The exhibition Punto Ciego (Blind Spot), curated by Silvia Coppola, takes place at the Clara Campoamor civic center in Barakaldo. The building is situated on a split-level site within San Vicente Park, a vast green space dotted with sculptures overlooking the BEC (Bilbao Exhibition Centre). From the upper level, access to the civic center is via Avenida Árbol de Gernika, through a large, circular, exposed concrete staircase that evokes Eduardo Chillida’s sculpture Elogio del horizonte. The architectural ensemble is crowned by a bust dedicated to Clara Campoamor.

Two clearly differentiated stances can be identified in the exhibition. On one hand, there is that of Imanol Expósito, which frontally addresses the semiotic weight of its context. On the other, that of Ce Pams and Santiago F. Mosteyrín, which evades such content in favor of a more phenomenological experience. Both approaches are also spatially distinct: the former is located inside the building—more mediated—while the latter remains outside, in a “wilder” outdoors focused on perception, movement, and bodily experience.

The first position, that of Imanol Expósito, occurs in unison with the space: loaded, chaotic, and straightforward. The works are arranged homogeneously, occupying the entire room at regular intervals. They accumulate elements of diverse origins: kitsch—such as postcards of Barakaldo, trading cards of actresses, a shopping mall pyramid, a portrait of Franco, or an image of the Loch Ness Monster; vintage—dark chipboard furniture, a mid-century style lamp; and archival—documents on public sculpture debates and accounts of a protest. These are joined by references to the revisions of Basque imagery carried out by artists such as Txomin Badiola, Asier Mendizabal, or Iñaki Garmendia. This is evident in works like the image of a girl in leopard leggings holding a banner against an industrial backdrop, a video of a nostalgic road trip through the Left Bank (Margen Izquierda), or the recontextualization of Oteiza’s Par móvil.

Although this maelstrom produces a certain confusion, one perceives a genuine and intimate intention. Many art graduates can relate: that specific moment of returning to one’s hometown after finishing studies, when the landscape is perceived differently. A new encounter with the familiar where everyday forms reveal themselves as distinct objects of artistic analysis. This intention is especially visible in the collage documenting a debate in Barakaldo regarding the installation of a public sculpture by Oteiza or Larrea. The selected letters convey the idealization of an era when art seemed to occupy a central place in public debate.

However, even if there is an appeal to a shared memory oscillating between nostalgia and recontextualization, no space is left for the spectator. The generosity of the intention ultimately becomes opacity. The lack of a formal or sensitive articulation makes it difficult to find a distance from reality within the work that might produce meaning. That is to say, references to external elements weigh more than formal decisions (scale, shape, structure, rhythm), requiring the viewer to sort and discriminate without clear paths to enter or exit the work. The resulting experience is that of a work without a format that allows for a connection between subject and object beyond the occasional recognition of references.

In the opening talk, Dónde están las máquinas?, where the author’s intentions are explained, the choice of format is surprising. Why insist on placing the artist in front of their work? This type of explanatory intervention makes it difficult to distinguish between the creator and the work and, consequently, hinders any critical conversation about it. Furthermore, it pushes the work to sustain itself solely on its affective context, excessively tethered to the present.

In parallel, the artist talk can be understood as an effect of university systems of knowledge production. The Faculty of Fine Arts—especially for those from non-elite backgrounds—tends to generate a certain tension between personal ways of knowing reality and academic methods. This can lead to a distorted self-consciousness, where the act of explaining the work causes what is done to be confused with what is said—a symptom of an environment that conditions artistic production, distancing it from processes of individuation.

Even so, a “rogue” (gamberra), vitalistic, and affectionate attitude filters through Imanol Expósito’s intervention, which proves contagious—hinting that behind the work lies a desire to play, experiment, and be part of the conversation.

Leaving this sea of content behind, upon exiting and entering the staircase, an intermittent blowing sound can be heard. A contact microphone electronically transmits the sound produced by the impact of wind, rain, or even silence itself on a cable placed at the top of the stairs. Since the structure is a hollow cylinder, it receives the full impact of the open park space ahead, and the funnel effect produced by the architecture enhances these sounds, creating a contained space of human scale from which to intensely perceive the exterior. There is something simple and pleasant in the literality of the gesture: it’s windy, it sounds like wind; it rains, it sounds like rain. At the same time, it is a gesture that can go completely unnoticed: the speaker is above our heads and, if there is no wind or rain, it is easy to walk by without noticing it.

The other work, by Santiago F. Mosteyrín, is a large canvas covering one of the openings in the staircase, blocking the view from inside. The canvas has a school-like quality due to the choice of materials and resembles a sail. It has been intervened with green strips and, though the figuration is unclear, two eyes looking to the side seem distinguishable. Exposure to the elements and the force of the wind mean that, as days pass, the work suffers damage and eventually disappears from its location. Its quality might reside precisely in generating an image and observing how it disintegrates until it is left in tatters.

A few days ago, someone told me that, in his last exhibition, an artist went to dust his sculptures every week. It struck me as a gesture both affectionate and suffocating, like a typical mother’s kiss. Leaving a work at the mercy of the weather seems like a carefree gesture, stripped of control, or perhaps a commitment to highlighting the living quality of art.

Santiago also presents his performance Las bocas de Gore Vidal, a video translated into Spanish live, depicting a conversation between Caligula and Chaerea (by Albert Camus, later adapted by Gore Vidal for cinema), alongside other fragments of classical literature. The interest of the video lies in the specificity of its staging: Santiago personifies the text through images. What might have been a generic reinterpretation of a play becomes specific through gestures, producing a form with the appearance of reality. Just as Caligula is about Caligula more than the human condition, the video embodies a personal experience with the text.

In the performance, a playful dissociation occurs between text and image—a kind of asynchronous ventriloquism. An irredeemably queer technique also appears, where decorative accessories are theatrically enhanced: a fish-shaped earring, a flower, a chain, a beard painted in a mirror, or a bit of hair gel to practice a Roman-inspired hairstyle. The play of mirrors, the succession of close-ups and extreme close-ups, and the rapid camera pans operate at the same level. All of this builds an effective and dizzying rhythm, interrupted only by a sequence showing Narcissus, where time becomes strange and oily—perhaps unnecessarily prolonged.

Blind Spot

11/22/2025 – 1/7/2026
Centro Cívico Clara Campoamor

Santiago F. Mosteyrín
Imanol Expósito
Ce Pams
Mediation: Silvia Coppola