“Estelio features seven videos by Puerto Rican artist Mónica Félix (b. 1984). Translated into English, estelio is “stellium,” an astrological phenomenon in which three or more planets align under a single zodiac sign. In this virtual exhibition, the artist’s rich videography comes together for the first time, each individual work a star within a larger constellation. Throughout, Félix explores the entwined histories of femininity, migration, and colonialism—creatively navigating what she calls “los rincones comprometidos de esta vida viajera,” (“the compromised corners of this traveled life”).
The exhibition format is oriented by Estelio (Stellium), 2023, a sculptural reimagination—incorporating elements from the ocean, an important point of reference for Félix—of the artist’s own astrological birth chart, which links the seven videos assembled here, made between 2014 and 2023. These delicate marine objects, found materials from the coasts inhabited by the artist, highlight the current ecological crisis and, linking sea to sky, the fragile ecosystems that keep us alive.”
The exhibition format is oriented by Estelio (Stellium), 2023, a sculptural reimagination—incorporating elements from the ocean, an important point of reference for Félix—of the artist’s own astrological birth chart, which links the seven videos assembled here, made between 2014 and 2023. These delicate marine objects, found materials from the coasts inhabited by the artist, highlight the current ecological crisis and, linking sea to sky, the fragile ecosystems that keep us alive.”
The Great Hall Exhibition at the Institute of Fine Arts at NYU
︎ Click here to see the online documentation︎
︎ Click here to see the online documentation︎
A geographic coordinate system is a way to establish land “discovered”/land “conquered”/land “in danger”/land “destroyed”
A geographic coordinate system is an impossibly plain three-dimensional reference system that dislocates points on my heart’s surface, stretching them apart to the point of rupture.
My last time was September 21, 1998.
A geographic coordinate system is an impossibly plain three-dimensional reference system that dislocates points on my heart’s surface, stretching them apart to the point of rupture.
My last time was September 21, 1998.
I am thirteen years old, listening to the news on the radio announcing the latest geographical coordinates for Hurricane Georges, a monster cyclone heading our way.
Latitudes and longitudes; precise information to those who have the understanding of an explorer or the avarice of an empire.
In a foreseen catastrophe, these numbers are feared and capricious.
In a claimed territory, these numbers are fixed and punishing.
September 19, 2017 is different.
Latitudes and longitudes; precise information to those who have the understanding of an explorer or the avarice of an empire.
In a foreseen catastrophe, these numbers are feared and capricious.
In a claimed territory, these numbers are fixed and punishing.
September 19, 2017 is different.
I sit in my apartment in New York City, far away from the imminent danger my family awaits. Harboring a desolate sentiment of helplessness, eyes-wide on the weather reports: a native spectator to a known disaster. My soft bed gently presses under my body, the unbearable feeling of comfort.
CUE SFX: Distanced sounds of car horns and people on the streets of Brooklyn.
To live in migration: an endless lamento borincano sprinkled with a million ay benditos and forever asking la bendición.
CUE SFX: Distanced sounds of car horns and people on the streets of Brooklyn.
To live in migration: an endless lamento borincano sprinkled with a million ay benditos and forever asking la bendición.
In the absence of presence, I lay in bed and close my eyes.
Breathing in stillness, I conjure the sounds my family would hear first as Hurricane María approaches them.
Bursts of wind and copious rain striking the ferns in our backyard.
Slapping sounds that promise a wreck, pounding at the storm shutters over the windows.
(Will they hollow and fly away?)
My fingers expand and close into a fist
a roll of my wrist,
Cógelo suave, María.
Puerto Rico, point 18.2208° N, 66.5901° W
that grew me; the birthplace I left 10 years ago for
New York City, point 40.7128° N, 74.0060° W and “better opportunities”.
Bendición.
Breathing in stillness, I conjure the sounds my family would hear first as Hurricane María approaches them.
Bursts of wind and copious rain striking the ferns in our backyard.
Slapping sounds that promise a wreck, pounding at the storm shutters over the windows.
(Will they hollow and fly away?)
My fingers expand and close into a fist
a roll of my wrist,
Cógelo suave, María.
Puerto Rico, point 18.2208° N, 66.5901° W
that grew me; the birthplace I left 10 years ago for
New York City, point 40.7128° N, 74.0060° W and “better opportunities”.
Bendición.
