Although the traditional definitions of art include in some way references to beauty, balance and aesthetics, postmodernism introduces changes in this maxim and raises an approach to art devoid of the concepts inherited from the past to reinforce its expressive value instead of the search for beauty.

Shepard Fairey, "Free speech".

However, new times bring other impositions and guidelines. In our current vertiginous world, where tolerance, integration and equality are up to date, the excess of caution places us sometimes on the opposite side and the social moderation of the "politically correct" derives in restrictions on freedom of expression, concealed censorship, second readings of the message. There are those who say that today "you can not say anything because they will come after you". A quick visit to social networks reveals that, often, the supposed freedom that we enjoy today has become an immense field in which to walk "like treading on eggshells".

Artwork display "Presos políticos" by Santiago Sierra, withdrawn during ARCO'18

Let's not kid ourselves; this is also a sign of our time. Opinions are best received when packaged with a wrap of humour and irony, or when they anchor in widely shared common-sites. In this context, criticism from the art world should enjoy more permissiveness, but recent events show the opposite. The censorship by political speeches has starred in covers of newspapers, and everything seems to indicate that it’s better not to touch certain issues.

Shepard Fairey in his studio, via papermag.com

This leads some authors to turn their work into banners with a social meaning where the aesthetic charge universalises the message. Let's say that political, economic or social criticism is not openly sought in compositions that leave no space for the imagination (that's what photojournalism does). The purpose is to create iconic images with a message embedded in the design itself, that's why in this area graphic art conquers everything. Nothing new under the sun, anyway, but the achievement is that contemporary creations are worthy heirs of all the compositional and aesthetic heritage of previous decades, and in that sense, they deserve the acknowledgement of "recasting" the old with the new to create something different and unique.

Shepard Fairey

Big brother is watching you, 2006

Screen printing on paper

61 x 46cm

Shepard Fairey

Earth crisis, 2014

Screen printing on paper

61 x 46cm

Shepard Fairey

Icon Collage Set II, 2016

Serigraphy

97.5 x 76cm

Shepard Fairey is a paradigmatic artist on this subject. In the interviews, he himself ironises about the contradiction of criticising capitalism in his works and then selling the editions for thousands of dollars. Well, you don’t have to feel ashamed for it, otherwise, only those who can afford to live off of investments would be artists, and the voice of so many others who aspire to live on their creations would be gone. Let's not forget either that there was a time (not long ago) when urban art was considered vandalism. Fairey, who defines himself as an artist and activist, has had to face these controversies when some of his pieces are not to everyone's taste. And, nevertheless, one thing is evident: his works are unmistakable and have helped to spread a universal message where criticisms of the system are always present. Obviously, some artists answer “yes” to the question with which we would have this post: art is a tool of criticism.

The practice of the collective DIMASLA (Diana + Álvaro) is situated at a fertile intersection between contemporary art, ecological thinking, and a philosophy of experience that shifts the emphasis from production to attention. Faced with the visual and material acceleration of the present, their work does not propose a head-on opposition, but rather a sensitive reconciliation with time, understood as lived duration rather than as a measure. The work thus emerges as an exercise in slowing down, a pedagogy of perception where contemplating and listening become modes of knowledge.

In the work of DIMASLA (Diana + Álvaro), the territory does not function as a framework but rather as an agent. The landscape actively participates in the process, establishing a dialogical relationship reminiscent of certain eco-critical currents, in which subjectivity is decentralized and recognized as part of a broader framework. This openness implies an ethic of exposure, which is defined as the act of exposing oneself to the climate, the elements, and the unpredictable, and this means accepting vulnerability as an epistemological condition.

The materials—fabrics, pigments, and footprints—serve as surfaces for temporary inscriptions and memories, bearing the marks of time. The initial planning is conceived as an open hypothesis, allowing chance and error to act as productive forces. In this way, the artistic practice of DIMASLA (Diana + Álvaro) articulates a poetics of care and being-with, where creating is, above all, a profound way of feeling and understanding nature.

In a historical moment marked by speed and the overproduction of images, your work seems to champion slowness and listening as forms of resistance. Could it be said that your practice proposes a way of relearning time through aesthetic experience?

Diana: Yes, but more than resistance or vindication, I would speak of reconciliation—of love. It may appear slow, but it is deliberation; it is reflection. Filling time with contemplation or listening is a way of feeling. Aesthetic experience leads us along a path of reflection on what lies outside us and what lies within.

The territory does not appear in your work as a backdrop or a setting, but as an interlocutor. How do you negotiate that conversation between the artist’s will and the voice of the place, when the landscape itself participates in the creative process?

Álvaro: For us, the landscape is like a life partner or a close friend, and naturally this intimate relationship extends into our practice. We go to visit it, to be with it, to co-create together. We engage in a dialogue that goes beyond aesthetics—conversations filled with action, contemplation, understanding, and respect.

Ultimately, in a way, the landscape expresses itself through the material. We respect all the questions it poses, while at the same time valuing what unsettles us, what shapes us, and what stimulates us within this relationship.

The Conquest of the Rabbits I & II. 2021. Process.

In your approach, one senses an ethic of exposure: exposing oneself to the environment, to the weather, to others, to the unpredictable. To what extent is this vulnerability also a form of knowledge?

Diana: For us, this vulnerability teaches us a great deal—above all, humility. When we are out there and feel the cold, the rain, or the sun, we become aware of how small and insignificant we are in comparison to the grandeur and power of nature.

So yes, we understand vulnerability as a profound source of knowledge—one that helps us, among many other things, to let go of our ego and to understand that we are only a small part of a far more complex web.

Sometimes mountains cry too. 2021. Limestone rockfall, sun, rain, wind, pine resin on acrylic on natural cotton canvas, exposed on a blanket of esparto grass and limestone for two months.. 195 cm x 130 cm x 3 cm.

Your works often emerge from prolonged processes of exposure to the environment. Could it be said that the material—the fabrics, the pigments, the traces of the environment—acts as a memory that time writes on you as much as you write on it?

Álvaro: This is a topic for a long conversation, sitting on a rock—it would be very stimulating. But if experiences shape people’s inner lives and define who we are in the present moment, then I would say yes, especially in that sense.

Leaving our comfort zone has led us to learn from the perseverance of plants and the geological calm of mountains. Through this process, we have reconciled ourselves with time, with the environment, with nature, with ourselves, and even with our own practice. Just as fabrics hold the memory of a place, we have relearned how to pay attention and how to understand. Ultimately, it is a way of deepening our capacity to feel.

The fox and his tricks. 2022. Detail.

To what extent do you plan your work, and how much space do you leave for the unexpected—or even for mistakes?

Diana: Our planning is limited to an initial hypothesis. We choose the materials, colours, places, and sometimes even the specific location, but we leave as much room as possible for the unexpected to occur. In the end, that is what it is really about: allowing nature to speak and life to unfold. For us, both the unexpected and mistakes are part of the world’s complexity, and within that complexity we find a form of natural beauty.