Santiago Yahuarcani’s visual vocabulary is neither derivative nor dependent on Western art history. His paintings—including three of them currently starring in the main exhibition of the Venice Biennale— are a testament to the consciousness, affection, and intelligence of the rainforest and its inhabitants that invite us to see beyond the parameters of settler coloniality. Through the overlapping of bright-colored figures in dense groupings that combine symbolic or descriptive references to colonial violence and spiritual worlds, they encapsulate the memories of Yahuarcani’s ancestors, the sacred knowledge of medicinal plants, the voices of the elders, and Amazonian stories of life’s origins, all in a manner that demands attention and respect.
A self-taught painter, Yahuarcani belongs to the Aimeni (White heron) clan of the Uitoto people of northern Amazonia. His mother, Martha López Pinedo, was a descendant of Gregorio López, the only member of the Aimeni who emigrated from La Chorrera (today part of the Colombian Amazon) to the Ampiyacu River region (now northern Peru). Gregorio was one of the survivors of the Putumayo genocide (1879–1912), during which nearly 30,000 Indigenous people from the Bora, Uitoto, Andoque, and Ocaina Nations were cruelly annihilated by the Peruvian Amazon Company at the peak of the rubber boom of the late 19th and early 20th century—a period of colonial expedition, extraction, and commercialization of rubber in the Amazonian territory of Brazil, Peru, Colombia, and Bolivia. Although the rubber business ceased to be profitable around 1925, continued subjugation, extraction, and privatization devastated Indigenous populations and destroyed areas of the Amazon that, until very recently, did not have laws that protect Indigenous peoples.
Santiago Yahuarcani: The Flight of Mother Martha II, 2020.
Orally transmitted to the artist by his grandfather, this episode of ethnic cleansing and greed left a deep impression on Yahuarcani, who in the last two decades has insistently returned to this moment to reclaim justice and confront the perpetrators’ impunity. In one of his most poignant works, Amazonia (2016), Yahuarcani portrays a Uitoto person fully covered with wounds and incisions like those made in the bark of a tree to collect sap. Tears and red blood turn into white rubber as they leave his body. “Mother Earth is bleeding, Mother Earth is crying. Her tears are like the sap of the trees,” the artist said in an interview three years later. In a detailed, cartoon-like style, his anti-colonial paintings confront the long-lasting effects of the Western assaults on Indigenous minds, bodies, languages, and identities, demanding recognition of stories that, for a long time, were not heard or acknowledged.
Yahuarcani started to paint at the age of 10. In the 1980s, he made paintings and wooden sculptures to sell to tourists near his hometown, Pebas, close to the Amazon River, where he still lives and works. Although the need for economic subsistence drove many of his early creations, his layered and deeply inventive pictures progressively became a reservoir of collective memory and complex representations of Uitoto worldviews. His inspiration came from childhood experiences, such as encounters with wild mushrooms, that sparked his imagination and led him to see himself as a painter of sounds, as he called himself at a conference in Brazil in 2013:
I also research when I walk through the jungle and go to my farm. I’m looking at the trees, which are full of drawings. I approach a tree and stay two or three hours looking at it. The tree is painted; it is covered with different types of figures. That is how I go around and choose figures for my paintings. These figures coincide with a sound, for example, with the word “kbnshu.” For me, that is the sound of an animal that jumps into the water and sticks out its long tongue. I am turning the sound into a being.