That Which Is Hidden and We Want to Find: kimcheenicuil at CROMA

Fortuitous or not, a nursery and an art gallery intertwine today in a braid whose political coordinates seem to defy mere chance.

—Abraham Cruzvillegas, curatorial text

I make my way through a tangle of honking cars in a metallic flow to reach CROMA. It feels like walking through a dry, smoky riverbed that cuts across the path to Chapultepec Forest, intensifying the sensation of drought on the skin.

As I reach the gallery, a sudden coolness washes over me. I’m met by a group led by Leto, who chats casually before heading out in search of quelites (wild edible greens) in the surrounding area. Some seem skeptical, others excited; each one speculating about what it might be like to eat straight from the sidewalk. This is the alogic with which kimcheenicuil embeds itself into the artistic ecosystem.

Inside, I listen to the choreography of a reconstructed adobe home. This is Cha ni chinu chi'in ñu'un, a piece by Zoë Heyn-Jones, part of a video art cycle featuring works by Sébastien Capouet, Beatriz Paz Jiménez, Itandehuitl Orta, and others—looping to shape the gallery’s atmosphere.

To my left, I spot a braid of beans by María Silva stretching across the main room. To cross it, you have to pretend you’re skipping rope—either over or under. A few birds by Ernesto Solana, hybrid forms between guaje and metal, seem to be playing too. Alongside them: a scattering of photographs, drawings, and ceramics that spread between the gallery and the nursery. Everything becomes a game.

My friend’s daughters take my hand and invite me to wander between the Philodendro nursery and the CROMA installations on a treasure hunt. We observe sculptures and stones bathing beneath lush tropical trees while nearby, hands weave plant fibers into a mat. We join Ácido Mellitico in painting walls with clay and fall silent before their vaporous altar. As an exhibition space, the nursery blurs the line between what is and isn’t art.

The children and I crouch to read one of the snapshots Paola de Anda has scattered like pollen across the gallery. I ask them what they liked best, and they reply: "That which is hidden and we want to find." Later, in conversation with Abraham Cruzvillegas about the show, he makes a clear reference to Donna Haraway’s tentacular thinking. He tells me the initial invitation was to bring to the space various forms of interconnection beyond what’s human. What he describes seems to align exactly with what the children are seeking: a kind of rooted longing.

Over five weeks, the works and interventions of more than 45 artists and collectives confront their own boundaries. With cycles of video art, sound pieces, olfactory sculptures, environmental care actions, and urban interventions, the exhibition strives to push beyond the limits of the gallery and pollinate the shared space. But in terrain as disturbed as this, what does “common space” even mean?

From the very first planning meeting, one thing was clear: “Nothing’s going to be solved here with an exhibition.” I wish that weren’t true. I wish that the 67 active forest fires in the country—and the many more sure to come—could be extinguished with a single artistic gesture. But they won’t be. The exhibitors are well aware of these uncomfortable truths and navigate them with great flexibility. Some choose to consume themselves, like in Mariana Dussel’s piece; others expand through sound, like Fernanda Barreto, Lucia R, and Gabriela Galván; or, like Jimena García Álvarez-Buylla and Inés G. Irizar, dissolve into the scent of a ruderal plant.

Far from pessimism, kimcheenicuil bets on life in its most situated expression. It reminds us that we have direct agency over the territory we inhabit—and from which we do not depart—no matter how eroded the conditions. Itandehuitl Orta’s photographs illustrate this beautifully. This wind-being living on the volcano looks toward the city and responds: “Life, more than an internal property of beings and things, is immanent in the relationships between them.”

Diegui and their Corazón Copil project resonate with Orta’s work and extend an invitation to a tequio (communal work): "Participants can adopt a couple of native plants to care for and give a loving home to :)"

*Referencing Maris Bustamante, Non-objective Arts in Mexico 1963-1983

— esteban silva

Translated to English by Luis Sokol