Hold on—let me write this down.
Lucila Rodarte captures pithy emotion in SMS-like messages, painted in words and images onto handmade ceramics: time-capsules where the memory is the capsule itself.
Puede leer esta entrevista en español aquí.
Last year, my friend Armando invited me to come along as prized press to MDF Mexico Design Fair. It’s a less-traditional design fair focused on collectibles, and hosted on the beachfront locale of Puerto Escondido, a small city on the southern coast of the state of Oaxaca in Mexico. And of course I went: though I am generally suspicious of art/design fairs (who are they for?, and don’t enjoy 9/10 of them, one thing I do consistently enjoy is the beach 😮💨
The event, while aimed at collectors and industry professionals, was intimate, tasteful, and inclusive, representing both Mexican designers and from less-represented spaces around the world, like Local Industries from Palestine. Of course, it wasn’t perfect—I still think there’s a looming question in the design world, in general, about collectible design’s impact on the world, beyond aesthetics—but nonetheless it was absolutely an improvement on my past experiences at art and design fairs.
In preparing to attend for my second year as a press guest, I also wanted to reimagine how we write about fairs. I decided to focus in on one of their new additions: Guadalajara-based artist Lucila Rodarte, whose work I had seen (without even knowing who it was) at Salon Acme, another art fair that happens annually in Mexico City.
Lucila’s work focuses on treating ceramics as message holders—sort of the same way that a letter or a screen or a voice note functions. Many of them are emblazoned with phrases that allude to Tumblr-esque musings on the state of life, appearing to have been scribbled down in the corner of a party or the aftermath of a breakup. These messages, often abrupt or playfully blunt, create a contrast with the traditional/ancient forms of the ceramics she chooses to work with, which come in a range of shapes, but most often appear as vases or amphoras.
When Lucila and I met over Zoom to talk through how we could share her work, we agreed to correspond in Spanish via written question and answer, embracing the theme. We also agreed to have her share a wide range of photos from her studio and the greater world. There’s something interesting here that I don’t have the words to capture: something about the way in which the simplest of thoughts can take on whole other meanings – that their meaning is entirely tied to the messages’ context. Lucila’s objects capture what my words can’t.
Each of your texts feels like a message frozen in time, like when I take a screenshot of a funny text from a friend. What is the last memorable message you received?
A well-loved teacher passed away a few years ago after battling an illness. He had left a letter for his students and friends that ended by saying, about his departure, "Walking away and into the sunset, like in cowboy movies." (There was a certain humor but it was sad at the same time.) This keeps hitting me and I remember that this humor resonated in my mind for a long time.
I really enjoy seeing artists and designers share photos from their studios. These photos are way more interesting to me than the professional photos you see portraying studios that have been cleaned up and organized before the shoot. I want to see how you work—where do you put all your shit?
Do you keep a diary?
I don't have a diary. I have a “bank” of phrases and images that I end up using later to work on the pieces. For many of them, even if they are very short, I keep working on and they keep transforming for months until I can put them to use.
A piece of text takes on a different meaning depending on how it is presented. There is something special about handwriting, in particular I feel, where you can see not only the words but also the actual moments in which they were created. There is a feeling of longing which I took from the actual phrases displayed in your pieces, which may just be my own perception. I would love to know more about the meaning of some of the phrases. Is there one with a particular story?
I call this state a kind of "slow emotional breakdown,” with a combination of paradox and almost comedy (in some cases). But overall I think you could define it as having fun with nostalgia. I am interested in the relationship between the object and the sensation; its constant transformation and complementation until the end of its production. This is a theater that happens in my head while I work.
The use of blackout text in pieces makes me think more about context—how people always complain about their words being taken away from their original intention (not always a solid excuse tbh), [and] how there are entire Instagrams dedicated to single text threads—the microfiction from reddit/nosleep. Sometimes, less is more, and the impact of a phrase can leave me much more affected than a full book. This is why I will always argue with people who don’t take social media seriously.
Do you feel like you are telling a story? If so, where is that story going?
I believe that, in my work, there is no timeline through history, but I definitely believe that each object is or forms part of a small story. Maybe in many years I will be able to see everything from another place and understand it better. Will it have been worth it? How will I feel?
Do you ever look back at the phrases of your pieces and feel a distance between you then and now?
Something that I can notice is that many of the pieces are the result of giving a lot of thought to something that is there. So yes, there is a distance between what I feel, when I do it and when it is finished. The object ends up being like a roller coaster of emotions and for me, it's still going around months later. No drama haha—I enjoy it.
I’m pretty obsessed with the almost-religious repetition of the white dog iconography in both Lucila’s work and the photos she sent (these images are from the package of photos she sent over). There’s definitely something to be said for creating our own symbols and patterns in the world around us.
I love the way you bring these illustrations to some of your pieces, like the stars or that seemingly grumpy little dog. What is your relationship with iconography and/or symbols?
These characters, some "invented," others already from popular culture, have been kinds of archetype in my own bubble; I like to use them because I think they represent personalities. The puppy is called Bruno and, in a comical sense, I say that he is my alter ego, always trying to have fun.
As someone who prides themselves on having learned a lot of craft techniques, I am still absolutely terrible at throwing clay on the wheel. Lots of respect to people who can not only do it, but to Lucila for turning it into something so much more. It feels like the evolution of a process that transforms art + design into its own new field—something I’m still searching for the word for.•
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