Juan Uslé

The past is a mirror that shows us reflections of what we used to be. It’s not always easy to hold its gaze. Juan Uslé (Santander, 1954) has gone through this brave exercise for the retrospective exhibition the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía dedicates to him under the title That Ship on the Mountain—until the 20^th of April—. The result is a journey that begins with a key moment within his imagery, the shipwreck of the “Elorrio” steamship against the cliffs of Langre at the end of the 1960s, to cover the career spanning more than 40 years of one of the great Spanish contemporary artists and winner of the National Plastic Arts Award in 2002. He assures us that, “in the end, I accept what is done and appreciate even more what is suggested, the possibility that the journey contains multiple echoes.” An artistic exodus intricately connected to ARCO—from the 4^th to the 8^th of March, sponsored by Iberia—since its first edition, as he reminisces in this conversation. From a humble background, it seemed very unlikely that Juan would dedicate is life to art, but he managed it and has an inspiring story to tell. “For most young people, painting was a path full of uncertainty, especially for those of us who did not come from a wealthy background or who were not traditionally connected to culture. Mine was a passion full of courage, it was practically inevitable,” he admits.

Tell me how you felt when you walked through the retrospective exhibition at the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía. Something close to satisfaction?
This exhibition is a summary of a lengthy conversation, of a give and take between the curator Ángel Calvo Ulloa and me. A conversation that forced me to stir up the past. When you do that, you sometimes suffer, though you also have pleasant encounters. It is not easy to look back, more so when the purpose is to reveal thought and emotional processes, but it is in that journey that you learn how to value and respect other opinions and also accept that even disasters are necessary steps to strike out in new directions. Walking through the rooms, I felt many feelings… More than satisfaction, I would say acceptance and strength, the desire to hungrily carry on.

How much of that boy who closely experienced the Elorrio shipwreck is left in Juan Uslé today?
That boy is the seed and the entrails; the eye is the brains. I do not forget about that boy because if I did, it would break the natural progression of my work. In the mid-1980s, I decided to focus on themes connected to my childhood. I needed to recover the foundations of that child-like gaze. An artist observes and meditates, questions and builds arguments because he spends many hours in the studio. I needed to look for my quirks. To achieve this, I had to move away from the academic train that represented the spirit of those times. I needed to delve deep and find myself alone with my seed, my inner landscapes and my shadows, those I grew up with.

“I needed to turn inwards and see more of myself in my paintings. Doubt and fear are necessary; facing a blank canvas is no joke”

Your work is more autobiographical than it seems at first glance?
I cannot be a fair judge of my work, but I hope so. At the turn of the 1980s, I went from painting with a lot of light to doing darker paintings through the lens of my own experiences. I felt that I had to walk those paths alone. I needed to turn inwards and see more of myself in my paintings. Doubt and fear are necessary; facing a blank canvas is no joke. Painting is going from the vision, the idea, to the body, skin, matter... Each piece has its own DNA, and you have to find it. I don’t identify with those workshops where 15 or 20 people fill the canvases of a renowned artist following their guidelines. It is beautiful to recognize yourself in what you make, even if the piece is not formally perfect.

This exhibition starts with the Elorrio shipwreck and its impact on young Juan Uslé. © Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía

New York, where you moved to in the mid-1980s, was key in your career. As well as your Cantabrian roots. How would you explain your relationship with those places?
You are what you are and what you succeed in building, you are a desire to learn and surpass yourself. My surroundings have always nourished me, I easily find meaning and beauty around me. Perhaps I have kept that innocent gaze, that child-like wonder. I enjoy diving into the image, thinking about its manner, its meaning, its reasoning. I first visited New York in 1985, and we moved there in 1987. I felt the city’s energy as something hypnotizing and overwhelming. Similar to what I had felt in Valencia, where I studied Fine Arts. I felt freer and full of a new adventurous spirit, fed by my desire to learn and have new experiences.

For a while, you have split your time between a small Cantabrian village (Saro) and one of the largest cities in the world (New York). How are these two such antagonistic environments combined and translated into your painting?
I don’t consider them opposites, more complementary. Both enrich me. Nevertheless, often when I am at one studio I think about the other; fortunately, I can continue dreaming from both of them. An artist’s work is the result of many things, and the context of one’s life undoubtedly has an impact. Now we travel around the world in a way that was unimaginable decades ago, and our life experiences have multiplied. This is precisely why I hang onto painting because it was always my secret desire, my almost impossible playmate in childhood and, when I had the chance to practice it and dedicate my life to it, I did so without hesitation.

“I defend a slow pace, permanence, contemplation and reflection. I try to spend most of my time at the studio, I need it”

In a fast-paced world, you defend the slowness of the painting process. Is that also the best way to approach your work?
Undoubtedly. Pieces need to mature slowly, to make themselves so that you are simply a tool, an unhurried, secondary part of the conversation. I defend a slow pace, permanence, contemplation and reflection. I try to spend most of my time at the studio, I need it. That is where ideas, thoughts, anxieties, new doors to new projects always come to me. Feeling pressure is inevitable—deadlines exist—but, through slow practice, you can also get things done. As a spectator, I try to be free from expectations and time constraints. The less informative baggage I carry, the more I usually enjoy myself in front of art and through art.

At the back, ‘The Little Human Element,’ one of Juan Uslé’s most characteristic pieces. © Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía

You usually mention luck as one of the keys to your career? Before talent?
Talent is essential, of course, but attitude, desire and luck also play an important role, and we typically forget about them. I usually mention luck because, in some cases (including myself), without it, without being in the right place at the right time, perhaps I would not have had the chance to develop my potential. Each person’s background matters and not everyone perceives qualities that are worth supporting in a young person.

You have always had a close relationship with ARCO. What do you think of the role it has played promoting and sharing contemporary art in Spain?
For the world of Spanish contemporary art, ARCO is a role model. I took part in the first edition, in 1982, with the then new Galería Montenegro. I was excited for Manolo Montenegro to invite me to showcase a large painting at his stand alongside an iconic piece by Maruja Mallo, who also has a retrospective exhibition at the Reina Sofía now. What a coincidence! ARCO was a window in the wall of a bustling Spain that was still the heir to the grey times of Francoism. Juana de Aizpuru had a great idea and gave many people the chance to come close to new art forms. Through that window, the idea of seeing was combined with showing what was cooking in the Spanish art world. Over the years, ARCO established itself and turned into what it is today: an unmissable event.

On more than one occasion, you have declared that painting is travel, a voyage, an expedition. Do you still have artistic journeys to take?
For me, painting has been a choice, an adventure and a commitment. At the beginning, you needed a lot of passion to dedicate yourself to an endeavour so far removed from practicality, future and security. Hope has always been by my side and has helped me understand many things about life, society and myself. I live in the studio, whether in New York or Saro, and when I travel it also comes with me: I always have a box of watercolours in my pocket. I’m always awake, surprising myself with my own steps and the possibilities of the paintbrush in contact with a blank space, no matter how small. Painting is a journey because during the process of forming an idea, many things can happen: pleasant surprises or great storms.