Objeto Movil Recomendado a las Familias; installation view with artworks by Orlando Pierri, Zdravko Dučmelić, Mildred Burton, and Tobías Dirty. Courtesy of Fundación OSDE. Photo: Tania Puente.

Curator Santiago Villanueva states in the first lines of the exhibition’s text that there was no specific outline or agenda for the Surrealism movement in Argentina. The most concerted attempt to establish a Surrealist group in the country took place in 1939 (fifteen years after Breton published the Surrealist Manifesto) with Grupo Orión, a collective of visual artists that couldn’t maintain a stable and unified aesthetic project for long. Their dissolution was imminent. Ambiguity, however, can nevertheless provide a fertile ground for possibilities, and that is precisely what Objeto Móvil Recomendado a las Familias tries to prove: When no one is looking at the margins and without strict limitations on parameters, loyalties, and particular interests, things can be built.

Surrealism never actually left the Argentinian art scene. It coexisted with many manifestations in different stages and moments—at times more visible, while at others, segregated by the indifference of institutions and the art market. Instead of following a chronological order or sticking to an aesthetic script, the artworks included in this exhibition follow a survival model (in the way that Georges Didi-Huberman conceives it), where images gain and lose force in a continuous and anachronistic fluctuation. Their arrangement by the exhibition’s designer and artist, Osías Yanov, asks spectators to take an active place in viewing the works. Yanov installs a series of dark metallic structures that can either frame or disrupt the visitors’ stare, depending on where they stand. With this specific display, what are we supposed to look at? Should we identify similarities and discontinuities? Do these structures gather the artworks into one big picture? The museographic resource challenges the exhibition’s spatiality.

Mildred Burton. La Indiferencia de Blonda Bug, 1981; mixed media on canvas; 23 x 19 in. Courtesy of Fundación OSDE. Photo: Tania Puente.

Take, for example, the following composition: six small-format paintings, positioned one after the other with a very small gap between them, all aligned at the bottom. Five of the paintings depict human shapes, while the sixth, a crying cup with a printed landscape (Mildred Burton’s El Primer Dolor de Jean Jarrow, 1992), can be thought of as a metaphysical portrait. This is a looking exercise. While the shapes and subjects in the paintings resemble one another, there’s a considerable difference in each work’s dates and creators. The oldest image is by Orlando Pierri, who was part of Grupo Orión, followed by two pieces by Zdravko Dučmelić, Burton’s 1992 painting, and finally Tobías Dirty’s scatological drawings, both dated 2016. One of Yanov’s metallic structures on the floor traces a curved, ascending line toward the right side; this indicator outlines a reverberant tension within this proposal to see all the pictures as part of a whole, and, simultaneously, to appreciate their irreducible strength.

Miguel Harte. S/T (Mesa), 1992; folding table and transparent resin; 29.5 x 39.3 x 23.6 in. Courtesy of Fundación OSDE. Photo: Tania Puente.

Without further text beyond the curatorial statement and the technical information for each artwork, the relations that appear between the pieces are organic, fluid, and astonishingly sincere. The intense research behind the exhibition is also still noticeable at all times. The oddness of some of the characters painted by Leónidas Gambartes echo in Miguel Harte’s self-portrait S/T (Autorretrato Multiplicado), (1991–1992). Fermín Eguía’s walking nose, Paseo Nocturno de la Creatura (2011), can easily dialogue with Emilio Bianchic’s Fashion Number One Rule Number One (2017), a satirical soap opera where a famous singer’s feet are the protagonists. The uncanny atmosphere of asylums and deserted landscapes captured in Mariette Lydis’s paintings can be found in the hyper-sexualized scenes from Tobías Dirty’s drawing Baba del Diablo (2016).

Tobías Dirty. Baba del Diablo, 2016; pencil on paper; 60.2 x 76 in. Courtesy of Fundación OSDE. Photo: Tania Puente.

Despite moving the spotlight to brighten peripheral and renegade artistic productions, Objeto Móvil Recomendado a las Familias is not a reclamation exhibition. Its main intention doesn’t lie with a reconsideration of the canon of the Surrealist experience in Argentina. On the contrary, this exhibit calls upon autonomy and identity. Through the montage device, there’s no interest in settling a closed genealogy. Instead, it is a nonchalant and powerful way to weave new visual relations, a Surrealist constellation, a big reckless party between generations, themes, and techniques that celebrates oddness and willingness.

Objeto Móvil Recomendado a las Familias is on view at Espacio de Arte de Fundación OSDE in Buenos Aires through April 29, 2017.

Gabriela Golder and Mariela Yeregui. Escrituras, 2014-2016; neon installation; variable dimensions. Photo: Alejandro Lipszyc

Tania Puente: How did you become interested in developing Escrituras?

Gabriela Golder: This project was selected from an open call for site-specific artistic projects that the city government organized. Part of the rules were to think of a neighborhood we’d like to intervene, and one of the given options was La Boca. We chose it because there’s a rising tension right now in this area, between the real estate development and the longstanding inhabitants of the neighborhood. Apart from economic issues, there’s also an identity struggle between its residents. Every group in the neighborhood tries to constantly reaffirm its own identity, instead of recognizing themselves as part of a wider community. In historical terms, La Boca is a neighborhood born from Italian immigration. Nowadays, there is a different kind of immigration, mostly from the bordering countries—a more marginalized population.

In looking at this overall picture, we thought La Boca would be a very interesting place to find interstices to get into and to start working with those who inhabit this place. A public space installation necessarily has to consider and be developed with others. If it is not done this way, it becomes an imposition.

TP: What was your approach towards this context?

GG: To begin with, we had to start understanding this particular urban tissue. One of our main questions was how to look at La Boca. This neighborhood carries a big cliché regarding its touristic activity while, at the same time, being considered one of Buenos Aires’ most dangerous neighborhoods. How could we escape those preconceived ideas? In order to understand it, we discovered we needed a new map—one that could be traced through a series of workshops.

Gabriela Golder. Photo: Gelen Márquez

TP: What did those workshops consist of?

GG: We designed four workshops in which artists from different disciplines developed activities around a renewed understanding of this space. Everyone could join these workshops, whether or not they lived in La Boca. One of these sessions was dedicated to the sounds of the neighborhood. With small recorders, the assistants would register the sound landscape, such as the water running in the sewers, the noise from the soccer field, and the sirens. Because of the loud noises that came from the stadium, many houses have gigantic cracks in their walls. The second workshop consisted in thinking about how to become invisible in this given space. This idea had to do with how these inhabitants are ignored most of the time to privilege a touristic approach of the zone.[1] A third workshop focused on the writings on the walls, and how passers-by “read” this area. The last workshop aimed for a visual intervention. Each participant was given some sort of cartographer’s kit, with pencils, a notebook, and colors. They recreated the space, noting cracks, holes, and small details that were never repaired, in order to write down and trace a broader image of these streets.

After each workshop, all the participants would gather and write their impressions on Post-its, which would be later posted on a map. We made a first selection of the strongest phrases with all the neighbors, and afterwards, we cut it down to restrain the number of characters.

Gabriela Golder and Mariela Yeregui. Escrituras, 2014-2016; neon installation; dimensions variable. Photo: Alejandro Lipszyc

TP: Do the signs follow a specific order?

GG: We wanted to interweave a narrative. The main sentence is El terreno se vuelve a mover [The ground is moving again], located on the highway, and from there, the other messages radiate. Nevertheless, one can read just a single phrase and still try to decipher a random narrative. Despite our poetic interest, we faced many problems regarding the places where the signs were going to be installed. We had to talk to the neighbors and explain to them that these signs weren’t selling anything—they were just pointing at some thoughts. There’s a huge responsibility in fostering a thought. The residents questioned the signs’ functionality. Some of them really wanted the signs on their facades, so they would light up that part of the street. Because of the electricity, this is a very fragile project. Anyone can cut the power source. We are thinking of ways to make it less vulnerable.

Gabriela Golder and Mariela Yeregui. Escrituras, 2014-2016; neon installation; dimensions variable. Photo: Alejandro Lipszyc

TP: The locations of the pieces are relevant, as this is a project with a clear cartographical intention. Despite not being about identifying specific places, the project indicates the community’s intersubjectivity.

GG: That is correct. We cannot deny the implicit power discourse this territory possesses in terms of the official history, where, from the clichéd perspective, locals aren’t considered in what is indicated. How can we think of this place beyond the official discourse? Museums and tourist spots are indicated, but what about the drugstore or the mechanical workshop? Do these places still count? With this counter-signage project, we are tracing a different map—one that distances away from the official discourse. 

TP: In going through all the files uploaded onto the project’s website, I was thinking that this piece has become an intersubjective neighborhood archive—one that implies an individual stare that simultaneously turns into a collective in front of the public eye.

GG: There are many pictures where you see different hands writing: each one of them is a hand from a body that is rewriting its own place. At the same time, this process is collective because those appraisals were gathered in collective drifts. It’s all about discovering the same place together from an individual point of view.

Gabriela Golder and Mariela Yeregui. Escrituras, 2014-2016; neon installation; variable dimensions. Photo: Alejandro Lipszyc

TP: As well as remembering…

GG: Yes, just like the cracks on the walls, the peculiarities of each street, the plants that start growing in the interstices, these are the signs that provide evidence on how time passes by. The way we look at things and spaces can turn repetitive—we stop noticing small changes. But our main aim is to look at this place intensely, to shake the context, and to be able to forge an individual stare—one that has the ability to be interwoven with other stares and that constantly reflects the past, in private history and life.

Escrituras: un proyecto de contraseñalética urbana will be on view through May 2017.

[1] Apart from being famous for its soccer team, La Boca shelters Caminito, a pintoresque street with colorful houses and local souvenirs. It is one of the main tourist attractions in Buenos Aires.

Edgardo Rudnitzky. Border Music, 2016; steel, iron, barbed wire (custom made), 4 melodikons, wooden resonators, bronze, motor; 78.7 x 5.9 in. Courtesy of MUNTREF. Photo: Tania Puente.

Participating artist Edgardo Rudnitzky has said that “sound is never a private thing; in natural terms, sound is always a public matter. We cannot avoid it. One can actively suspend the understanding, but not the faculty of listening to something.”[1] In this sense, his installation Border Music speaks powerfully to the politics of migration and the experience of crossing the border. Border Music is made of a 20-meter rotary machine powered by an engine. Five lines of barbed wire are sent from one side of the machine to the other. The barbs emulate music notes on a staff, and the wires traverse various sound checkpoints where contact with four melodikons and wooden resonators create fragile bell sounds. Within the piece’s intimidating steel frame, the subtle, submerged melody lulls listeners into an ambient contemplation that demands attention to the many tragedies caused by fences and walls that separate nations and communities. The physical divide of space that Border Music creates may be real, but the sounds it emits have no parameters, and will not remain silent.

Edgardo Rudnitzky. Border Music, 2016; steel, iron, barbed wire (custom made), 4 melodikons, wooden resonators, bronze, motor; 78.7 x 5.9 in. Courtesy of MUNTREF. Photo: Tania Puente.

Through the hallway where Border Music is located and into the middle of the main room, which is surrounded by large windows that offer views of the river, is the video installation Angelus Novus. Poet María Negroni and filmmaker Pablo Marín present a two-minute, forty-nine-second video that alternates between visual reels and sound loops excerpted from Negroni’s poem “Exilium.” Walter Benjamin’s studies on Paul Klee’s drawing Angelus Novus are a clear reference for this piece; both address terms of catastrophe and the ruins of history. In the video, Negroni’s sampled voice is repetitive but never quite completes the full loop. The correspondence between her audible declamation and the written text displayed onscreen is never achieved. The text is accompanied by found footage and homemade videotapes that give the viewer the sense that they are entering into a very intimately selected archive of what is lost and found in exile. Although the experience of exile eludes being portrayed in an audiovisual, albeit poetic piece, the medium resonates strongly and impregnates its narrative with empathy and melancholy.

María Negroni and Pablo Marín. Angelus Novus, 2016; two-channel video installation, variable length, color, sound; loop. Courtesy of MUNTREF. Photo: Tania Puente.

Tintin Wulia’s sound installation Babel makes us wonder: Is an immigrant shelter a tower of Babel on its own? In a place where people from different parts of the world, and in considerably vulnerable states, gather in search of assistance, is there a possibility for cultural exchange and a will to understand? Located by one of the building’s two staircases, sixteen speakers play a variety of unintelligible spoken recordings simultaneously. While it is possible for a singular speaker to broadcast each reproduced testimony clearly, the cacophony of all sixteen projecting at once make the messages incomprehensible. What happens to the experience of otherness when all hierarchy is diffused? Can it be grasped? Does it exist? In between speakers and steps on the staircase, the artist has placed small linen pillows that materially invite visitors to stop and listen; with this gesture, Wulia demarcates a space for consciousness, one that demands concentration and compassion.

Tintin Wulia. Babel, 2013; 16-channel synchronized sound installation; 11:45. Courtesy of MUNTREF. Photo: Tania Puente.

Steve Roden’s pieces find a correlation with this question. In his videos, Lines and Faces (2014) and Disorder (2016), audio is barely perceptible, forcing spectators to focus and challenge their preconceived expectations while watching actions that are most often accompanied by loud sounds, such as tearing sheets of paper. Also on display is a series of drawings and collages on sheet music titled Water Music (Drumming), and a series of serigraphs titled Cascade (made in collaboration with Leandro Jacob) that utilizes song lyrics about the rain in different languages. Everything in Roden’s installation speaks about sound, but the artist denies visitors the opportunity of ever listening to it. The room incubates an anxious, outsider feeling.

Exhibition view with art installations by Steve Roden. Courtesy of MUNTREF. Photo: Tres Consultores.

As its title accurately states, Beyond the Sound not only takes the sense of hearing into visuality, literature, and movement, but expands its vehicle to the museum and its history. MUNTREF doesn’t operate merely as a venue for this exhibition—it has an essential role to play in completing the pieces conceptually. The building’s architecture and its various uses throughout history, together with the works installed, craft a sonic palimpsest that holds as many stories as the layers that comprise it.

Más Allá del Sonido will be on view through December 30, 2016.

[1] Spoken at the conference “En los Bordes de lo Real,” 10º Meeting Sur Global, MUNTREF, September 2016. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d26r7mtko9k&feature=youtu.be.

León Ferrari and Ricardo Pons. Casa Blanca (White House), 2005; recording of performance; 6’32”. Courtesy of Museo de Arte Moderno de Buenos Aires. Photo: Tania Puente.

While Ferrari’s piece might reinforce a strong position toward international politics, specifically those of the U.S., the overall attitude of the artists in Excéntricos y Superilustrados is not one that claims or strives for a new center; inside and outside of the art world, these artists’ professional and personal paths have always been marginal, and it is from the borders that they have been able to find creative and performative freedom. This methodology is confirmed using four sections that are the exhibition’s organizing principles: political thought, experimental language, style and the representation of identity, and the figure of the artist.

Present at all times are the small gestures of the artists and an undeniable care for self-representation and awareness. Luis Pazos and Liliana Maresca criticize Argentinian political discourse through parody and personification. In Súperman Contra la Pálida (Superman v. the Bad News, 1982), Pazos embodies a weak Superman who is looking for a job in Buenos Aires, while Maresca dresses up as a posh lady and poses in front of the Government House for Marcos López’s lens in the series Liliana Maresca Frente a la Casa de Gobierno (Liliana Maresca Outside the Government House, 1984). In Blister Cognitivo (Cognitive Blister, 2002-2016), artist Lux Lindner places a series of books on scales. The book titles vary, from Argentinian classics such as La Escuela Ultrapampeana by Domingo F. Sarmiento, to sociopolitical manuals like Bases para una Argentina Moderna 1976–80, to L’Empire des Signes by Roland Barthes. With the elements stacked and weighed together, the piece poses questions regarding the way ideologies are measured, learned, and valued.

Lux Lindner. Blister Cognitivo (Cognitive Blister), 2002-2016; scales and books; variable dimensions. Courtesy of Museo de Arte Moderno de Buenos Aires. Photo: Tania Puente.

Language is a major subject for these artists, and the way each relates to verbal communication is portrayed with a wide range of outcomes. Xul Solar’s invented language Neocriollo (1920s)—which mixes Spanish and Portuguese—serves as a historical starting point, and is shown concordant to Lux Lindner’s reprisal of the language, now distorted in the fashion of the early cybernetic era in an untitled work (ND). Ricardo Carreira reflects on calligraphy, syllables, morphemes, and nouns, in Untitled (ca. 1990) and Palabra y Error (Word and Error, ca. 1990), and Fabio Kacero rewrites historical passages to offer alternative versions to this reality in the artist’s book Estamos a Principios de 1969… (We Are at the Start of 1969…, 2016). What the spelling mistakes, marks, and annotations on Lindner’s, Carreira’s and Kacero’s documents and typewritten texts unveil is what remains hidden most of the time; the visibility of the writing process and its structures are revealed and shown to be essential to the texts’ experimentation.

Fernanda Laguna. Carta (Letter), 2008; text and photographs. Courtesy of Museo de Arte Moderno de Buenos Aires. Photo: Tania Puente.

Fashion has a privileged place in this show. Delia Cancela and Pablo Mesejean’s creations not only speak to the development of Argentina’s clothing industry, but also regard fashion as a rebellion and a vehicle to reaffirm one’s identity. With this action, the artists end up erasing the barrier between art and fashion.

Delia Cancela and Pablo Mesejean. Chica Pelo Negro con Camisa de Estrellas (Girl with Black Hair and Star Shirt), 1967; mixed media on paper. Courtesy of Henrique Faría Buenos Aires.

If there’s an evident withdrawal from artists operating within a singular discipline—as this exhibition exemplifies—what, if anything, confines what an artist’s job is supposed to be? Can artists be poets, or wanderers, or TV stars? Federico Manuel Peralta Ramos, one of Argentina’s most outrageous contemporary artists, appears in a few episodes of Tato Bores’ TV show. In appearances by the artist on several programs presented by Tato Bores, he confesses to Tato his desire to cope with present times by going with the flow, as well as his efforts to be a modern figure recognized by the youth. While saying so, his gaze wanders through the TV set. He looks something like a prophet, and clearly like an outlaw—an awkward presence who does not belong there. But still his persona lingers, and makes people laugh.

Exhibition view with dresses by Delia Cancela and Pablo Mesejean. Courtesy of Museo de Arte Moderno de Buenos Aires. Photo: Tania Puente.

Mariano Blatt and Isaac Díaz’s poem Ahora (Now, 2014), and Fernanda Laguna’s Carta (Letter, 2008) are equally tender and raw. Maybe the core lies in these brutal impulses toward the truth. These artists do not hesitate in showing themselves as funny characters. They rejoice in their oddness, in their outrageous occurrences and abundant wisdom. Throwing worms into a dollhouse, writing a letter, babbling a new language, taking pictures, dictating a conference, walking a dog, or reading a poem, Eccentrics and Ultra-Enlightened is a show that outlines simple gestures that are made with a high dose of vulnerability. These gestures are the means of resistance, capable of reshaping not only the preconceptions we might have of art, but also of life.

Excéntricos y Superilustrados will be on view through October 23, 2016, at the Museo de Arte Moderno de Buenos Aires.

Jorge Macchi. Still Song, 2005; mirrored sphere, durlock walls, and fluorescent lights. Courtesy of MALBA.

Perspectiva [“Perspective”] is a polysemic word that can refer to issues of representation, points of view, optical phenomena, and misleading or deceptive appearances of things. It is also the title of Jorge Macchi’s first retrospective show in his home country of Argentina at Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires (MALBA). The word “perspective” and its many meanings exemplify Macchi’s varied body of works, produced between 1990 and 2016. Instead of following chronological order, the exhibition is constructed around glimpses, recurrent topics, and tools that the artist has worked with. The intersection of visual, verbal, and musical language is pivotal in understanding Macchi’s artistic production, which is characterized by a constant disruptive feeling that energetically exercises a critique toward manipulated communication structures and daily stagnation.

Buenos Aires Tour (2004) is the piece that welcomes visitors into the exhibition. On the wall, a vinyl map of the city with anecdotes and photographs of various routes allows viewers to interact with the different experiences of this city. In a display case by the map lies an artist book made in collaboration with Edgardo Rudnitzky (sound) and María Negroni (text). There is a reconsideration of urban and public spaces by its users, where collective memory acquires an important value for creatively reshaping the past, as well as forging their identities. Apart from exploring the cartography of Buenos Aires, the artist creates new world orders by altering mappa mundi representations. In Missing Points (2007), Macchi has cut out rectangles from a paper map, creating a loose geometrical reticle. The representation of the world is barely visible, torn apart by the simplest gesture.

Jorge Macchi, in collaboration with Edgardo Rudnitzky (sound) and María Negroni (text). Buenos Aires Tour, 2004; book-object composed by Buenos Aires guides, map, dictionary, poster, mass book, postcards, stamps, and CD-ROM. Courtesy of MALBA.

Daily communication and mass media are tackled by the artist in a set of works that use newspapers as its core material. In Speakers’ Corner (2002), a piece made of paper and pins, Macchi removes words from all quoted material, leaving cut-out rectangular frames bookended by quotation marks. These empty frames are arranged as a collage, in which direct speech bubbles establish a silent dialogue. Speakers’ Corner contraposes to Diary (2016), a piece specifically designed for this show. Quotes from local celebrities, published in magazines, newspapers, and tabloids, are recontextualized and pasted into a personal diary. The intimacy that is embodied in the diary as an object is corrupted by its artificial content. The megalomaniac and outrageous declarations place a disturbing and ridiculous narrative, far from a confessional tone.

Monoblock (2013) reflects on obituaries as a social convention. Macchi has removed the text from the obituary section of the newspaper, leaving only cut frames and tiny symbols that indicate the deceased’s religion. By juxtaposing many of these sheets, a structure of a building appears. The absence of names and dates delineates an architectonic silhouette, a place to inhabit once the mortal remains are gone.

Jorge Macchi. Monoblock, 2013; paper. Courtesy of MALBA.

In Cuerpos Sin Vida [“Lifeless Bodies”] (2003), monumentality plays an important role. This long collage is made of minuscule cut-out words extracted from crime notes. Every story is spread horizontally across the white frame, but there’s a common denominator in all of them: the phrase el cuerpo sin vida (“lifeless body”). Murders and tragedies tend to be told with a standard vocabulary, but by grouping its repeated appearance on the articles, the act of remembrance acquires a new body. From a distance, viewers can appreciate this newly formed organic shape, which they must approach to read the details of each crime story.

Jorge Macchi, Cuerpos Sin Vidas, 2003; paper. Courtesy of MALBA.

In an early set of works from the ’90s, Macchi’s explorations lean toward Gothic and Renaissance art as paradigmatic periods for perspective. His pictorial exercises include alien objects in order to alter perception. The artist also suggests optical effects with simple yet powerful formal resolutions, like in the 1991 installation Perspectiva and in the 2007 piece, Hotel.

In Perspectiva, Jorge Macchi becomes a cartographer, an architect, a composer, and a poet. The familiar materials used are mundane and fragile. Newspaper sheets are thin and breakable; glass is frail; and sounds are ephemeral. Everything is close, yet distorted. By combining languages and shifting expectations, Macchi invites visitors to constantly establish a dialogue between his artworks and their lives. In the subtleness of the works lies a disruptive strength—a powerful agent that has the ability to subvert conceptions and fracture daily structures without making a sound.

Jorge Macchi: Perspectiva is on view at Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires (MALBA) in Buenos Aires, Argentina, through May 23, 2016.

On stage during most of the performance we see three children, three teenagers and three elderly, all representing the same three people at different stages of their lives. The characters at staggered by age, wearing similar attire and the projection screen behind them is filled with home videos throughout the play. Different variations of the same simple gestures occur both on live on stage and on the screen. Repetition confuses the past with the present with the future.

The interactivity between the real-life actors on stage and their video selves on screen hold equal weight; dialogue plays little to no importance. It seems that the actors were less interested in presenting themselves to the audience as they are in interacting with each other (before an audience) in their past, present, and future forms.

The old couple slowly motions for the children to watch the teenage replicas on the screen.  The teenagers would enter the stage, all mimicking their own moves on the screen precisely.  Passing the cigarette from the old man to the teenager, the boy motions as if he were smoking a cigarette as well. The audience smiles. The projection on the screen zooms out from the scene, taking the same images further back, repeating until what seems like forever.

A frame within a frame within a frame takes us backwards through the past to the present, were I now sit. I remember just how strange it felt, to be a member of the audience feeling like merely another layer in the frame beyond the one we see.

Yo En El Futuro (Me in the Future) lies somewhere between a performance and a play, and leaves the audience caught in that space. The simple plot addresses complex concepts such as what it means to grow old, be bound to the past, and how this affects the present, and how we remember, modify, and forget.

The performance will continue playing at El Camarin de Las Musas Theatre in Buenos Aires until December 12, 2010.  It toured extensively in Europe, but has not yet made its debut in the US.  Director Federico León has also directed films such as Estrellas (Stars) in 2007, and Todo Juntos (All Together) in 2002.