My room in Quisicuaba

“I settle into a room equipped with a dozen beds. I choose one to sleep in and use another to lay out my belongings. Every morning, one of the residents, nicknamed “Camagüey”, knocks on my door and leaves me a bucket of hot water to bathe with.

We have conversations over breakfast. Sometimes I read a book or work on the portraits and texts. There are several couples who have met here. One of them, Olga and Liban, are passionate about drawing and writing. After a few days, they hand me illustrations on cardboard intended for the book’s cover and back cover, along with a portrait of myself where I appear with a large Olmec-style face, Slavic eyes, and the hat I wear every day.”

Guest book

Yesterday’s entry from our guest book at Jaime Stay is the landscape outside the windows of Luca House drawn using coffee instead of ink. The Korean script translates as “Drunk on the landscape”.

Did I mention we love our guests?

Happy Lunar New Year!

새해 복 많이 받으세요!

https://www.stayfolio.com/en/findstay/jaime-stay?utm_source=link&utm_medium=share&utm_campaign=findstay&utm_content=jaime-stay

Playlist

New year, new concept for our Gwanghapdan zines!

We have reimagined, redesigned and repurposed our zine making. Also, we are calling them “playlists” and they will be published quarterly.

Here’s a sneak peek at our Winter Playlist ;)

Artist Talk coming up at Wit and Cynical Bookstore in Seoul, Korea on Jan 24th 7:30PM. Free admission and free poster!

What if

In many ways, my days in Quisicuaba were an exercise in “what if”.

What if I had been a homeless person living on the streets of Havana? What if I had lost my job, family, my friends to an addiction I couldn’t escape? What if I had to accept eating food I had trouble swallowing day after day?

What if I had to leave everything behind to be able to begin to return to life itself?

Los pasos

Los pasos de un fotógrafo siempre acechan un eco por las calles de la ciudad. Su soledad busca un reflejo que lo transporte más allá de las ideas, a la intoxicación de respirar, sentir y observar.

Back from Cuba

I’m back from Cuba! And here’s a little postcard from Centro Habana.

More on my Artist Residence at Punto Naranja in Campamento Quisicuaba and the 2024 Bienal de la Habana in the coming weeks.

There’s a whole lot to unpack there,

and I don’t mean just my suitcase ;)

It was one of the most humbling, fascinating and intensely personal journeys of my life.

Bienal de la Habana

Tomorrow I travel to Cuba to work on a new commission from the Bienal de la Habana. I feel so honored to be an invited artist and to officially represent my native country, Guatemala.

My project is collaborative in nature. It will weave together photographs and text to create a collective book authored by myself and community residents in Campamento Quisicuaba, Punto Naranja, about an hour’s drive out of Havana.

As you probably know, Cuba is recovering from the extensive damages of Hurricane Rafael, and Punto Naranja is no exception. I’ll lend a hand where I can and make art when I can.

I’ll mostly be off the grid until I come back to Seoul in late November.

See you then!

Surprise

Sunday, 1:06 PM

Work doesn’t really care that I’m having an exhibition. Driving back from Yangpyeong, I step on the gas and manage to open up the gallery at Project K just a few minutes late.

_

Dongsin and Sun walk in. Why do I suddenly feel like it’s my birthday? The carefully wrapped package in Dongsin’s arms turns out to be an exquisitely crafted wooden side-table he’s made for me.

Sun leans in and whispers that he worked long and hard on it. She’s also brought a gift: specialty coffee from Huehuetenango, Guatemala. We view the exhibition.

Despite my limited Korean, I clearly understand when Dongsin says that the way I look at Korea is powerful and illuminating;

it means the world to me.

_

Family comes to see the exhibition, all smiles and encouragement. HRM’s cousin Chan Young is there too and when everyone else leaves, he stays on.

Then two of his friends come in to join him. The three of them discuss the work, sometimes in earnest and sometimes in jest. One of the women has very sharp eyes.

She asks me when the photograph of the dress shoes was taken. I remember it was spring time, possibly mid-May. She scrutinizes the photo and observes that the water-logged newspaper visible above the shoes is dated November of the previous year.

_

Andrey enters. He is a Russian curator and one of the founders of the Moscow Biennial. He’s been trying to make it to the gallery for the past three days and now he is finally here.

Chan Young and his friends circle back to us. They inform us they have titled all the works in the exhibition for me. I hand them a checklist and they pencil in the titles for each work next to the thumbnail view.

_

As Andrey is leaving, he says he would like to help introduce my work to Russian audiences.

_

Where did the time go? It’s a few minutes before closing already. I hear a rumor of approaching voices; the door shakes and rattles. Suddenly Olin and Luca are there, waving, smiling and laughing.

What a great and wonderful surprise that is.

Good night, gallery.

Saturday, 1PM.

I open up the gallery. A few months back, I had applied for their Curatorial Open Call and was awarded with a solo exhibition.

As a result, I now have real estate in Seoul; the space is mine for the next ten days.

There’s some wine bottles left over from the Opening the previous night. I wipe away the red glass rings on the table.

_

My friend Jeongmee walks through the door. I give her a tour of the exhibition and then we sit and talk about art, teaching, life in Korea, Cuba and New York City. I ask her about her new monograph, which has just been published.

_

A young woman enters. We speak in a mix of Korean and English. She can relate to the work: her sister married an American man and lives in Chicago. She felt overwhelmed and disoriented walking the streets of that city. Saying goodbye to me, she hesitates and then asks if I’d like to have lunch with her.

_

An older couple arrives. The man asks if it’s oK to take photos of my work. Later, he asks if I am happy with having only fifteen works in my exhibition.

_

A collector comes by, together with an opera singer. We talk editions and pricing but also what it means to sing in other languages.

_

A woman is gallery hopping on Saturday. She spends a good twenty minutes looking,

taking photos and some video as well. She asks me which is my favorite work in the show. We walk over to the photo of the dress shoes. I try to explain that although the shoes are well worn they are shined to a high gloss. And that there is something strangely intimate about them drying out on the street, late at night. There is more to say, much more. But my broken Korean will not do for that. We take a selfie together. She smiles again and bows to me as she leaves.

Later, she comes back in. She hands me a bouquet of flowers with a hand written note.

I can’t believe such kindness and I feel the emotion welling up inside.

_

The day winds down. It’s 6PM and time for me to close up. Just then, a truck pulls up outside the gallery. The driver walks in with the most beautiful bouquet of orchids.

_

Is it real? Or was it just a dream?

Good night, gallery.

Opening Night

Flowers, photographs, friends, patrons, wine and conversation. Some pictures from yesterday’s Opening Night for BLINDNESS at Gallery Project K!

BTS

BTS today installing BLINDNESS at Gallery Project K. Thank you Hye-Ryoung Min for all your help. And for the cool pix!

Opening Night is tomorrow, Friday, Nov. 1st from 3 to 6PM. I will also be there this weekend from 1 to 6PM.

Come for a visit and help me celebrate my first Korean body of work! I’d really love to hear your impressions.

Address:

Gallery Project K

1F 895-12 Banagbae-dong, Seocho-gu, Seoul

***

초대합니다.

Gallery Project K에서 2024년 하반기 전시 공모에 선정이 되어 개인전을 하게 되었습니다. 한국에 새로운 터를 잡으며 작업한 <BLINDNESS>를 처음 선보입니다. 11월 1일 돌아 오는 금요일 오프닝에서 뵙기를 바랍니다.

Solo exhibition

Jaime Permuth <BLINDNESS>

Gallery Project K.

2024 하반기 전시 공모 선정전

2024. 11. 1. - 11. 10. [Opening 11. 1. 3-6pm]

서울 서초구 서초대로30길 14 1층 (7호선 내방역)

매일 1-6pm

*금, 토, 일 작가가 갤러리에 있을 예정입니다. 다른날 방문하시는 분은 미리 알려주시면 맞이하러 갑니다.

Preparing for BLINDNESS at Gallery Project K, Seoul

Prints are framed and ready to hang for my BLINDNESS solo exhibition at Gallery Project K @gallery.project.k!

Opening Night is this Friday, Nov. 1st from 3 to 6PM. I will also be there this weekend from 1 to 6PM.

Come for a visit and help me celebrate my first Korean body of work! I’d really love to hear your impressions.

Address:

Gallery Project K

1F 895-12 Banagbae-dong, Seocho-gu, Seoul

***

초대합니다.

Gallery Project K에서 2024년 하반기 전시 공모에 선정이 되어 개인전을 하게 되었습니다. 한국에 새로운 터를 잡으며 작업한 <BLINDNESS>를 처음 선보입니다. 11월 1일 돌아 오는 금요일 오프닝에서 뵙기를 바랍니다.

Solo exhibition

Jaime Permuth <BLINDNESS>

Gallery Project K.

2024 하반기 전시 공모 선정전

2024. 11. 1. - 11. 10. [Opening 11. 1. 3-6pm]

서울 서초구 서초대로30길 14 1층 (7호선 내방역)

매일 1-6pm

*금, 토, 일 작가가 갤러리에 있을 예정입니다. 다른날 방문하시는 분은 미리 알려주시면 맞이하러 갑니다.

Six

We found out on the day of HRM’s first ultrasound. At one point, the nurse slowed her probing movements. Then she stopped briefly and seemed to check more attentively once again. Laughing softly, she told us there was not one but two hearts beating inside the womb.

That moment in time, our looks of joy and disbelief, is etched into my heart forever.

Against all odds, HRM, forty years old at the time, carried the boys almost to full term.

The first few hours after they were born turned into a day and a night. Then two.

They were finally here, unnamed yet, but of this world. We were just meeting them, just getting to know them. And in a way, we were being reborn as well. It was unreal to feel our old selves begin to fall away, making room for the parents we were about to become.

I remember the preciousness of sleep, how few and far between the hours of rest.

The wonder of picking up a crying baby and placing him against my chest until he quieted down, all the while the edges of the room around us softening and growing dimmer, almost to the point of vanishing.

Luca and Olin. Olin and Luca. Impossible to think of you without one another.

Know that my heart is yours

and that I’ve never been happier than in the six years since we first saw your faces.

Mantis

It’s still all about the praying mantis!

This week Olin came back from Kindergarten with a little sculpture he made during recess. And yesterday night, Luca made an origami version.

Last month the boys caught a number of them in Seojong, including some pregnant females. They’ve nurtured the pupas that the females left behind and one of them already hatched releasing about two dozen babies!

In other news, Luca got a love letter yesterday from a girl at Kindergarten. She wrote he was her favorite and the coolest boy she knows. She also wished for him to get over his cold soon 🥹😍

BLINDNESS solo exhibition

Please join me for my solo exhibition BLINDNESS, which opens November 1st at Gallery Project K in Seoul, Korea.

11월 1일 Gallery Project K에서 오픈하는 개인전 <BLINDNESS>에 함께해 주세요

***

Blindness can take many forms. Physically, it is the affliction of being born sightless or losing sight later in life.

Figuratively, one might think of Milton’s darkness visible, which the poet uses to describe the hell which awaits Lucifer when he falls from grace.

Blindness can also be a self-inflicted punishment, as in Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex who puts out his own eyes to atone for an unspeakable sin.

Saramago’s epic novel opens at traffic light, where the first victim of a mysterious pandemic suddenly loses the ability to see. Chaos quickly ensues and then proceeds to engulf the city, bringing society to the very edge of cataclysm, only to lift again suddenly and inexplicably.

More broadly, blindness could refer to the human condition: to the ability to see but not comprehend. Think of a newly arrived immigrant unable to read or speak the language of her new home, trying desperately to navigate and adapt to a different culture.

An artist might feel paralyzed by losing his sense of wonder. Unable to break free from his own visual language and habitual practice, how can he seek out new avenues of expression or fresh lines of sight?

On a personal level, I might add that a photographer knows no greater fear than blindness.

And for that very reason, it is a subject worthy of artistic exploration.

Day off

I can’t remember the last time I took a day off.

But I have been craving one for far too long.

A book from my shelf

Lunch at a favorite neighborhood spot

Black coffee

Bourbon

Tobacco

Goodbye hectic world; I guess you’ll be there tomorrow?

And if so, I’ll see you then ~

ARTCaffè encore

Back in February of last year, I was a guest of Raffaella Gallo’s ARTCaffè.

This coming Friday, I return to ARTCaffè and will be moderating a conversation with fellow Gwanghapdan members Goseong Choi, Jiwon Kim and Hye-Ryoung Min on the experiences we’ve had being part of an art collective and making work as an ensemble.

In the meantime, feel free to roll back the tape on my Artist Talk:

https://www.artcaffe.art/previous-events/artcaffe-073---jaime-permuth

Image One

Sneak peek ;)

Test prints yesterday with the stellar team at Image One Lab and today exhibition prints ready for my upcoming BLINDNESS solo exhibition at Gallery Project K!

Semana Fotográfica Centroamericana y del Caribe

Gracias Club Fotográfico de Guatemala por invitarme a presentar mi proyecto más reciente “BLINDNESS” dentro del marco de la Semana Fotográfica Centroamericana y del Caribe.

Nos vemos el martes 24 de septiembre vía Zoom!

Four years

Even as a grown man, living far-away from Guate, my mom would call me every year on my birthday and sing to me.

I remember vividly how, as a toddler, Bertha would pick me up and dance a mambo with me huddled in her arms. How many meals did she cook for me over the years? How many books did she read to me before I could read on my own? I recall how carefully she chose the clothing she bought for me as a child and how well she knew my taste, respected it and tried her best to indulge me in it. I can still feel on my skin the hugs and kisses she gave on a daily basis, how she loved to hold onto my arm and squeeze it tight when we walked together.

Most of all, I miss her crystal clear gaze when I spoke. And how every word I said seemed to register somewhere deep inside her.

I respected, cherished, and loved her so deeply. Four years after her passing, I miss her more than ever.

I know I will never pick up the phone again in January and hear her song.

But I’m thankful for all the years that I did.