Before I delve into what this exhibit was about, I have to share first a little about me: I am Venezuelan, a former Human Rights lawyer and political asylum seeker.
I was 8 years old when late president Hugo Chávez came to power. I breathed my first tear gas bomb at age 9 while a march against his policies took place right outside my school, near the “Círculo Militar” —a National Armed Forces social, cultural, and training complex. School teachers were forced to teach me and my classmates to always carry a cloth in a zip bag and a water bottle in our backpacks —not for drinking, but to clean and cover out faces so we wouldn’t suffocate in case a similar incident occurred again. Innumerable incidents (similar and worse) occurred for the years to come.
I decided to become a lawyer as a kid, switching back and forth between aspirations of becoming an ambassador or working in Human Rights. The latter prevailed. It was the only way I knew (or thought I knew) I could achieve some sense of justice, and I was determined to help my country and fellow citizens any way I could, to get retributions from the many atrocities perpetrated against us by the State. I also joined Amnesty International in my teens, volunteering till the point of launching and directing a regional network in my hometown. The organization’s wholistic training allowed me to consider more than retributions and negotiations, but also education, advocacy, and healing.
Fast forward to 2014. I’m in Washington DC and visit the —then open— Venezuelan Embassy for a public cultural event.
I had come to the US for my safety after several attacks against me and other activist/colleagues. I had recently participated in protests back home that ended in the death of dozens of students, including friends and neighbors. At the Embassy, fresh from the pain, I started asking questions about those deaths, political prisoners, and the conditions that created our massive migration crisis. I was quickly shut down, so I started yelling questions. It became a one-person protest, and the single friend I had gone to the Embassy with, watched in shock as I was pulled and carried out of the building through the back alley and dropped next to the trash. Still, I didn’t stay quiet.
Fast forward to 2019. Juan Guaidó assumes Office the Presidency on an Interim Basis, invoking Articles 233, 333, and 350 as stipulated in our National Constitution, which call for the disavowal of any regime, legislation, or authority conflicting with democratic principles or infringing upon human rights, and ensure the restoration of power in case of a presidential absence. Though Maduro wasn’t literally absent, the presidential election of 2018 is widely regarded as fraudulent, sparking international controversy fueled by conflicting interests.
Fast forward —at last— to 2021. I’m invited by a newly designated Cultural Attaché to curate an art exhibition that can revive the abandoned Bolivarian Hall of the Venezuelan Embassy in the US.
Initially hopeful, but increasingly disillusioned with the interim government’s failures, I was unsure about being involved. Current politics presented a dilemma but despite my reservations, this was an opportunity that would not likely come again. My childhood dreams of working at the embassy were weirdly manifesting, but above all, to be invited to the place that kicked me out years before (my embassy, my country) represented a chance to bridge gaps, reclaim lost connections, contribute to a narrative of unity and understanding in the face of political challenges… It was a chance to come back home.
So in September of 2022, Terceros Lugares / Third Places opened at the Bolivarian Hall, born from a desire to explore and redefine the identity of Venezuelans who, beyond the simplistic dichotomy of "those who stayed and those who left," share a common and complex connection to their homeland, free from divisive social and political constructions. And given the rise of Venezuelan migrants to the US (plus the infamous Texas buses dropping migrants in DC and other cities,) the participating artists agreed to donate a portion of the art sales to the local non-profit Humanitarian Action —a Venezuelan-led organization that provides assistance to our most vulnerable fellow nationals.
The concept for this exhibition drew inspiration from various notions:
Competition and Hierarchy: In terms of competition, the third place secures a position on the winners' podium, teetering on the edge, just above those who fell short. As the "lowest award," it can be an uneasy position, promoting a hierarchy of attempts and expertise, while overlooking one crucial element: luck. Additionally, third-place qualifiers are traditionally presented with bronze medals, which, according to Olympic history, represent the age of heroes and wars —a narrative that perpetuates violence and a sad resemblance to current global crises.
Academia: Influenced by Edward Soja's Thirdspace Theory, the concept encourages a reevaluation of the environment to find an in-between place that integrates physical and mental realms. Homi Bhabha's Location of Culture further contributes to the idea of a third space as a bridge or passage, disrupting binary logic and allowing for new associations in its divisions.
Legal Constructs: From a legal perspective, there’s a “legal fiction” known as "extraterritoriality," wherein buildings or land within a jurisdiction are deemed to be situated abroad, in the country of ownership. The quintessential example is embassies —structures legally conceptualized within one country, yet existing physically within another. A parallel representation of a third place.
Overall, Terceros Lugares/Third Places emerged as a framework to showcase the work of Venezuelan artists at imprecise moments, offering a platform for personal and national interpretations, and exploring identities that transcend the limits of origin and destination, but are united in its complexity and separation.
Artists included
Waleska Solórzano: Also known as Waleska Del Sol. She’s an Afro-Venezuelan artistic scholar, educator, and writer, conceptualizing themes of displacement, identity formation, and queerness in her fused academic-artistic practice.
AnaYelsi Velazco-Sánchez: Born in Caracas and adopted as an infant by an American family, she’s a reconnecting IndoLatinx mujerista painter, agitating her way through the diaspora as an antiracism and decolonization educator.
Cassandra Mayela: A self-taught textile artist whose work is deeply influenced by her personal experiences as an immigrant and woman of color, as well as the storytelling potential of clothing.
Yaritza Molina: A dedicated artist and artisan who skillfully blends native materials like tapara (dried gourd) and moriche palm in her creations, reflecting her commitment to preserving traditional crafts.
Henry Mujica: A native of Delta Amacuro, currently living in Madrid, Spain. He started his career in the Arturo Michelena School of Fine Arts in Valencia, Venezuela, and he’s highly influenced by his siblings (also artists) Humberto Mujica and Elba Damast, who he considers his first painting teacher.
Humberto Mujica: A military aviation pilot who discovered his true passion in art, following the footsteps of his siblings Henry Mujica and Elba Damast. He studied at the Arturo Michelena School of Plastic Arts and left his artistic mark in the city of Valencia through geometric-abstract pieces influenced by natural events and daily life.
Ricardo Gallo di Nardo: A retired biology teacher whose passion for art-making drove him to start a new creative path, but whose artistic practice has been in decline due to economic constraints from the current pension system in Venezuela, where he still resides.
Organizing Terceros Lugares / Third Places gave me the opportunity to exhibit works that expand across indeterminate temporalities within the Venezuelan territory and its diaspora, presenting fresh perspectives on our national identity: one that exists neither solely in the place of origin nor the host country, but in the amalgamation of both, plus an immensity of circumstances.
Despite the turbulent backdrop of contemporary events that might overshadow artistic experiences, artists are compelled to respond and forge new connections with them. In their resistance, they proposed a revitalizing collective imaginary. Through this exploration, they aimed at dissolving the divisions inherent in "binaries of belonging,” and instead, presented a third option —in a very symbolic and unexpected place— that enriches our understanding of who we are, and who we can be.
This exhibition marked a significant step in my journey of personal healing, acting as a cathartic release for the anger I had harbored towards an imaginary place, a building representation I had attributed the weight of my grievance. It became a transformative process, stripping away the emotional ties to the construct of the structure, reducing it to the mere shell of governments, and highlighting instead the creative spirit of Venezuelans and what’s possible when we reunite.
- PS. Just over 2 months after the exhibition concluded, the Venezuelan Embassy in the US formally ceased to function.