Martine Gutierrez is the consummate multi-hyphenate. The performance artist, writer, and photographer is on a secret mission to add another honorific to her title, one that includes producing something for a top television service. On top of that, Gutierrez is opening her new solo show at Ryan Lee titled “ANTI-ICON: APOKALYPSIS,” so I thought I’d try to see what a week in her busy schedule looks like. Without further ado…
BROKEN FLOWERS AND IPHONE CHARGER. Art is everywhere. Art is unapologetic.
MARTINE’S TRAILER AND MASK FOR WOMAN. Less aesthetic facade, more self-erasure. Less popular, more polarity. Less in dialogue, more out of the office.
FAKE WOUND.
AMBER, MARTINE, AND RASHIDA.
I’m very excited about collaborating with friends. I now feel secure enough to step in front of someone else’s camera—it marks performance coming to the forefront of my practice.
JOHN AND MAURI HOLDING MY PICTURE. What is punk anymore? People take naked pictures of themselves all the time. I photograph myself to feel empowered. I’m not concerned with how my body is perceived. I’m hot right now. Pop culture will always reflect the changing political arena, and art is the emotional synergy.
PAINTING THE GALLERY. We feel alone because humanity is the most insecure species on the planet. Be alone.
PHOTO OF SELF-PORTRAIT. What is an icon, a cult image? Rather, what is an image? What brings a symbol to power? Culture is history’s political influence, a pendulum of domination. What is power without resistance? The historical moment, and the figure that stands in opposition.
CAMERA PHONE PHOTO OF SELF-PORTRAIT. Been leaning into the idea of images that don’t circulate well; almost makes an image precious again—to sabotage its accessibly or notoriety. Like a forgotten ruin only to be stumbled upon in person. Degraded by time—to entomb image in storage like a stolen museum artifact.
GROUP SELFIE BY NASH.
DEVAN AT THE BOOK PREMIER. The muses of New York come out at night.
MARTINE WITH GRAPES. I make no sense with a boyfriend.
FRIENDS FROM LEFT TO RIGHT: JEFF, DARA, MARTINE, MAX, NASH, BLAKE, ELLIOTT, FERN, SONNY, AND DEVAN. We were the center of the world.
ELEVATOR HIDDEN CAMERA. Still a patriarchal language, a determinative frame.
TIRED FLOWER WITH MATTRESS. What is a revelation? A proclamation of clarity, a veneer stripped away, a shattering. It feels like the world is ending, because it did; it has before, and it will again end.
WITO THROUGH HALLWAY.
