A Constant State of Becoming Exhibition: Interview with the Artist. Martina Zamudio.
After being part of A Constant State of Becoming exhibition, curated by Marcela Villanueva, Martina Zamudio reflects on her art in an interview with Myriam Martínez.
How would you define yourself?
As a human being who cares deeply about certain things, related to empathy. And for some reason, I chose visual art and photography to convey these feelings and values.
What inspires you?
Animals — non-humans, let’s say — are the subject that has always been close to my heart; how badly they suffer because of us, how we take advantage of them. The planet, in general — people are obviously included there.
“Integrationskurs”, part of the exhibition “A Constant State of Becoming” at Bardo, is the first time you’ve worked solely with people in your work.
Yes, I’ve always mixed humans with animals; that intersection is what interests me most. Both from an activist perspective: the people who defend animals, those who save them; and as an artist: that connection and the sense of vulnerability of beings. It’s something that touches me deeply personally. I could detect that vulnerability in the migrant human, who tries to integrate and does everything possible to achieve it, and that’s where “Integrationskurs” comes from.
“Integrationskurs“ is a digital photographic project developed during the months I attended the integration course in Berlin. I felt a certain fascination with being surrounded by people with whom, under almost no other circumstances, I would have had the chance to talk, laugh, dance, and even become friends. I deliberately romanticized my experience and my bond with my classmates, whom, not long before, I had only recognized as archetypes from the news: Ukrainians fleeing war, Afghans escaping the Taliban regime, Russians distancing themselves as much as possible from Putin, and so on. I saw myself reflected in them, yet at the same time, I felt like a spectator. I transformed these vivid sensations into the creation of these portraits and interviews, which we produced with the first timid rays of Berlin’s spring sun, in the schoolyard, during the 15-minute breaks we had every morning.
Did you imagine that starting to learn German would play such a role in your artistic development?
As a freelance photographer, you rely heavily on your contacts, here and elsewhere, so I started studying German to expand my career options—especially in the world of activism (working in communications, campaigning, etc.), where everything is in German. It’s also a matter of everyday life: at some point, it becomes tiresome to ask people to speak to you in English in a country where the primary language isn’t English. Many make the effort, but others don’t know how. With my neighbors, for example, who are older people with whom I get along very well, there was that barrier. So I felt that if I was going to truly integrate here, I needed to speak German. What emerged from it has been a pleasant surprise.
I went through several groups, and it wasn’t until the third that I found the magic. With the teachers, with my classmates, to learn and to create my work. When I joined this group, I thought: this is it.
Another aspect that differentiates it from your work to date is the use of black and white.
Yes, my work usually has color because it’s digital, but this time it was a matter of unification. I didn’t want any distractions, a bit like saying we’re all equal in the sense that we occupy the same place, we’re important. From the moment I took the photos, I imagined it like that, with the black canvas, everything.
Do you usually already know what you want to do from the start?
Yes. In the case of these portraits, I perhaps wasn’t so sure if it was going to be a photobook. I had that possibility in mind because it’s a very good format for later capturing a work, but for now I’ve only made the fanzine, which I presented at Kaffe and Kuchen, one of the events scheduled at Bardo in conjunction with the exhibition, because it seems more reasonable for reaching the public and so on.
But, in general, I’m pretty clear about what I’m going to do. Obviously, some things change when you interact, and you have to work with and even take advantage of those changes to develop the work, even if you didn’t initially think so — let it affect you, so to speak. For example, for “Salva”, I had gone to the slaughterhouses not to take photos of the animals, but of the activists — I knew how I wanted the portraits, etc. —, but when I got there, I ended up getting on the truck and taking photos of the cows too.
Both “Integrationskurs” and “A Constant State of Becoming” are born from community.
Yes, it’s been very enriching to work with all the girls; we already had a built-in trust. When we met here in Berlin, we decided to get together and create that community that you take for granted in your place of origin, and that has to be built a little more consciously abroad.
Has it always been the case in your work?
No. At first, I really liked working alone because it’s the easiest way. But over the years, things have changed. For “Salvan” — which is Guillermo’s story —, I also asked a friend to accompany me to film, because it’s not my main activity. And that’s when I think I began to feel the magic of sharing the work.
Although you define yourself as an activist, do you actively seek to make your artwork political, or is it something that arises naturally from being inspired by these themes?
I think it’s consciously political, although there’s always a kind of separation from the emotion of the activist within me. From within, it’s not so easy to do things, even on a practical level: if you go to a march to take photos, you have to step back a bit and see what’s happening. I also do that action on a personal level. In my Salvan project, for example, I had to distance myself from the pain caused by going to the gates of slaughterhouses in order to take photos.
So my work is political because I’m there, aware that I’m portraying something important, because of the power that message has in society. And at the same time, there’s the artistic act of wanting to tell that story in a certain way, in my case, through photography. And, over time, my way of telling things has become more refined. At first, it was a little more literal; now I think it’s more symbolic.
What are you looking to explore in the future?
Although I think my work will continue to be about the same themes, I want to explore other media: get more involved with audiovisual, for example. I love filming and editing; it’s a lot of work, but I’d like to continue recording stories, making these 10- to 5-minute mini-clips about people who save animals. I’d love to see the video I made for Guille on a festival circuit or something, whatever. But I haven’t been able to present it yet. I’d also like to present Integrationskurs in a larger venue and see how to integrate it into the space, with more photos, more text, and, if possible, give myself the luxury of making it a photobook that expands the fanzine.
Ultimately, I want to continue telling stories that inspire people with the feeling that they can help and make a difference while continuing with their lives. You don’t have to become Mother Teresa of Calcutta.
Myriam Martínez
