Version from the artist's writings
Spanish, translated by Maguerite Feitlowitz
Vivo-Dito art is the adventure of the real, the urgent document, the direct and total contact with things, places, people, creating situations, creating the unexpected. It means showing and encountering the object in its own place. Totally in accord with cinema, reportage, and literature as a living document. Reality without touchups or artistic transformation. Today I am more interested in anyone at all recounting his life on the street or in a streetcar than in any polished, technical account by a writer. That is why I believe in painting without painters and in literature without writers. This explains why, in recent years, the visual arts have consciously found recourse in chance. It was a way of discovering the other side of reason. All our conscious thought, all our reason limits us, and we fall, very easily, into elementary and limited structures. “Always go in the direction opposite to the one you should. It’s the only way to get somewhere.” I find that stupendous.
I don’t know if I said this before, but we must go out into the street and not see it as a means of transport, as though everything were a commercial object, or a streetcar that takes us from one place to another. Every death or, better said, every corpse—directly or indirectly, of course—has its assassin. Although this is not the time to cast blame on anyone as it would be too puerile, too simple, I believe dealers have greatly contributed to the demise of painting by turning it into a domestic and commercial object. The prints traced by my shoes on the way from my house to the gallery are more important than the canvases on view there. I don’t know who said that, but I totally agree.
A work has meaning as long as it is made as a total adventure, without knowing what is going to happen. Once it’s finished, it doesn’t matter anymore, it has become a corpse. So let it rest in peace. The contemporary artist has lost his sense of eternity. The passivity of the public should also come to an end. The audience, as audience, should end. Everyone knows too much, or at least seems to, about his own life. And what more can we ask of a person if not to tell something to make his listener shudder? Let us hope that the activities of Vivo-Dito will turn things inside out so that the audience will do the talking. We must not forget that Vivo-Dito is above all the adventure of the real and of the direct contact with things. Art galleries are opaque whorehouses that have fallen into decadence next to the butcher shops, bakeries, markets, tailor shops, theaters, subways, morgues, streets, and real whorehouses.
Conversation in an elevator, looking at the stains on the wood.
—Which is better? This, or doing this?
—Bring him to see or bring them to see?
—Bring them to see.