Ana Mendieta – Blood Sign #2 1974

Mendieta genius is indisputable but I have no goddamn clue what-so-fucking-ever of how to approach it.

A lot of ink has been spilled about her performance of gender, her concern with identity politics. Yeah. Check. Got it. I see that too. But what about the questions of medium in her work: photographs of sculptures, performance as sculpture, photography of performance as sculpture, the inherently ephemeral nature of performance rendered repeatable via video.

It’s all a complete mindfuck to me–but not alienating more a fascinating puzzle I can’t tear myself away from no matter how little progress I make.

Mendieta only cracked for me in the last week as a result of ‘discovering’ her ‘Untitled (Rape Scene).

***Trigger Warning***

I recommend read the Tate’s comments on the work first as they describe the images and you can decide from there whether or not you actually want to view them.

I am not ready to talk about the images. That will take months, if not years. But something clicked for me about Mendieta’s work: the zen-like focus of her execution counter-balanced by randomization– the way the paint on her hands smears unevenly, the muddy lighting at the scene of the crime–utilizes her own body as a fulcrum to not only balance multifarious and otherwise dichotomous elements but to enact great violence upon innocence that offers the required blood sacrifice without perpetuating any further harm.