An artist amidst the ruins: Rodrigo Echeverri's devastating exhibition at LGM

Rodrigo Echeverri has something of a Renaissance artist about him: he has long, curly hair and a beard trimmed with scissors. His WhatsApp profile picture features the light from Leonardo da Vinci's Salvador Mundi.

And his exhibition at the LGM Gallery in Bogotá (20C-73 73rd Street) also has something of the Renaissance spirit: like Michelangelo, Raphael, and company, Rodrigo has taken it upon himself to exalt the ruins, only his eyes were not focused on the Greek and Roman rubble, but on the floors of the houses of Teusaquillo and the granite and bronze drawings in the lobbies of old movie theaters, where workers and foremen created stars and impossible geometric designs. Echeverri is part of a generation of brilliant artists, and shared hours in the cafeteria and workshop with Sair García, María Isabel Rueda, Luis Hernández Mellizo, and Miler Lagos at the National University.

Echeverri's work, in some way, has always been linked to architecture; his first stroke of authority was a set of object-paintings that devoured walls with their blood-red color. Today, everyone who sees them associates them with bricks, but he conceived of them as small coffins of a country at war. Each of his new works is impossible to define: sculptures? Paintings? His artistic proposal of object-painting reached its greatest drama in his own apartment: he installed one of these granite drawings on the floor. At LGM, he presents an impressive installation made with granite columns that invoke a lost architectural world, but also seemingly immutable ideas, such as the blind faith in progress, which, he believes, have collapsed like dominoes. This is his self-portrait.

What were the first ruins you saw in your life?

I don't know if I can call them ruins, but I remember the national railway tracks as a child. Thinking about a country without a railway system is absurd. But the first ancient ruins I saw were those in the San Agustín Archaeological Park.

What was your meeting point with architecture?

My pictorial work has always maintained a close connection with architecture. In this exhibition, several people told me they recalled places steeped in nostalgia: familiar spaces where the floors were made of granite. This material was frequently used during the last century, especially in middle- and working-class neighborhoods in traditional neighborhoods of cities like Bogotá, Cali, Medellín, and Barranquilla. In the main installation, "Nacer ruina," there are 28 fragments that evoke columns, as if they had belonged to a temple or a building that housed political power. I am particularly interested in that moment when the column speaks of power, of the institutional, of the idea of ​​the West as a collapsing construction.

Which living or dead artist would you commission to paint your portrait?

What is your masterpiece so far?

It's a very difficult question, but if I have to choose one, I would perhaps choose the one that started this series in granite, which I made directly on the floor of my apartment, because it encompasses more than 20 years of my career and obsessions.

Do you remember who bought your first work?

I don't remember exactly, but it could have been Alejandro Castaño, Carlos Hurtado or Juan Pablo Navas.

What was the first work of art you ever saw?

Most likely, some painting by my Aunt Elizabeth.

How many years have you been in the career?

I graduated in 2003, but I think my career began the moment I stepped into the Faculty of Arts at the National University, in 1996.

What criticism has bothered you the most?

At one point, a gallery owner questioned the fact that I'd been painting my Black Boxes series for a long time. I think only artists should define how many years we've dedicated to a given project. From the outside, it may seem easy to find a creative vein, but a good idea is not only very difficult to find, but that idea isn't born complete; it's a construction that comes from persisting with it. It bothered me because this person had no idea at what stage that idea was at—as they say: cobbler to your last.

And the one that has made you the happiest?

A collector once told me that he often sat in front of one of my works when he came home and observed it, almost as if meditating. Knowing that someone takes the time to decant an image to bring it to an almost spiritual state is very gratifying.

How tidy is your workshop?

For you, who is the most important living artist in the world?

In general, I find artist rankings odious. I don't like being labeled as high-performance athletes. In disciplines like sports, it's possible to establish a ranking: some run faster than others, jump higher, or score more goals. But the same isn't true in art. Each artist tackles such diverse themes and manages to strike such a chord with the viewer that claiming this or that artist is "more important" or "better" lacks any basis. Art isn't measured in terms of speed or height, but in resonance, in the ability to raise questions, unsettle certainties, or stir emotions.

Which artist would you like to exhibit in the same room with?

With Omar Rayo, Rafael Echeverri, Carlos Rojas, Malevich, Rothko, Donald Judd.

What work of universal art would you like to have in your living room?

Some painting by Rubens.

Have you ever cried in front of a work of art?

Almost, like Michelangelo's David. I also felt a very intense emotion when I saw a James Turrell for the first time.

Is digital art the future? Do you already have NFTs?

On the contrary, with the emergence of AI, I believe there will be greater value in things made by humans, objects and ideas with flaws, errors, and contradictions, just like human nature itself.