At Grimm in London, Garay explores the point at which European and Indigenous narratives emerge and diverge
A colonial encounter: a fine leather shoe stomps on a quena flute, breaking it in two. The image is depicted in a monochrome risograph that forms one of several prints that have been grouped together in the shape of an Andean cross (Intrusos en sus tierras, 2024). Claudia Martínez Garay took the image of the broken flute from a story by Peruvian novelist José María Arguedas. In it, the European owner of a hacienda, in his annoyance with Indigenous people playing music in his establishment, destroys the traditional Andean instrument, silencing Indigenous self-expression both literally and symbolically. Garay, who is of Quechua descent, foregrounds Indigenous outlooks in Intrusos en sus tierras, each print depicting similar points of irrevocable change following European and Indigenous contact. For example, at the top of the work is an image of Túpac Amaru II, who led Aymara, Quechua and mestizo rebels in an uprising against the Spanish from 1780 until his capture and death the following year, being altered by a pencil held by a white hand.
In representing this interaction between Europeans and Indigenous Peruvians, Garay alludes to a moment where European and Indigenous narratives emerge and diverge. Throughout Borrowed Air, with its vividly coloured prints and paintings, Garay considers how these encounters have been used to create an unbalanced account of Peruvian history, examining the foundational ideas that have underpinned the colonial project. In the painting Donde la luz no llega, los ecos del pasado nos guían (2024), a pencil attempts to pierce a tented Bible, symbolic of the religious justification and methods used to colonise the Americas and their Indigenous peoples. (The Bible’s cover bears the catchall designation ‘Latinoamérica’.) Yet the pencil’s tip is broken upon impact and rays of colour stream from the piece of lead touching the book. The broken pencil indicates both the incompleteness of official texts and the difficulty in attempting to alter the narratives they uphold. In Revelación (2024), a traditional Andean sculpture emerges from a hole in a barren landscape, alluding to the concept of terra nullius, which was also used to justify colonisation. Two quipus – knotted ropes used in Quechua culture to record information – stabilise the sculpture in the foreground. Here, Indigenous presence and ways of knowing are intrinsically connected to the land, whose wildlife populations and physical geography have been impacted by Spanish conquest.
Garay’s use of personal histories is another entry point to understanding colonial experience. In Su nombre sobre mi nombre (2025), two figures, their heads outside the frame of the painting, stand with linked arms in front of a celebratory procession. They wear red sashes bearing the date 14 September, the day of the Feast of the Lord of Huanca pilgrimage, which combines Quechua traditions with Catholicism. One figure wears a sash reading ‘Sr. Eliseo Garay’, indicating their relation to the artist. In inserting a familial connection, Garay suggests that the impact of colonial encounters must also be considered in terms of every individual’s personal history.
Since 2020, Garay has been creating works reflecting the Quechua concept of pacha, through which the physical world, space and time are united as an indivisible entity. The converging perspectives in this show demonstrate that colonial experiences must be considered similarly: all together on an equal plane. Like the vast, unquantifiable and crucial element referenced in the show’s title, historical narratives cannot be unilaterally owned or crafted. They must be returned, shared and developed collaboratively.
Borrowed Air at Grimm, London, through 22 February
