Politics, Taboos & Censorship: Past, Present and Future foes in South American Art

By A.E Felipe Andrade

The character of South American Art and its role in society today has been profoundly and indelibly shaped by the social, political and religious context of its recent past. A past filled with taboos and violence, as well as innumerable accounts of artists, who at the hands of oppressive regimes and a myopic ruling class compelled by the Catholic Church, were opposed, vilified, and ultimately forced into exile. [2, 6]

Even though the list of artists who faced censorship and expatriation throughout the middle and second half of the 20th century is countless, certain aspects and events from the lives of two South American artists in particular, Debora Arango from Colombia and Leon Ferrari from Argentina, can be used as snapshots to capture the essence of such times. Their art, though different in medium, shared similar concerns at its core: to portray and critique the social, religious and political attitudes of an era. 

This was an era in which both artists witnessed their countries, like many other Latin American nations, become the center of a violent struggle for power. An era, that was characterized by a battle between liberals demanding social reform and conservatives who, fearing the expansion of a Soviet-backed communist ideology, saw these as a threat to their status quo. [6] Though such a struggle was not new to the continent’s history, the recent shift of powers around the globe following World War II would prompt an even greater conflict. This fight, also endorsed by the United States’ Monroe Doctrine, would spread across the continent and eventually give birth to paramilitary groups, Marxist guerrillas and a series of brutal military dictatorships for decades to come. [1, 3, 4]  

Arango and Ferrari, defiant and committed to their vision, would use these and other circumstances as their source of inspiration. Arango, as a young female artist amidst a politically conservative, deeply religious and male chauvinistic society, would early on question the prevalent social and Christian-rooted taboos of female nudity and sexuality; topics, which at the time, were only socially acceptable if discussed within the frameworks of classical art and religion. 

Her art also spoke of female abuse, gender inequality and the “plight of the ordinary woman in Colombia,” as well as the silent, but ever present anguish of the working class. She even went so far as to address  an issue that is still relevant today:  the repressed anxieties of men and women within the Catholic Church who are mandated to a vow of celibacy, as captured in her satire of a group of visually distorted nuns preying on a caged bird, more specifically a “cardinal.” [7, 8] 

These paintings and others, depicting prostitutes being harassed by men in uniform, exposed and deformed pregnant women, as well as a barely clothed displaced family sleeping on the streets, would be condemned by most. Traditional scholars labeled her works as “disgraceful,” while the majority of a morally ambiguous Colombian society of the time found it “indecent and offensive.” [6] 

Moreover, a group of self-proclaimed pious women known as La Liga de la Decencia (The League for Decency) demanded that her paintings be removed from display or publication in magazines and newspapers. The final act of censorship and social disgrace came at the hands of the same group when they formally sought her excommunication from the Catholic Church, as they deemed her art to be spreading division and confusion among the faithful. [13]

This would be the first of many attempts to censor Debora Arango socially as well as artistically. Unaffected by these events, her paintings turned more controversial as she became a prolific political critic, with the social conditions in Colombia worsening.  Her canvases filled with “juxtaposed forms” found in La Republica (The Republic), as well as “disfigured characters,” in La Masacre del 9 de Abril (The April 9th Massacre), [6] would continue to denounce corrupt politicians, administrators and clergymen who remained silent amidst the injustices.

However, it wouldn’t be too long until she would face the perils of censorship again both at home and internationally. During an exhibition of her work in Madrid in the mid 1950s, the Dictatorship of Francisco Franco removed her work without explanation. Disappointed at the level of suppression and impunity found not only in Latin America but also across the Atlantic, she would return to Colombia and continue her work in silence, away from galleries and newspapers. 

As Debora Arango’s life turned inward, Leon Ferrari’s art in the 1960s would turn to the public eye. Evolving from his original ceramic and wire sculptures praised by both critics and lay people alike, his new works were to become controversial allegories of a world in chaos. His iconographic sculpture La Civilización Cristiana Occidental (Western-Christian Civilization), inspired by the US bombings during the Vietnam War, would spark apprehension amongst devoted Catholics. The work, which depicted Jesus Christ crucified on the belly of a US jet fighter plane, was removed in 1965 prior to the opening night of his Italian exhibition at the request of the director of the Instituto Turcuato Di Tella. [11]

Although by the early 1960s, Ferrari’s calligraphic works such as Musica (Music) and Cartas a un General (Letters to a General) had already begun to express signs of frustration toward issues of social injustice at home and around the globe, [3] it was the censoring of his work in Italy that would set the tone for the rest of his career. 

Like Arango, whose earlier paintings had started to scratch the surface of a complex relationship between Christianity, the governing institutions and Latin American culture (specifically in Colombia), an uncompromising Ferrari would take it upon himself to unveil the negative consequences of their nexus. [15] His works would explore the Catholic Church’s aversion towards sexuality and its attempt to further subjugate the public by condemning the ‘sexual freedom’ professed during the1960s, in which premarital sex, masturbation, and the use of birth control were no longer considered taboos. [15] Furthermore, he would denounce the “inherent violence” found in Christian scripture, “and the dramatic impact that it has had on the psyche of western society” for the last two millennia. [11] 

It would be this quest to reveal what he saw as truth, and expose those who lied and exploited others, which turned out to be a double-edged sword in his life. In 1976, he was forced to leave Argentina for fear of retaliation at the hands of Dictator Jorge Rafael Videla. He and his family went into exile in neighboring Brazil. [11]

Despite the initial prosperity brought on by his new found artistic freedom, the cruel political reality still raging at home would take its largest toll on Ferrari’s life. In 1978, at the height of the Dirty War and Operation Condor, both official covert campaigns devised to “control active or potential opposition groups” in Argentina and other South American nations, [16] Ferrari would receive notice that his youngest son Ariel Adrian Ferrari had been murdered at the hands of the regime; an event many considered the ultimate form of censorship. 

Over a decade would pass before the Berlin Wall would fall, and along with it the threat of Communism and most of the remaining dictatorships in South America. It wasn’t long before these nations would witness the rebirth of democracy, elected governments and freedom of expression. Artists such as Debora Arango, who had continued to produce works in the shadows, would finally be accepted and gain their rightful place in history. Arango is now considered a “groundbreaker for women” in Latin American Art. [12]

Although nearly two decades have lapsed since the last account of widespread artistic oppression, artists today still continue to be censored at the hands of a small, but narrow minded section of society, which appears to be under the spell of Christian-rooted taboos. Such is the case of Ferrari’s censoring in Argentina in 2004, [9] as well as of emerging the Peruvian female artist, Cristina Planas.  Her installation La Migracion de los Santos (The Migration of the Saints), a life-size Jesus Christ surrounded by a halo of semiautomatic weapons (reminiscent of Ferrari’s iconographic work), was removed from a gallery in the outskirts of Lima, Peru in 2008. [17]

Though these episodes and others such as Venezuela’s uncertain future demonstrate that some of South America’s old political wounds and social taboos will continue to be present for decades to come, it is undeniable that their societies today experience a much greater level of freedom of expression. And thus, we’ll continue to witness great art emerging from this continent.