El primer estudio de artista que he visitado se parece
más a una almoneda. Allí se amontonan tableros de ajedrez, muñecos, piezas de
cubertería, alambre de espino y un sinfín de objetos de dudosa utilidad. Sobre
una mesa hay unos libros, y al abrirlos uno recuerda por qué está allí: es el
estudio de Chema Madoz (Madrid, 1958). En la amplia sala, hay una esquina que
se libra del cúmulo de objetos; solamente hay una cámara sobre un trípode, pues
es allí donde el fotógrafo compone muchas de sus inconfundibles obras. De
pronto, entre las estanterías empiezo a reconocer algunas de ellas. A veces están
a medias, como esas castañuelas en las que absurdamente echo en falta una perla.
Chema Madoz cumple uno de los preceptos que a mí más me importan en el arte: hacer que el espectador mire de cerca. Una fotografía suya no se puede mirar de pasada, como tampoco muchos de los objetos que pululan por las mesas y estantes de su estudio: me da por asomarme a una inocente taza de café y me encuentro en su interior con un desagüe. El mejor arte es aquel que de una manera más o menos explícita nos revela que la realidad no es unívoca. Acaso el mejor ejemplo sea esa fotografía en la que aparece una pieza de ajedrez mitad negra, mitad blanca.
Chema Madoz cumple uno de los preceptos que a mí más me importan en el arte: hacer que el espectador mire de cerca. Una fotografía suya no se puede mirar de pasada, como tampoco muchos de los objetos que pululan por las mesas y estantes de su estudio: me da por asomarme a una inocente taza de café y me encuentro en su interior con un desagüe. El mejor arte es aquel que de una manera más o menos explícita nos revela que la realidad no es unívoca. Acaso el mejor ejemplo sea esa fotografía en la que aparece una pieza de ajedrez mitad negra, mitad blanca.
Aunque llegamos
a última hora, a Chema Madoz aún le quedaban ganas de contarnos cosas sobre su actividad.
Al contemplar el variopinto catálogo de objetos que habitan su estudio, le pregunto
si suele comprarlos con una fotografía en mente o si son los propios objetos
los que le dan las ideas. Me contesta que eso es cuestión de azar; hay veces que
tiene una idea y sabe lo que tiene que buscar y otras en que se los lleva
porque intuye que pueden dar pie a una fotografía. Imagino que no pocos objetos
que descansan sobre las repisas están esperando su momento para convertirse en
obras de arte.
Aunque las
fotografías de Chema Madoz son sobre todo poemas visuales, trucos que juegan
con nuestros prejuicios, en su estudio uno cae en la cuenta de que detrás de
ello hay un trabajo manual. Hay un Madoz fotógrafo, pero también un Madoz
artesano y escultor: dar forma a sus extravagantes sujetos es tan importante
como el disparo final. Este es un fotógrafo que no crea en la calle, sino en
este bazar que él llama taller.
La visita
al estudio de Chema Madoz fue posible gracias a la iniciativa Open Studio, mediante la cual sesenta y
ocho artistas abrieron las puertas de sus estudios entre el 4 y 7 de octubre.
Artist's bazaar
The first
artist’s studio I’ve visited looks more like a junk shop. One can find chessboards,
toys, cutlery, barbed wire and all sorts of doubtfully useful objects. On a
table there are a series of books, and when one opens them they remember why
they’re here: this is the studio of Chema Madoz (Madrid, 1958). In this large
room there is one corner free of this heap of objects; there is only a camera
on a tripod, since this is where the photographer creates many of his unmistakable
works. Amongst the shelves, I begin to recognise some of them. Some are only
half there, like those castanets that miss a pearl they should apparently
conceal.
Chema Madoz is a genuine master when it comes to one of the things that most matters to me in art: making the sleepy spectator take a closer look. One cannot just lazily pass by one of his photographs, neither can he take for granted many of the objects that lie on the tables and shelves of his studio: I casually look into a teacup and find a drain inside it. The best art is the one that, more or less explicitly, reveals to us that reality has more than just one possible meaning. Perhaps the best example is the photograph that portrays a half-white, half-black chess piece.
Although we arrived at the end of the day, Chema Madoz was still willing to tell us things about his work. After having had a look around his studio and all the miscellaneous objects in it, I ask him if he buys them with a photo in mind or whether the objects themselves give him the ideas. He answers that it’s a question of chance; sometimes he has an idea and knows what to look for, others he buys something because he senses that, sooner or later, it will become a photo. I imagine there are many objects on the shelves that are waiting for their moment to become works of art.
Although Chema Madoz’s photos are visual poems, mental tricks that play with our prejudices, in the studio one becomes aware of the manual work behind them. Madoz is a photographer, but also an artisan and a sculptor: giving form to his extravagant subjects is just as important as pressing the trigger. Here’s a photographer that creates not in the street, but in this bazaar he calls studio.
Chema Madoz is a genuine master when it comes to one of the things that most matters to me in art: making the sleepy spectator take a closer look. One cannot just lazily pass by one of his photographs, neither can he take for granted many of the objects that lie on the tables and shelves of his studio: I casually look into a teacup and find a drain inside it. The best art is the one that, more or less explicitly, reveals to us that reality has more than just one possible meaning. Perhaps the best example is the photograph that portrays a half-white, half-black chess piece.
Although we arrived at the end of the day, Chema Madoz was still willing to tell us things about his work. After having had a look around his studio and all the miscellaneous objects in it, I ask him if he buys them with a photo in mind or whether the objects themselves give him the ideas. He answers that it’s a question of chance; sometimes he has an idea and knows what to look for, others he buys something because he senses that, sooner or later, it will become a photo. I imagine there are many objects on the shelves that are waiting for their moment to become works of art.
Although Chema Madoz’s photos are visual poems, mental tricks that play with our prejudices, in the studio one becomes aware of the manual work behind them. Madoz is a photographer, but also an artisan and a sculptor: giving form to his extravagant subjects is just as important as pressing the trigger. Here’s a photographer that creates not in the street, but in this bazaar he calls studio.
The visit to the studio of Chema Madoz was possible
thanks to Open Studio, an initiative
through which sixty eight artists opened their studios to the public between 4th
and 7th October.
