Blanca Bercial
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Recovecos I
2019

Lisa Croner
Giuliana Funkhouser
Svetlana Gayshan
Jeff Maylath
Lexygius Sanchez Calip
Samuel de Lemos
Blanca Bercial
Recovecos is the Spanish word for nooks, hidden places, and hideouts. Recovecos aims to bring wordsin place to reverberate their messages further than a hidden corner can sustain. To reclaim words place in the arts, to be shown, to be shared, and finally, to be heard.
This project started in the summer of 2019, and has continued with Recovecos II and III. Every exhibition is a different conversation between artists that play with the duality of language, with the texts that intermingle in our everyday life, and with the postmodern clarity of meaning with words. Curated by Blanca Bercial and Samuel De Lemos, Recovecos is an ongoing project, where the expectations are left to the possibilities of language and the discourse that flow from artists works in conversation.


Recovecos II
2020

Jeff Maylath
Lexygius Sanchez Calip
Liu Sang Chi
Miles Stemp
Shao Yan
Samuel de Lemos
Blanca Bercial
Recovecos III
2020

Tamara Khasanova
Jeff Maylath
Lexygius Sanchez Calip
Miles Stemp
Christian Tan
Zhang Mengjiao
Samuel de Lemos
Blanca Bercial
Audio Book / 2020 Wood, back spray, mylar, cord
((Transmitting sound ))


Handle with Care / 2020 Pins, nails, fishing hooks, fabric, metal wire



Handle with Care / 2020
Typewriter on petals

Anne Bremer Memorial Library’s 37th Artists’ Book Contest Award




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Trash poems / 2019

Shredded poems in a jar

Anne Bremer Memorial Library’s 36th Artists’ Book Contest Award
I’ve been taking photos in the streets of San Francisco from 2017
I wrote a poem for every one of them
Photos and poems inhabit this jar as TRASH
Their subjects inhabit the streets
Day after day
Living and non-living inhabit the unseen 

Pending Status / WIP
Ink on paper

This calendar marks the days I have been working on my artist visa application. From March 1, 2021 to (unknown).

I find myself in an impasse of action, standing by at life, while days pass blank and unperceibed. I keep postponing art projects, jobs, enjoying friends’ company, and I am unable to continue writing my stories. Will I have to interrupt them? Instead, I have suspended myself. Repressed, I keep writing down ideas on a list with the hope that I will make them happen one day, when days will be on the record again. Time keeps passing, off the record and  almost unnoticed for me.

I will have this calendar at least.

The Creek / 2021
El arroyo
Typewriter on paper, water
This is a short story I wrote last year about a creek in my grandma’s village. The story narrates my time spent in the village as a kid and how I grew up thinking that the word ‘creek’ was meant to name a dried road that crossed the village under the sea level and with bridges on top. Of course I grew up and found out what a creek is, and how climate change dried the rivers and the creek no longer crossed my grandma’s village. 

I wrote the story on paper and then submerged it in water. The water gradually washed away the letters, just as the water slowly drained away from the creek in my grandmother's village.


Care / 2020 Handle with Care Series Barbed wire
8.5 in x 23.5 in




Self Care, Health Care, Dental Care, Skin Care, Life Care, Don’t Care, Care Taker, Care Plan, Personal Care, Hair Care, Primary Care, Child Care, Palliative Care, Critical Care, Take Care, Give Care…

Living in San Francisco, I have heard the word ‘care’ countless times, to the extent that I started questioning if this word has lost its meaning due to the extreme use that is made of it. ‘Care’ has become a ready-made word. Yet ‘care,’ like barbed wire, hurts if we are close enough to handle it.


 

Bestiario / 2020
Typewriter on mylar
From Poetry as a Critical Form
How can poetry be translated from one language to another without losing its essence? For this project I have translated Julio Cortazar's first short stories book Bestiario, words filled with metaphors that transcend the ordinary to deeper existential and sociopolitical questions. (((Bestiario))) consists of 8 short stories narrating monstruos appearances in the daily life of different people. The monsters and the stories in the book are metaphors for the quotidian of the everyday and from the writer's personal and historical context. Their complexity can only be translated with simple acts, and in an effort to translate the untranslatable, I have translated the eight stories to symbol-based poems. Each pair of symbol-based texts signify one story contained in Cortazar’s book. Through this self-made language, I seek to illustrate the essence of each story in the simplest way possible, and question the use we make of languages, how we shape them, how they shape us in return, and ultimately, how we make sense of them.




Sound Poems Series


Concrete Poems Series

Air Poems Series


Open Call for Nothing / 2021
Poster on public billboard
Inner Sunset, San Francisco, CA.

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Untimed  / 2020
Clock mechanism, acrylic plastic, fishing line
From Photography Without Camera / Machine Gaze



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Present / 2019
invisible ink on white wall, UV flashlight
From Recovecos II



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Projection at Tunnes of the Mind
ZAZ 10 Corners Times Square
This is Okay / 2019
Tape on wall
Two-side mirror
Collaboration with Lexygius Sanchez Calip
From Mistranslation
Holes of Speech / 2019
galvanized steel sheet


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holes of speech / 2019
4’18’’
Voice narrating Julio Cortazar’s Me caigo y me levanto poem in Golden Gate park, in-betweness-ness environmental sounds reverberations and echoes

From ...



Pauses in spoken language were never silent but mute. These pauses contain all the ambient sounds that immerse diction within a soundscape. On the other hand, written language pauses have names but not sound.
How does an ellipsis sound?
How do we pronounce a word made of punctuations marks? 

In Holes of Speech, I recorded the sound of my voice reading a poem of Julio Cortázar in a tunnel of Golden Gate Park. Afterwards, I listened to the sounds in-between words, the pauses, the punctuation marks. These silences contain sounds yet we never grasp them.
For that, I made a composition of those sounds in-between my voice.
This sound installation contains punctuation marks sounded and augmented, distributed to conform new words.



The Creek / 2021
Typewriter on paer, water

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The Creek (drying up) / 2021
Typewriter on paper, water

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We can’t talk all at once / 2020
Typewriter on paper

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Vernissage / 2020
San Francisco Art Institute
Artist Statement


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Not cages / 2020
Galvanized steel wire

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Self Care, Health Care, Dental Care, Skin Care, Life Care, Don’t Care, Care Taker, Care Plan, Personal Care, Hair Care, Primary Care, Child Care, Palliative Care, Critical Care, Take Care, Give Care...

Living in San Francisco, I have heard phrases containing the word ‘care’ countless times, to the point that I started questioning if the word has lost its meaning from extreme use. Care, like barbed wire, only hurts if we are close enough to handle it. 
Who cares? Who really cares when we say we ‘care’? 
To care is to be hurt. Yet, the closer we get to the unknown, the more we care.

Stiffness can’t stop the water / 2020 Single channel video Collaboration with Lexygius Sanchez Calip

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Ouroboros / 2020
Single channel video
From Photography Without Camera / Machine Gaze



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Obra parte de la exposición Photography Without Camera II. ¿Cómo podríamos fotografiar sin cámaras? ¿Cómo ejercemos una función fotográfica entre nosotros? Ouroboros presenta un loop infinito de fotografías en un abrir y cerrar de ojos. El ojo está tomando fotografías constantemente,una narración de memorias fotográficas. Cada vez que mi ojo se cierra, tomo una fotografía de la persona que está mirando el vídeo, que a su vez, toma fotografías de mi ojo al mirarlo con los suyos, ambos nos encontramos en un uroboros fotográfico, en una fotografía constante.

How could we take photographs without a camera? How do we photograph each other?