Maria Guzmán Capron, Intrepida, 2018. 11 x 13.5 x 8.5 inches. Courtesy the artist and Deli Gallery, New York.
Intrepida (2018) is poised and daring. She is a movement at the edge of our vision; captured mid-action, she immediately freezes. Patterns of fabric envelop her, forming a skin that makes her visible yet ready to be camouflaged and disappear. She is part of a progression of miniature, three-dimensional figurative works I have been making over the past year: exaggerated bodies, rich in color and texture, able to extend and contort in ways that a human body couldn’t. They are imperfect handmade objects, miniature sculptures that reference and poke fun at the monumental. They are small jewels full of comedy and drama.
I begin these works in a place lead by touch and feeling, where inert materials—fabric, stuffing, and wire—can emerge as anything. I see a form materializing loosely, ethereal, and then pinned together. She is born out of intuition, a foggy impression until I tighten and sculpt the body through countless little stitches and knots. Her skin flickers in black and white. The fabric is inverted at the end of some limbs, revealing a darker pattern. This slight switch creates a tiny vibration that highlights certain gestures. Hands and hair grow out of yarn. Her eyes are open fields of color.
Intrepida is a powerful creature, muscular, extremely flexible, hyper-human, more than what we could be. Exposed, all she needs is a small knit top and bottom, a grid structure outlining her figure and accentuating her fluidity. Intrepida is something feral that lurks, a potential being that is female, animal, otherworldly. In crafting her I offer a glimpse of another reality, and an opening to an unapologetic space for others like us.
Maria Guzmán Capron’s Intrepida is on view in Don’t Eat Me, an exhibition with Asuka Anastacia Ogawa at Deli Gallery in New York City until October 21.