An exhibition that says nothing

“Liliana Porter. Travesía” at MALBA: an exhibition that says nothing and confirms that art can also be a gesture of comfort

MALBA plays it safe again with a polished, correct, predictable, and profoundly disconnected exhibition from the present. “Liliana Porter. Travesía” is a mirror of a banking elite that wants culture without conflict, without criticism, without risk. Harmless art for millionaires without taste, time, or street smarts.

An exhibition to say that something is being done, without doing anything
From July 12 to October 13, MALBA presents Liliana Porter. Travesía, an exhibition that reviews six decades of work by an Argentine artist who has lived in New York for more than half a century. The exhibition, presented to the public by ICBC—an international bank with VIP clientele—is another snapshot of the current state of institutionalized contemporary art in Buenos Aires: soulless, repetitive, locked in its glass tower.

The exhibition has the same packaging as always: established names, glossy catalogs, professional curation, and texts that sound important even if they say nothing. Agustín Pérez Rubio—the exhibition's curator and former MALBA curator—has put together a chronological overview that attempts to show Porter's "conceptual and formal evolution." But it seems more like a review of greatest hits carefully chosen so as not to upset anyone.

MALBA as a spa for posh sensibility
MALBA has long ceased to be a space for thinking about Latin American art in terms of conflict, shock, and question. It has become a catwalk for artists who no longer surprise anyone, except for the public who come to take selfies with sculptures, sip expensive coffee, and say they went to "an incredible exhibition."

And what does the exhibition have? Puppets, toys, vintage objects, small stage sets mounted with a naive aesthetic. Polished images that could be in any New York shop window, in a SoHo bookstore window, or on the Instagram feed of a cultural influencer. But there's no pain, no rage, no true irony. Everything seems made to please, to be beautiful, to hang in a doctor's office in Recoleta.

An artist exiled from risk
Liliana Porter, born in 1941, moved to New York in 1964. Her internationally recognized work has been exhibited in prestigious museums. But her language, which once dialogued with conceptual art, object criticism, and the use of the absurd, now appears domesticated. In this exhibition, there is no edge or context. There is no mention of the real Argentina, its upheavals, its history of repression, crisis, or struggle. It is art floating in limbo, as if time didn't exist.

One of the exhibition's central themes is the "existential absurdity," expressed through broken toys, small figures that recur as symbols of the unhinged everyday. But this absurdity ends up being a decoration without depth, a cute aesthetic with philosophical pretensions. A Beckett for a toy store. An Ionesco for Sunday brunch.

ICBC: Patron of Culture or Sponsor of the Neutral?
It's no coincidence that the exhibition was presented at an event exclusively for ICBC clients. There's champagne, catering, and speeches about "high-value cultural experiences." But what's missing is conflict, questioning, and overflowing. Art, in this format, is just another product of institutional marketing: it serves to demonstrate "cultural commitment" without implying any uncomfortable position.

The exhibition could be anywhere in the world, which isn't a merit, but rather a symptom. Uprooted, dislocated from the here and now. In a Buenos Aires falling apart, where independent artists fight for space, materials, and visibility, this exhibition appears like a glass bubble: protected, sponsored, sterile.

Where has art with thorns gone?
Let's be blunt: MALBA has become an empty consecration center. It no longer takes risks, it doesn't take a stand, it doesn't intervene in the country's social, political, or symbolic debates. It chooses artists established on the international circuit, with works that are easily digestible and ready for export.

Liliana Porter. Travesía offers nothing that shocks the viewer. It doesn't challenge, it doesn't hurt, it doesn't leave open questions. What we have is a selection of beautiful works, well-staged, perfectly explained. But art that doesn't disturb dangerously resembles entertainment.

And the audience?
Among the works, executives, influencers, art students, and high-society women stroll. Many don't know Porter. Some are taking selfies. Others read curatorial texts as if they were instructions for understanding a conceptual appliance. The museum doesn't invite dialogue, but rather passive consumption.
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