José A. Toirac
"José A. Toirac" by Sarah Beth Meehan, Winter 2006, pp. 91-92
It began as a booklet filled with sketches of photographs clipped from official Cuban media sources, each christened with a title reflecting a passage in the New Testament. The booklet was clandestinely photocopied for distribution and passed from hand to hand within the Cuban underground. By the time José A. Toirac’s “Parables” made it to the walls of Toronto’s Museum of Contemporary Canadian Art, Toirac had been unofficially censored from the Havana Biennial and the series had morphed into 33 framed clippings (the very same that had served as inspiration for the original drawings), titled as they had been initially and buttressed with English descriptions to satisfy a Canadian audience.
In “Parables,” the revolutionary life of Fidel Castro is juxtaposed with that of Jesus Christ. The Baptism shows the Cuban leader making a speech in 1959 with a white bird perched on his shoulder. The Sermon on the Mount has Fidel, in 1960, declaring the social character of his revolution. A series entitled Miracle offers signal moments in Cuban agricultural productivity. And in The Shroud of Turin, a man holds a door high above a crowd, “FIDEL” smeared across it in the blood of a Cuban combatant who inscribed the name of his leader just prior to dying in the 1961 U.S. Bay of Pigs invasion.
Toirac’s work extends the ironies of the iconography. It is worth remembering that Cuba has officially been an atheist state for most of Castro’s rule. In 1997, Christmas was recognized as a holiday for the first time since 1969, and the Roman Catholic Church still operates under significant and ongoing pressure. The Cuban media is also state-controlled; all reports, commentary and round-table discussions must be conducted within the defined parameters of the revolution.
That Toirac’s interpretation of Fidel’s media image could concern the Cuban government is understandable. “Parables” is a sophisticated critique in which the meek continue to be oppressed and sacrificial blood does not come from a man who died for his people, but from someone who died for Fidel. According to the curator, Magda Gonzalez-Mora, whose repeated attempts to secure a venue for Toirac’s work at the most recent Havana Biennial met with failure, it is impossible to determine exactly why the work made Cuban authorities uncomfortable. Censorship in that country, according to Gonzalez- Mora, is indirect and follows no logic. Artists are not told that aspects of their work are unacceptable to the state; rather, they find it difficult to find a space willing to display it. While the Cuban government maintains a tight grip on information, art like “Parables” encourages the public to question both their media and their government, making it not only an interesting commentary, but a socially significant one as well.
Subscribe to Canadian Art today and save 30% off the newstand price.
