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Miguel Ángel Campano: 'El Naufragio' [The Shipwreck, 1984] (detail) 

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  4. L.Q.N.H. By Rogelio López Cuenca and Elo Vega

L.Q.N.H. By Rogelio López Cuenca and Elo Vega

Through a selection of works from the Banco de España Collection, this itinerary shows some of the inflections in the way women are made to appear –or disappear– in art, underscoring their innate association with the depiction of the "Other", defined by a crossover that is run through with vectors of gender, but also of race and class.

In May 1871, Arthur Rimbaud wrote two letters. They are both feverish and visionary; indeed, they have come to be known as the Lettres du Voyant (The Letters of the Seer). In one, he imagines the 'strange, unfathomable, repulsive, delicious' things that will be revealed to woman when 'she too is a poet', that is, when her 'infinite servitude' is broken, when 'man, hitherto abominable, has given her back what belongs to her'.

Rimbaud was writing in revolutionary times. The year of the Commune. However, this 'restitution' did not happen. It has not happened in the abbreviated way so beloved of History, with a bang, with an all-transforming explosion that changes everything utterly from one day to the next. The reinstatement of 'what belongs to women' is being faced with strong resistance and it is playing out slowly, in a process plagued with interruptions and setbacks.

We can try to trace this process using this splendid collection as our vehicle. There are some very pertinent examples among these artworks of different inflections in the way women are shown (or not shown) and under what conditions —as the theme (the object) or as the subject (the artist).

One might start by looking at the dates when the bank first started acquiring works by women, and the extent to which they differ from or challenge the hegemonic norms.

This will involve talking about that which is absent, that which has not been present until very recently. It will mean addressing those gaps, holes and empty spaces, the intervals between the milestones, between the heroes and their feats.

Heroes and feats... we might almost be talking about monuments.

Official art and public monuments share the common purpose of sacralising and ennobling the themes or characters they depict. The aspiration is to transcend time, to be passed down to posterity. And that intent is very characteristic of the nineteenth century, the epoch to which much of the bank's portrait gallery belongs.

Yet no matter how much they might seek imperishability, they can never help being conditioned by the aesthetic trends of the day; they must inescapably abide by contemporary norms and tastes.

And we too are bound by the cultural context of our time. Indeed, that is precisely what enables us to essay an interpretation of these works against the nap —to employ Walter Benjamin's metaphor— to try to interpret their meaning from what is omitted, rather than what is explicitly mentioned; to explore what is depicted, what is seen, as a kind of (deliberate or involuntary) means of concealment or exclusion.

The absent Other, the Others, the cultural Other; they are all defined by a crossover intersected by vectors of gender, but also of race and class. In the historical section of the collection, the only real women (please excuse the pun[1]), aside from the allegories and the mythological characters, are the queens.

As for the paucity of female artists in the historical collection, one need only read Linda Nochlin's seminal essay 'Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?' to understand the reason. Women were kept firmly at bay, 'on the sidelines’, by a dense network of obstacles that excluded them from the drastically homosocial spheres of academia and the circles in which official commissions were decided upon.

And we need hardly mention the insurmountable difficulties they faced in reconciling their careers with the social mandates of marriage, motherhood and family care.

A perfect illustration can be found in the oldest work in the collection signed by a woman. Acquired in 1981, the beautiful Notebook of Birds for Prince Balthasar Charles by Marie Eugenie de Beer, dates from around 1637. De Beer worked in the family studio under the tutelage of her father. After marrying, however, she appears to have abandoned her artistic career. Indeed, she produced very little work.

Or, at least, she signed very little. To paraphrase Virginia Woolf, the oldest female artist in this collection was most likely Anon.

It was not until the 1980s that the collection first began to incorporate works by women artists on a regular basis, and the numbers increased significantly over the following decades.

It is interesting to note that there are many female artists whose work does not include images of women. With very few exceptions, they neither paint, sculpt, nor photograph them... At most, there are only fragmentary female images. It is as if there were, if not always a clear awareness, then at least some intuition or suspicion of the artificial and self-serving nature of such images, that illustrate the category 'woman' as an instrument of domination.

One gets the impression that they sought to avoid representations that they found strange or alien, with their inevitable cultural and ideological charge. Instead, they drew their own outline, their profile, their edges, to somehow underscore that they had been 'emptied'; they preferred to work on what stood outside, in the shadows, in the traces, in the absences.

True, such an approach is not exclusive to women artists. Nor is it a common feature of all of them, for clearly, there is no unique 'woman's gaze'. Nonetheless, one does find a certain desire to avoid being explicit or direct... to dodge the traditional dichotomies and predictable antagonisms associated with binary heteropatriarchal logic. The purpose is to produce a new iconography: to express those revelations of the female poet hailed by Rimbaud.

Rogelio López Cuenca and Elo Vega, artists

[1] Translator’s Note: In Spanish the words for royal and real are identical.

MORE INFORMATION

  • L.Q.N.H. By Rogelio López Cuenca and Elo Vega
Notebook of Birds for Prince Balthasar Charles. MARÍA EUGENIA DE BEER
José Ramón Álvarez-Rendueles. Isabel Quintanilla
José Moñino y Redondo, First Count of Floridablanca. FRANCISCO DE GOYA Y LUCIENTES
Luis María Linde. CARMEN LAFFÓN
Untitled (from the 'Contemporaneous' series). ALICIA MARTÍN
Contract. SARA RAMO
Cup. EVA LOOTZ
Maria Christina of Austria with the infant Alfonso XIII of Spain. MANUEL YUS Y COLÁS
Madonna of the Lily. CORNELIUS VAN CLEVE
The Land. JOAQUIM SUNYER
The Sea. DANIEL VÁZQUEZ DÍAZ
A Feminine Touch (Serviette, Silicon and Cotton Bud). ANA PRADA
Monument to Echegaray. LORENZO COULLAUT VALERA
America or Cuba. JOSÉ MARÍA SERT
The Ngombo. MARIA LOBODA
Andalusian Dance with Bower. JOSÉ VILLEGAS Y CORDERO
Invasion Succession 20. MONTERRAT SOTO
God of Fruit. GABRIEL MORCILLO
To Seduce. HELENA ALMEIDA

Cuaderno de aves para el príncipe Baltasar Carlos [Notebook of Birds for Prince Balthasar Charles]

María Eugenia de Beer

De Beer worked in the family studio under the tutelage of her father. After marrying, she gave up her artistic career. She produced very little work. Or, at least, she signed very little. To paraphrase Virginia Woolf, the oldest female artist in this collection was most likely Anon.

José Ramón Álvarez-Rendueles

Isabel Quintanilla

The collection only regularly began to include works by women artists in the 1980s. Over subsequent decades, the numbers increased. In 1985, for the first time the bank commissioned a portrait of a bank governor from a female artist. The painter was Isabel Quintanilla, and her sitter was José Ramón Álvarez-Rendueles.

José Moñino y Redondo, I conde de Floridablanca [José Moñino y Redondo, I Count of Floridablanca]

Francisco de Goya y Lucientes

Needless to say, the bank's gallery of portraits of governors, directors and other leading figures associated with the institution is made up entirely of men. In all, there are around eighty portraits. Between the oldest, of the Count of Floridablanca, and the most recent, of Luis María Linde, 237 years have passed. Both men are depicted facing the viewer.

Retrato de Luis María Linde [Portrait of Luis María Linde]

Carmen Laffón

Needless to say, the bank's gallery of portraits of governors, directors and other leading figures associated with the institution is made up entirely of men. In all, there are around eighty portraits. Between the oldest, of the Count of Floridablanca, and the most recent, of Luis María Linde, 237 years have passed. Both men are depicted facing the viewer.

Sin título (de la serie Contemporáneos) [Untitled (from the Contemporaneous series)]

Alicia Martín

Books are normally depicted as a kind of attribute denoting prestige or authority. In Alicia Martín's work, however, they are shown at the precise instant when they about to come tumbling down, symbolising the collapse of the edifice of pretentious certainties of Eurocentric modernity.

Contrato [Contract]

Sara Ramo

Ramo's strips of paper are almost reminiscent of what happens when you give a child an old —and thus useless— newspaper to play with. It is a metaphor too for the obsolescence of Western modernity's priorities and hierarchies.

Copa [Cup]

Eva Lootz

Eva Lootz's work could scarcely be more European. In it, there is not the slightest hint of exoticism. What does mark her work out, however, is the way in which it breaches the bounds of the exclusive rationality that is so characteristic of Western thought. Her entire oeuvre is a vindication of materiality, of the corporeal dimension of signs.

María Cristina de Habsburgo-Lorena con Alfonso XIII [Maria Christina of Austria with Alfonso XIII of Spain]

Manuel Yus y Colas

Among all the portraits of queens, it is perhaps the one of Maria Christina of Austria with the infant Alfonso XIII that best illustrates the role of the female body within the social machinery of the patriarchy, as an intermediate font for reproducing legitimacy.

Virgen del lirio [Madonna of the Lily]

Cornelis van Cleve

Like every other depiction of the 'Madonna with Child', that symbol of joyous submission to a higher mandate, this painting is a defence of patient acceptance of sacrifice, the self-denial of the wife and mother for the sake of the true protagonists (who are usually male).

La tierra [The Land]

Joaquim Sunyer

Somewhere midway between the Franco regime's policies of self-sufficiency and economic development, these paintings constitute a crystal-clear lesson on the idealisation of motherhood as a strategy of alienation. They also champion the sexual division of labour— one recognised and remunerated, the other devalued to the point of being made invisible. Women's work in reproduction and care was naturalised as 'sus labores' [her tasks] 'labores propias de su sexo' [tasks befitting her sex].

El mar [The Sea]

Daniel Vázquez Díaz

Somewhere midway between the Franco regime's policies of self-sufficiency and economic development, these paintings constitute a crystal-clear lesson on the idealisation of motherhood as a strategy of alienation. They also champion the sexual division of labour— one recognised and remunerated, the other devalued to the point of being made invisible. Women's work in reproduction and care was naturalised as 'sus labores' [her tasks] 'labores propias de su sexo' [tasks befitting her sex].

Un toque femenino (servilleta, silicona y palito de algodón) [A Feminine Touch (Serviette, Silicon and Cotton Bud)]

Ana Prada

Ana Prada's work might also seem to be an allusion these 'tasks befitting her sex': The very title, 'A Feminine Touch', takes an ironic sideswipe at the patriarchal myths of the 'eternal feminine' or the 'angel of the home'.

Monumento a Echegaray [Monument to Echegaray]

Lorenzo Coullaut Valera

Public monuments suddenly began to sprout a proliferation of compliant nymphs just at a time when women were gradually being accepted into the public sphere and the world of employment and academia. It was time of radical transformation in women's fashion and the emergence of the first feminist organisations.

Conjunto para el salón de baile del príncipe Alexis Mdivani [Ensemble for Prince Alexis Mdivani's ballroom]

Josep María Sert i Badía

The abolition of slavery in Cuba was a long process, lasting from the 1870s to the 1890s. Throughout this time, any attempt at social advancement by the newly freed black slaves was systematically met with ridicule and caricatures of their aspirations to emulate their former masters.

The Ngombo (Serie) [The Ngombo (Series)]

Maria Loboda

There is a poem by Alfonsina Storni (she calls it an antisonnet) which begins with the typical chaotic list —'amidst handkerchiefs, letters / dry flowers, squeeze tubes, banknotes, lottery tickets and nougat'— before ending, in an unexpected twist, with the line 'was my handbag with its bomb inside'.

Baile andaluz con emparrado [Andalusian Dance with Bower]

José Villegas y Cordero

Modernisation, 'progress' and all its consequences led to an unprecedented interest in folk and regional culture. This newfound keenness for tradition and its idealisation —or even invention— arose precisely at a time when the selfsame process of modernisation was irredeemably dooming such cultures to extinction.

Invasión Sucesión 20 [Invasion Succession 20]

Montserrat Soto

The muted marks of the process of extracting capital from historically excluded groups. A distant neatness in itself evokes the invisibilisation of plunder, the systematic sacrifice on the altar of progress of the flesh and blood of lives deemed expendable and disposable, alongside other 'natural resources'.

Dios de la fruta [God of Fruit]

Gabriel Morcillo Raya

In this painting, the artist plays with transgression and transvestism. Nonetheless, he cannot hide the hierarchy, the mechanics of domination, the fact that there is one individual who is entitled to utilise the other, to instrumentalise his or her image — whether it be Franco with his Moorish Guard, General Valera garbed in his djellaba or Morcillo with his soft porn.

Seduzir [To Seduce]

Helena Almeida

As in all of Almeida's later work, the principal, and practically exclusive, protagonist of this disturbing photograph is the fragmented image of the artist's own body. Not only is it a field of work and research; it is as an active subject, lying somewhere at the antipodes of the conventional portrait.

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