When I spent some time in Conakry, Guinea a few years back, I remember going to an extremely crowded open air market shaded loosely with undulated tin sheets of metal offering relief from the sun, but it was the incredible odors emanating from the center of this market that was the most inebriating – spices, salted fish, dried beef, vegetables, fruits, handmade soaps, grease, perspiration, freshly dyed fabrics, dust, heat, flies, and life.
I’m almost sure Neto, amongst other hopes and desires he had, wanted this same amount of intensity and sensorial experience from his installation but the museum wouldn’t let it happen. Isn’t this just another form of vandalism in the name of protecting the interest of the piece, its aesthetic appeal, its monetary value, its collectiveness, its sacredness? Wouldn’t you want to sacrifice just a little bit of the work’s “integrity” (couldn’t and wouldn’t the artist just want to make another one) in exchange for a much richer viewer/public experience and understanding of the art before them? I would think so. I would hope so.
Imagine for just a second the impact Neto’s work would have had if the climate control had been turned off in that huge space as the day heated up - the San Diego sun beating down on the red mission tiles, the air still, a bit musty, particles of cumin dust floating lazily in the filtered light, the spices cool to the touch bundled up in their taut bosoms filled with an aromatic history thousands of years old: sensual, no. That, Ms. Hanor, is total immersion.
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