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Temacapulín: Sonidos de la resistencia (2015)
With the collaboration of Paulina Ascencio, Javier Audirac, Nelly Carrillo, Alejandro Gallo, and Israel Martínez
Since the announcement of the construction of the El Zapotillo dam in the Los Altos region of Jalisco, the inhabitants of Temacapulín have undertaken a persistent struggle to prevent their territory from becoming a contemporary Atlantis. Under the premise that dams signify development and progress, promising the relocation of the community and arguing that the cost-benefit ratio justifies the disappearance of a town labeled as a “ghost town,” the Jalisco state government has promoted a project that entails flooding the basin where Temacapulín is located. However, authorities seem to overlook the fact that, beyond the people who currently inhabit the area, the community is made up of practices and customs deeply rooted in the territory, developed through a long lineage of ancestors and generations that would be buried beneath the waters of the dam. Likewise, the planning schemes surrounding the dam ignore environmental implications and dismiss warnings regarding the archaic condition of this type of artificial infrastructure.
Temacapulín: Sounds of Resistance is an extension of a research project that artist Diego Martínez initiated in 2013, sparked by an exploration of Temacapulín’s soundscape. The geographical condition of the town—a tropical cradle surrounded by valleys and bodies of water—makes it a privileged setting for acoustic inquiry and recording, catalyzing the creation of sound pieces that function as the core of a dissertation on life in Temacapulín. Different versions of this work have been presented on various platforms in Mexico and abroad. Likewise, the research served as the backbone of Temacapulín: Project of a Flooding, a documentary exhibition presented in 2014 at Ex Teresa Arte Actual, accompanied by informational material concerning the political, technical, and protest discourses that emerged following the announcement of the El Zapotillo project in 2005. However, Martínez has expanded these investigations and redirected them toward a more human dimension, approaching the children, adults, and elders who resist being displaced from their town and severed from their roots.
In this way, the Museo del Periodismo y las Artes Gráficas hosts the results of this approach, organized into three presentation axes distributed throughout the exhibition galleries: Sounds, Realities, and Faces. The first space is “flooded” by the sounds and energy of Temacapulín through a 5.1-channel soundscape. In addition, two pairs of headphones invite visitors into an intimate and personal encounter with the community through testimonies gathered by the artist during firsthand meetings and interviews.
The second gallery, Realities, presents visual material constructing an image of the geographical space and environmental conditions of the town, accompanied by data and references that inform viewers about the obsolescence of dam models and the construction of artificial bodies of water in relation to climate change and the global ecological situation.
Finally, Faces, the third space, is an empathetic gesture inspired by the presentation of the countenances of the town’s residents. The series of life-size portraits was printed on tarpaulins—a material used throughout the struggle to circulate messages of protest and solidarity—and their installation evokes both a community gathering and the everyday movement through the streets of Temaca. In this way, the gallery becomes occupied by those “ghosts” who have resisted the pressure—and at times the temptation—to abandon the territory that establishes their identity, and who continue fighting to protect and preserve their heritage and culture.
Temacapulín: Sounds of Resistance is an archive of experiences of solidaristic participation, practices of resistance, and community collaboration. It is a search for the faces and sounds that have been covered over and silenced by interests foreign and distant from the community itself. And although “the struggle continues,” this serves as a reminder that “Temaca lives.”