Clemente Padín
Happy Bicentennial
Amsterdam, The Netherlands: Daylight Press, 1976
12 pp., 14.5 x 10.7 cm., staple bound,
Edition size unknown
"Happy Bicentennial, a small paper booklet, is unassuming at first sight. Its simplicity – both in material and in design – reflects the lack of resources accessible to artists in Uruguay during the military dictatorship. Pen and paper comprise the materials necessary for its creation. The nature of the booklet itself, its contents hidden between pages, waiting to be opened, asks for intimacy with its reader. It interacts with its audience on a one-to-one basis. This intimacy is then preyed upon as Padín makes the reader not just a receiver of information, activates them as a participant in a plot.
Happy Bicentennial instructs its reader on how to build a bomb to send to a Wall Street office in the United States. The language is directive yet, at times, almost surreal as Padín requests that the bomb be stuffed with “beautiful flowers.” The tension between opacity and ambiguity asks the reader to draw their own conclusions on the meaning of the booklet, thus making them active participants. Holding and reading the booklet suddenly becomes an overt political action as Padín places the reader in a politicised plot against the US Government, who continued business with Uruguay despite the inhumane military dictatorship occurring. Padín can therefore be seen utilising the material mode of Mail Art, which does not adhere to borders, to challenge the global context of the Uruguayan dictatorship. Happy Bicentennial raised awareness of the military dictatorship in Uruguay whilst directly challenging the involvement of the United States. Moreover, through Happy Bicentennial Padín removed passivity as a choice for his audience, forcing them into a position of active participation as they picked up the booklet and flipped through it. The forcefulness of the booklet, which is threatening, dangerous, and potent, echoed the forcefulness of the military dictatorship under which millions were living similarly, without choice.
Happy Bicentennial also challenged the capitalised ideologies which padded the artworld. As an item of Mail Art, Padín’s artwork did not bid on monetisation: its purpose was simply communication. The artist championed Mail Art for its accessibility in this regard, claiming that “Mail Art is an artistic school without any “isms.” As such, any student can enter this school and participate.” Radically democratising in its message; anyone could create Mail Art. Against the tide of an increasingly capitalistic global art market (which grew massively in the 1970’s due to an increasing understanding of art as investment) Padín’s artwork emphasised the importance of art as a medium for human-to-human communication and connection. One of the key features of Mail Art was its physical demise: damage caused by the postal system, creases due to folding, marks left by stamps. These visual features of mail art became a part of the artwork itself and became referred to as ‘noise.’ Noise visible on Mail Art gave each piece a visual history. The temporaneity of the art form reflects the immediacy of the message which it conveys: mail art is not created to be preserved and hung on gallery walls or bought by a collector. Its purpose is to reach the viewer, both physically and ideologically.
Therefore, naturally, much of the work of Padín and his contemporaries was lost. Yet, the values their Mail Art communicated remain relevant. Censorship and moderation continue to play huge roles in the way we receive information today. Happy Bicentennial stands as an example of artistic and political transgression which utilised art mediums to connect with people across the world. Padín’s Mail Art is a quiet yet forceful revolt. It reminds us that though navigating ever-changing political climates can feel overwhelming and at times debilitating, there are always alternative ways to connect with each other and to stand for what we believe in. All we need is a pen, and some paper. “
Clemente Padín died on Friday, at the age of 85.
