Territorial Bodies Exhibition: Interview with the Artist. Bernadita Bennett.
After being part of Territorial Bodies exhibition, curated by Marcela Villanueva, Bernadita Bennett reflects on her art in an interview with Myriam Martínez Gómez.
How would you describe yourself as a artist?
I’d say I’m an artist who expresses herself best when the work stems from a personal experience. That’s where I feel my most honest work comes from: whether it’s an emotional theme or something tied to my own journey or my family’s history, I’ve felt compelled to bring those ideas into public or shared spaces. For me, what’s been most engaging is finding a way to translate personal narratives into a broader social context, creating forms that resonate both individually and collectively.
I tend to approach media as a response to the concept or theme I’m working with. I don’t feel tied to a single medium; rather, I try to choose the one that best serves the work. When I’ve had the opportunity to do residencies (especially those that provide a studio or dedicated workspace), I often feel freer to experiment with materials, for example.
What’s your creative process?
I ask myself: “What is it that’s occupying my thoughts right now?”. For example, one of my projects, “Arquelographies: How to Represent What Is About to Disappear?”, started because I lost someone very dear to me. I knew I wanted to explore that feeling, but I didn’t want the work to be directly about the loss itself.
Then I came across this factory, and I found it really compelling: it was on the verge of disappearing, but also of transforming into something else. That duality struck me, and I decided to use the factory as a metaphorical stand-in for the person I had lost. I began documenting it, trying to extract as much information, as many details as possible, before it changed forever. It became a way of preserving something, remembering it, before it was gone. That was the idea: to hold onto the essence of something just before it disappears.
I think the work presented at Bardo Projektraum, “Ir Y Venir”, part of the “Territorial Bodies” exhibition, also explores similar themes. It stems from the experience of living in a city that doesn’t feel like my own (something very personal, related to being a migrant). But I approach that through objects found in the streets, objects that are also in a kind of transition. They carry this illusion of home, and for me, they represent both memory and movement, belonging and displacement.
So “Ir Y Venir” came about unexpectedly, or was it an idea you had already planned?
This project actually began last year as part of a collective photography workshop I participated in, organized by a group of Chilean photographers living in different parts of the world. I wanted to create something that reflected what I was experiencing in real time: a transition involving five or six different apartments and working a lot to just get by.
Since I didn’t have much time and couldn’t really stop for long periods, I always carried a small analog pocket camera in my bag. I would take quick flash shots (very spontaneous) of the things that struck a nerve in me, things that triggered a kind of emotional reaction, almost unconsciously. They were scenes or objects that somehow spoke to me, even if I didn’t fully understand why in the moment.
Later, when I started reviewing all the photos, I noticed certain patterns: lots of light reflections in windows, and these everyday objects that seemed so charged, so present. I realized these were the kinds of things that might give people a sense of life, or familiarity. And that’s when I thought: “There’s something here”. Everything started to feel connected, as if all these elements were part of the same story.
How did you aproach it?
I took all the photos myself, and I did the post-production as well, but I had guidance during the editing process within the context of a workshop (led by Javiera Infante). I generally prefer to do it myself, but in this case, having someone else involved was helpful because I took so many photos over the year. There were too many to fit into my vision, so it was great to have Marcela Villanueva’s input on selecting the final images for Bardo Projektraum, too. She helped me narrow it down, and it gave me a fresh perspective on the work.
I chose the photos based on their balance in terms of quantity and theme. I wanted to contrast distant observations of the public space with more intimate moments with my close ones. I paid attention to the harmony between these images, not just in terms of subject matter, but also in color and tone. It was about finding a sense of equilibrium in the narrative.
How did the space Bardo Projektraum provided fit in that narrative?
Before “Territorial Bodies”, I had come to Bardo Projektraum for an exhibition. It was about water, and Claudia Müller participated with a project that involved a fountain. I found it very interesting, and I really like the space here. The large windows are amazing because they connect the inside of the gallery directly to the public space outside, which I think is very important for art today. I love that aspect. Some galleries are very critical, and that doesn’t always help the viewer engage with the artwork. I think it’s great when the gallery has such an open space, where people can see the exhibition from the outside. It invites more interaction with the public, which is something I appreciate.
You also did an Artist Talk alongside Amanda Bobadilla as part of the exhibition program.
Yes, it was great, actually. Amanda and I realized that even though our disciplines differ, we have similar interests. I was particularly struck by the way she spoke about her practice: the juxtaposition between how organically her interest in writing emerged, and the systematic aspect of her work involving maps. And she told me that when she saw my work and I explained the process behind it, she could really relate, even though she no longer works in the same way. Amanda had gone through very similar frustrations, which was quite surprising and meaningful to hear.
Coming back to “Ir Y Venir”, how did video emerge as a key element in it?
I wanted to add another dimension, something that would give the project more depth. That’s when I began incorporating sound through video. It allowed me to bring in a sonic layer that created a dialogue between different emotional and spatial tempos, which was very important for the overall atmosphere of the piece.
I realized that sound was essential to fully express the contrast between different sonic environments in my daily life. I became particularly interested in capturing that tension between the hurried pace of walking here in Berlin, and the calmer, more reflective rhythms found in conversations or in other ambient sounds from home, in Chile.
“Ir Y Venir” has given me the opportunity to reflect on the emotional stages of migration. I feel that the work speaks to the moment between the depressive and adaptive stages. It’s a time of adjusting, of realizing that things aren’t going to be as easy as you imagined. But this process also opened up important conversations with others who are going through the same struggles. It was a way to heal and connect, and that made the art even more meaningful.
Has that process made you rethink your relationship with home and the idealized notion of European life?
Absolutely. Coming from Latin America, you expect things to be easier, that there will be more resources and opportunities. But when you actually get here, you realize it’s not so simple. You miss the things you took for granted in your home country: the language, the community, the connections. It’s been a journey, realizing that there are other, perhaps more subtle resources that we tend to overlook. It’s about demystifying the migration process and understanding that home isn’t always what you imagine it to be.
Regarding home, the public space is a recurring element in your art corpus.
When I first began studying art, I was much more focused on my immediate surroundings, on personal and familial contexts. I have earlier works that explore my family history quite directly. The project that really brought me into the realm of public space was a photographic series I did on houses in northern Chile (homes that are gradually disappearing). These were places I used to visit during childhood vacations, so they had strong emotional significance for me.
When I realized that many of these houses were being demolished or falling into disrepair, I began documenting them. That process revealed to me how deeply the public realm can hold personal meaning, not just for me, but for others too. These façades are part of everyday life, visible to everyone, and yet they’re full of memory. That was my first real engagement with public space, and from there, I became increasingly interested in its social and emotional impact on people’s lives.
I think it has definitely deepened over time, especially through performance. Performance has allowed me to work more directly and immediately with public space. Even when I’ve used other mediums, like ceramics or drawing, there’s often still a performative aspect.
You’ve also worked with video performance.
Yes, that actually started with “Arqueolographies: How to Represent What Is About to Disappear”, which took place here in Berlin, during a residency at GlogauAIR. When I found the factory, I had this idea of creating a sort of performative act: inhabiting the space and interacting with the objects I found there, using them to produce sounds. I recorded those actions, and that documentation became part of the installation.
In the exhibition, I presented the video along with the physical pieces I created (ceramic objects, drawings, photographs, etc.) and the video shows me performing with those materials, generating sound. Later, I even composed a kind of soundscape for the building.
There was a kind of urgency, an obsession, almost, to use everything I could from that space before it was gone. The ceramic pieces, for instance, were mold-based impressions of the architecture, but I don’t have formal training in ceramics. It wasn’t about the discipline itself, it was more about how those materials could serve the concept. In the end, I presented them as a kind of negative archive, a display of detailed fragments that together spoke to the magnitude and complexity of the space that was about to vanish.
And what about “Wie können wir ein Haus machen”?
Yes, that actually came later. It really started when I moved to Germany in 2021 to begin my Master’s studies at the Bauhaus University in Weimar, in a program called Public Art and New Artistic Strategies. The program had a strong emphasis on working within public space, so much of the work we did involved direct engagement with specific urban and social contexts. During that time, performance became a medium I felt very naturally drawn to, it felt intuitive and accessible for me.
One of the key performances I developed during the program was the “Wie Können Wir Ein Haus Machen?” performance, in Chemnitz. We were asked to work with textiles, something I had never done before. Coincidentally, that same year I had taken a trip to northern Chile, to the desert region, and I became very interested in a type of black fabric commonly used there. Traditionally, it’s used to create temporary shelters or provide shade, especially in migrant communities. I noticed that recently, people had started using it to construct entire makeshift homes. I found this adaptation deeply moving and culturally significant, and decided to bring a piece of that fabric with me to Germany.
I stitched the fabric into a large square and invited local residents to join me in constructing a kind of shelter using their bodies and the textile. I guided them through a series of physical positions, so that together we could form the structure, an ephemeral, collective home. As a migrant, the act of asking people in a foreign city to build a house with a Chilean material (one tied to impermanence and adaptation) was deeply symbolic. The experience was very powerful and well received. The resulting shapes we created together spoke to themes of belonging, memory, and cultural translation, and it became one of the most meaningful works I’ve done in performance.
How would you describe your artistic evolution?
Over time, I’ve noticed that my approach has become more honest and genuine. I would say that my photography used to be very comfortable, in the sense that it was very aesthetic, almost too structured: frontal, symmetrical, very systematized. But in my latest works, especially in “Ir y Venir”, I allowed myself to loosen up and create photos that are more emotional, more about feeling than about thinking. Even within the same medium, I feel there’s an emotional charge. So, while I’m not sure if I’d call it an evolution, it’s definitely a different approach, a new formula.
I’d love to continue alternating between both approaches, being free enough to move from one to the other. I really admire systematic, organized work, but, honestly, it was refreshing to give myself the freedom to create photos that are more about feeling rather than strict technicality. I’m always open to new possibilities.
What are your future plans?
For my next project, I’d love to create a photo book with the work I’m doing now. I feel like these photos would work really well in that format because they create a narrative that connects all the images.
I’ve already published a photo book, back in 2017, with a spanish publisher called Muga. It was based on triangular houses I photographed. We did an initial print run of 100 copies, and they sold out, so we did a second edition. It was a beautiful project, although it was more focused on typology and architecture than personal stories.
While working on a photobook, you have to make a lot of decisions, from how the images interact with each other to the layout and pacing of the book. It’s a very particular discipline, and getting the right balance is crucial. But it’s also very rewarding when you work with talented editors who understand the intricacies of a photo book.
I think the narrative aspect is essential, especially when it comes to documenting journeys or transitions. The photo book format would be a great way to showcase this, as it allows you to link the images into a coherent story.
Myriam Martínez Gómez
