I see the remains of a large sea airliner in a swamp that approaches and distances itself, suddenly drawing nauseating circles where mosquitos merge together like a cloud. This is a Latecoere 32. The cabin is left untouched. I enter. I sit on a chair, made of wicker tree, next to a small portable table. The inside is covered with a layer of plants that has covered the walls and that suspends from the ceiling. They are pleasantly suspended in a way reminiscent of the lignum vitae flowers, intensely and brightly yellow. The pieces that could be functional have been removed long ago. Inside is a calm and lukewarm atmosphere that invites the person to rest. From one of the windows that became functionless long back a bird of copper color with an orange stain on its beak and a bright chest; it lands on the back of the chair three rows in front of me and stares at me with tiny eyes reflecting the copper red. It starts singing with a high-pitched voice and my presence makes it lower the pitch as if I’m not letting it stop a vehement sentence. As I wait for a space to exist, it escapes from a gap in the roof and the herbal air inside resonates with the echoes of its song; I feel the demolishing of all the evils of somebody who enters the forbidden zone.
The hangar was an aluminum structure with wide glass windows on the sides and the front; it had a large dome made again of glass—opaque glass to enable light to seep into the building—with a series of long, sheltered porches underneath. I remember having seen similar structures not near the Constanz Lake, on the shores of the North Sea or the Baltic shores, but rather at the Louisiana and British Colombia shores, at which sheets of wood were embarked and disembarked to be shipped off to the remote parts of the world. Xurando shores on the outskirts of the forest become even more conspicuous with the existence of such an extraordinary building and with its perfect preservation. Each centimeter of the metal and glass parts shine, as if the construction was over only a few hours ago. A loud tumbling noise reveals that the turbine has started to work. The whole building is lit up with a light that resembles neon, but that is much brighter and that reaches a much wider area. But it could not really reflect on the environment, that’s why we couldn’t see it before. Such a thing existing in the middle of the Ecuadorian night, the feeling of surrealistic and an unbearable night terror kept me from sleeping and I had fragmented nightmares that left me sweaty and breathless. I felt that I could never talk about what had happened in this strange building. My body was enveloped in deep discomfort and I’m now keeping myself busy by writing in this diary so that I don’t keep looking at this part aluminum part glass gothic wonder that is wavering in the deep roar of the electric studio, lit with a morgue’s lighting. The captain, the commander and other people that I now understand why the captain, the major and other people I’ve talked to about this buzz saw studios remained reluctant and unclear when I insisted on finding out the truth. It was pointless to insist. It’s impossible reveal the reality. “You’ll see everything. ” This was the last sentence that everybody said, as they avoided giving any details. They were right.
Alvaro Mutis: The Adventures and misadventures of Maqroll
Rodeo is very happy to present AEOLIAN, the second solo exhibition of Emre Hüner. Conceived in conjunction with a parallel exhibition at Nesrin Esirtgen’s space*, the two while being independent from one another function as an enlarged universe of a body of work that Hüner has been building in the past few years.
In a journey following his trip in the Amazon in quest of a fallen Ford factory town, aka Fordlandia, he was invited to Shangri-La, the villa of Doris Duke to spend some time in Hawaii. The work in this exhibition derives from this trip in exotica seduced by the story of another American industrialist, whose presence there has had a significant impact, volcanoes, waves and architecture in decomposition.
In his travels, he collects images, visits geological sites and while fascinated by natural formations it is upon return that everything takes shape. His ceramic formations feel like in constant flux and not at all as solid monumental objects; they become a constellation of memories and inspirations in abstraction; references that he carries within him in an endless archive that does not need to be listed. The different textures, colors and shapes could signify different sources, a very personal classification of origin, a free process that binds the elements together and creates a symphony of differences like one only finds in nature; an archaeology comprised of technological, zoological as well as geological fragments.
The proposed model of the villa from the late ‘20s was carried back and broken and Emre shot in 16mm along with other ceramic elements, all abstracted and floating in a blue background. The idea of a model is crucial since it returns again and again; there are successful ones but also ones that stayed unrealized. A big sculpture dominates the entry space of the gallery, possibly model of an aircraft’s part siting atop a grey base structured by square tiles, a base that could be referring to postmodern architecture, interior modernist design or the preciousness of a swimming pool in a tropical forest.