an intervention that involved working with the curator, gallery director, and staff to negotiate the dynamics of setting up a store within the limits of a not-for-profit public institution, ultimately defying its traditional means of engagement. For Fogones-Waste Feast, the artist residency became the canvas for experimentation. I engaged with Revolution Recovery (RAIR’s parent company) laborers and RAIR’s director in an intervention looking to include their inputs and expand ways in which art is developed in the residency. Waste Feast-Fogones is the first socially-engaged project in the organization’s history. It created a precedent for other artists working in the field and built muscle memory for RAIR of what it is like to support a project of that nature.  

NT: Since we are talking about RAIR, how has it been for you working there?

ES: It has been an incredible journey so far! The support I've received, from conceptualization to execution, has been phenomenal. I am truly grateful for the trust they placed in me and my vision, especially when delving into the inner workings of the residency and engaging with the laborers who are an integral part of its ecosystem. The language barrier added another layer of complexity, but it also highlighted the importance of meaningful conversations and translating the residency's purpose to the laborers. Through this collaboration, I have formed lasting friendships and ongoing collaborations that continue to enrich my work. Moreover, I deeply appreciate the genuine support and ongoing commitment they have shown even after the residency concluded. It feels like I have become part of a larger community of art workers, artists, and their supporters, rather than simply completing a residency program to bolster my resume. This sense of belonging is truly invaluable, and I am sincerely grateful for it.