Territorial Bodies Exhibition: Interview with the Artist. Renata Faccenda.
After being part of Territorial Bodies exhibition, curated by Marcela Villanueva, Renata Faccenda reflects on her art in an interview with Myriam Martínez Gómez.
Who is Renata Faccenda?
That’s a tough one. But I believe the most important thing about me is that I’m curious. And also, a bit rebellious. Understanding that explains a lot about my trajectory. I tried journalism (radio and television) but left it. I tried design, left it too. I worked in corporate communications and advertising, and left that as well. Mostly for ideological reasons. I felt increasingly uncomfortable with commercial perspectives, the emphasis on profit. I needed to reconnect with my values and beliefs.
I’ve always been very connected with collectives in my artistic practice. Despite how difficult collective work can be (and I’ve had my share of hard experiences), I still believe it’s part of the solution for a better world. My work has always remained independent, somewhat countercultural, and system-critical. I work from within, trying to propose more human, fair, egalitarian, and also more joyful, alternatives.
So is your art political by intention? Or does it just naturally stem from that ideals and worldview?
It just happens. Over time, I realized my work was indeed political. But, even today, I feel a bit uneasy when people call me an activist. I’ve seen how people in movements develop expectations about how you should behave. It can become oppressive, which contradicts the very essence of what we’re fighting for. But I can’t deny it.
I just avoid labeling myself. Others can do it, but I prefer to just act, create, and express freely. Once you publicly align with a political group, people tend to hold you to the standards of that movement. And I often criticize the very movements I support. For instance, I’m deeply feminist and anti-racist, but from my positionality, I still have critical thoughts about feminist and anti-racist movements. My inspiration is always rooted in my personal experience. It might be something I observe externally, like “En bragas”, but it always ties back to my own context or life.
What’s your creative process?
I don’t chase topics that are distant from me, it’s instictive. Although I never know how the final piece will look, that’s the fun part. Sometimes I do quick sketches, or look for references online. For example, in 2015, I searched for images of animal parts to build figures. For the “En Bragas” polaroids, though, it was completely spontaneous: no sketching, just instinct and visual intuition from my design background.
How did “En Bragas” (“Drop Your Pants”), part of the “Territorial Bodies” exhibition, curated by Marcela Villanueva and presented at Bardo Projektraum, came to life?
That project is conformed by 545 Polaroid photos resulting from a decade-long itinerant and interactive performance carried out in various cities across eight countries since 2001. It started as a provocation during a national photography gathering in Brazil. I helped organize it and was surrounded by photographers. I felt their work could be quite invasive at times and I wondered: “what if I pushed it even further? What if I, someone who isn’t a photographer, asked to photograph people in their underwear?” It was meant to challenge norms, and I was in a perfect environment for it: an iconic atelier in Recife with a bold, provocative artistic community.
Then I moved to Barcelona, and it was the first place I took the project abroad. A friend who was part of our artist group encouraged me to go there. I built a portable booth, sewed it myself, and traveled around Europe with it. It was intense, but mostly positive.
Did cultural attitudes toward nudity vary?
Absolutely. In Brazil, nudity is a taboo, so it became a fun, liberating experience. In Spain, people didn’t care, it was very relaxed. In Berlin, surprisingly, people were hesitant; not because of nudity, but because someone was asking them to be nude. Germans have strict ideas about space and context, and they like to do things their way. Sweden was the most repressive, what I did was seen as totally unacceptable.
Why did you stop the project?
Several reasons came together at that point. First, in 2009, the last batch of Polaroid film I had expired, and the company had stopped producing the film altogether. Around the same time, my daughter was born, so I completely put that work aside.
The first time I took the photos out of the drawer after more than 15 years was at an exhibition just before Bardo Projektraum. But the space was much smaller, so the presentation was more limited. Here I had the opportunity to show the full artwork.
Bardo Projektraum is known for being a strongly feminist and immigrant-oriented space. When you decided to exhibit your work, do you consciously considered the values or ideology of the space?
I always do, but it’s more intuitive than strategic. I find that I’m naturally drawn to places and people who share similar values. If I were invited by a space that stood for values I fundamentally disagreed with, I wouldn’t participate, but that’s never happened so far. I had already attended a talk in Bardo Projektraum, and they were somewhat familiar with my work; perhaps not this particular project, but they had a sense of the kind of themes I explore.
Do you think you will return to “En Bragas”?
At some point, Polaroid resumed production, but the quality wasn’t the same. They introduced a smaller version of the film, and later even a digital Polaroid model (which prints images instantly), but neither of those felt authentic to the experience I had with the original medium. So I didn’t return to it then. Only recently, maybe three or five years ago, they started producing the film again in a way that feels closer to the original. I’ve thought about returning to it, but I haven’t yet.
You have worked with different media as well.
Yes, mediums are secondary for me. What matters most is the message. I choose the medium that’s most accessible and effective for communicating what I want to express. I’ve worked with design, drawing, self-portraiture, photography, performance, installations, assemblages, collages… I’d say everything I do is a kind of collage of objects, photos, lines.
Right now I’m focused on drawing, which suits this phase of my life. But painting is calling me, and I’d love to make a video project (though I have no idea how to do it technically). I’ve started talking to filmmakers about it, but it’s still in early stages.
Does the exploration of drawing stem from your project “Misogyny, Cancellation and Stage – An Illustrated Testimony”?
Part of. I began drawing women for that project, and it really spoke to me, so I plan to continue. I think it’s important: we need more visibility and tributes to women, and consequently give voice to their stories and ideas. That series started as a response to cancellation, but I had been drawing long before that too, even back in 2015, hybrid creatures, a mix of animals and human forms, representing my personal emotions: fear, shame, anger.
The drawing started out of practical reasons. I used to make digital collages in Photoshop, but printing them in large formats was too expensive. So I used a projector to trace the collage outlines and draw them on paper. It was strategic, and I ended up really enjoying it. I never thought I could draw like that. I still need tools (I can’t do freehand portraits), but it works.
In what ways do you feel your artistic expression has evolved over time? Would you say the changes have been primarily technical, or do you also perceive a shift in the themes?
That’s an interesting question. I do believe it has evolved, particularly in terms of drawing technique. If you compare my first drawing with my most recent one, the difference is very clear. I would say that the meaning behind my work has also deepened somewhat. So yes, there has definitely been growth.
In the past, I was perhaps more focused on provocation: asking questions, challenging norms, and wondering, “Why not? Why is it this way?” I think that was partly due to my age at the time. Now, I feel I have stories to tell, and I believe that shift also comes with age and experience.
How do you envision your future as an artist?
For me, if art doesn’t bring me joy or doesn’t do me any good, then I honestly don’t see the point in doing it. It’s not something I pursue out of obligation or routine. At times, it becomes a deeply visceral need (like during a period when I was dealing with the pain of social rejection, and I created “Misogyny, Cancellation and Stage – An Illustrated Testimony”). That wasn’t simply artistic expression: it was a survival mechanism. It was either that or going to a psychiatrist. So, art either brings me genuine joy, or it helps me not to lose my mind.
In that sense, art is a constant presence in my life, almost like a vital need. And I think that will remain the same in the future. Even when I don’t have a studio, even when I don’t have the means to carry out a project, I’m still constantly creating ideas in my mind. I’m always writing things down. It’s something I simply can’t stop. It feels just natural.
You’ve never had the expectation of earning a living from it?
Never. I’ve seen enough to know better. Even successful artists I know have side jobs. So I began my artistic journey already knowing it’s not about income, it’s about meaning.
Myriam Martínez Gómez
