Cultist: When did you start this project?
Catalina Jaramaillo: I (began) building an installation where I obsessively organize all the objects that were left when my mom died last year.
You worked on some art projects with your mom before she passed away?
Yeah, and it was a difficult thing, you know, because there's always this lining between darkness and light. Part of me wanted to just celebrate, and really, really dig into the idea of praising them, like having extensive gratitude toward your parents regardless of your relationship with them. But then there's also this pull to make it a dark installation. The making of these pieces, I really believe that art has these mythological powers to affect your real life. It becomes this piece that really works you. The piece decides what to do with all the shit that comes up. You changing them, the process of dealing with something that hurts a lot is simply the leftover, the afterthought...
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Your work is very personal. Do you ever make work that is impersonal, or does everything involve this really personal, emotional element?
Yeah, I've done it. Painting definitely does that to me. I try to, and there's an explanation that ties me to the painting, so that aside from the paint I have this dialogue but it's always very positive, almost like a conversation with someone that is not there. You're just rendering this conversation with someone, but it's never like, stomach ache, waking up completely like troubled, like everything needs to be perfect, make sense, like dealing with all these things.
That's what I was telling (someone) today, by Monday, I'm going to be making charcoal drawings of dolphins. This is really, really rough.
(Laughs) This about you and your relationship to your mother's death?
Yes, but also the relationship of everyone to objects themselves and to the everyday life. I really want to see the take on someone who has no idea about her, and see how these objects start up conversation. It's not a piece where I want you to walk out thinking that you met her and now all of a sudden her death also affects you. I'm interested in you saying, "Oh, I totally use that perfume!" or, "Oh, Weird!" or "Ew." Or, "Nail polish looks so gross when it's old."
I think that whenever I've experienced something really shocking, I know that one of the best ways for me to understand it, and be transformed by it, is to deal with it by making work. So, when she died, I wasn't interested in dealing with the missing her or the torture or appearance of these things, but I knew that I wanted to explore this decade-long story and how it was going to change me. I know that I develop really obsessive tendencies when I'm troubled, so I knew it would definitely be um... I wanted to find a relationship between objects and things, like understanding her.
When someone passes away you understand them in a different light and you see all these things and mistakes and successes, and the relationship to you and the way they affected you in such a clear way that I wanted to explore that and see if it's true that she wasn't there anymore. If these things are charged with her, what is an object that is definitely dominating part where you create another object. There's enough trash everywhere. I'd rather play and rearrange things that are already there and use them as vehicles than anything else. I definitely would love to have been born a shaman or something. For a shaman every single piece of crap, every single thread they have in their pocket, everything has a purpose and a meaning and I wanted to find out if that was true, I think.
You Are Always Here (Distance Has No Way of Making Love Understandable) will open on March 12 from 7 to 10 p.m. and closes April 23 at Dimensions Variable (171 NE 38th Street, Miami).