What is it like to live as an artist in Argentina today? In his 2023 performance «Vendo Humo» at the Zürcher Theater Spektakel, artist Juan Onofri Barbato explored the effects of chronic hyperinflation on Buenos Aires' art scene and the working conditions of freelance artists navigating a financially unstable reality fraught with uncertainty. Today, under the presidency of Javier Milei, the country faces new, unprecedented challenges of enormous proportions. Despite massive political and economic upheavals that have severely affected the nation's cultural institutions, Juan Onofri Barbato continues his work. Curator Lea Loeb spoke with the artist about the current state of the Argentine art world and the importance of resistance.
A year and a half ago, in your piece «Vendo Humo», you discussed the rampant inflation in Argentina and its impact on artistic creation. Since then, much has changed. For over a year now, Javier Milei has been the president of the country, provoking international dismay with his political style and measures, while also attracting supporters. How do you perceive the current situation in Argentina? What has changed since your performance in Zurich in August 2023, and what has surprised you the most?
Argentina is currently undergoing a radical transformation – not just economically, but also socially and culturally. The measures implemented by the current government are profoundly affecting people's daily lives. The country has become a testing ground for the far right, with the government experimenting with various strategies to enforce its political and economic agenda. The far right is targeting communities, institutions, and value systems, destabilizing networks of solidarity, and fostering a global network of extreme to fascist positions.
What surprised me the most was the intensity of the attack on culture. Milei ran his election campaign, in part, by targeting the cultural sector. One of the core narratives of the far right – not only in Argentina but also in parts of Europe – is to depict artists as accomplices of progressivism. They are labeled as beneficiaries of a supposedly wasteful welfare state, portrayed as lazy people who refuse to work and live off subsidies – subsidies that are allegedly impoverishing the population. The image often invoked is that artists are stealing food from the plates of poor children. This aggressive rhetoric dominated the entire election campaign and laid the foundation for concrete measures against the cultural sector.
Can you describe the concrete effects this policy has had on the Argentine art scene?
Almost all cultural funding has been frozen, and the National Film Institute has been shut down. The National Theatre Institute now operates with a budget so far detached from reality that it can barely fulfill its duties. Institutions and their employees are being deliberately pressured – for example, by withholding pay increases or transferring employees to roles they are not trained for. This indirectly forces many to resign. Others are directly dismissed. Art and educational institutions, the public healthcare system, and all institutions advocating for minority rights or the protection of natural resources are particularly affected. We are witnessing a comprehensive, systematic dismantling of social and democratic structures. The art scene is suffering tremendously from the cuts and economic restructuring. Many independent artists are struggling to survive, as financial support is scarce.
Artists in Argentina have always worked under precarious conditions, but the extent of precarization I’ve witnessed now is unprecedented. The massive emigration of artists is a testament to this. The number of colleagues who have left the country is alarmingly high. This exodus has massive consequences. The local art scene loses networks and creative partnerships, becoming increasingly fragmented. Above all, the centralization of culture in Buenos Aires is intensifying. Without state support, financing performances and productions in the provinces is nearly impossible. For a country as geographically vast as Argentina, this is catastrophic. All of this directly impacts the quality and scope of artistic work. Fewer resources mean fewer opportunities to realize meaningful works, and this has long-term consequences for the entire cultural landscape.
In your piece «Vendo Humo», you mentioned that as an Argentine artist, you rely on European support, such as co-productions with cultural institutions. I assume this dependency has only grown since then?
Yes, without a doubt. National funding is virtually nonexistent, making international exchange even more critical. But this too is under threat – whether due to economic instability or political restrictions. Most artists have given up applying for funding in Argentina altogether – it’s simply futile. The available funds are nowhere near covering real costs. Officially, inflation is said to be under control, but in reality, prices in pesos have skyrocketed. Living in Buenos Aires is now almost as expensive as in London, at least when it comes to food. The same applies to rent, clothing, and electricity. In short, we are more internationally isolated than ever. The government is systematically dismantling diplomatic and cultural ties, making it increasingly difficult for Argentine artists to connect and secure funding on a global scale.
How is it even possible to stage a theatre production in Argentina today? And would you say that cultural institutions have become spaces of resistance?
Absolutely! As a civil society and as artists, we must now create alternative structures to survive. These take the form of artistic collectives, neighborhood assemblies, and anti-fascist or anti-racist organizations. Just in the past two weeks, new assemblies initiated by the LGBTQ+ community have emerged. While these are not yet formal institutions, they already function as networks of resistance. Two weeks ago, a demonstration brought two million people to the streets – that is resistance in action.
Today, we can only sustain our work by building our own networks and structures – by organizing ourselves. Keeping a theatre alive is already an act of anti-fascist resistance. Staging a performance, no matter how small, is resistance. Maybe there’s no funding for a large-scale production, so you create a solo piece instead. But we don’t give up.
In many non-European countries, the art scene thrives on strong mutual support, often structured around a network of workshops that operate within a self-sustaining artistic economy: artists take part in courses taught by fellow artists while also offering their own. This system is especially prevalent in Argentina. Could you elaborate on how this model functions there?
This autonomous, self-organized system of artistic education is remarkably strong in Argentina. Artists teach one another, exchanging knowledge and resources in a circular economy that enables them to continue working despite the absence of state funding. However, even this model is being pushed to its limits as the broader economic situation becomes ever more precarious.
For the past 20 years, I have lived almost entirely from teaching. These courses are my only stable source of income. I teach eleven months a year, often in collaboration with other artists. Many of my colleagues do the same.
These courses are not only economically essential but also serve as vital social spaces. They offer support, particularly for minorities such as neurodivergent and queer individuals. At the end of last year, many participants told me how crucial these spaces are for their emotional well-being. I don’t see my work as therapy – I am not a therapist. But for many, these courses go beyond learning new body techniques or choreographies. They provide a sense of belonging. At the same time, these courses shape and inspire my own artistic practice. They have become spaces of resistance –this has become increasingly evident in the current climate. We support one another.
Donald Trump recently announced plans to drastically reduce U.S. foreign aid, which will also affect international arts funding. Similar demands are being made by politicians in Europe and Switzerland, where the Swiss Agency for Development and Cooperation, for instance, is cutting federal funding for cultural support in crisis regions. What impact could such political decisions have on artists in Latin America?
This is an extremely concerning development. Art and culture are vital for social cohesion and critical dialogue. If these international funding opportunities disappear, artists in Latin America will face even greater obstacles in making their work visible on the global stage. This will lead to increased isolation, reduced dialogue, and ultimately a loss of cultural diversity.
More fundamentally, we urgently need to rethink funding models and international collaboration. We are at a crossroads. Alternative ways of connecting across borders need to be explored – perhaps a blend of old and new approaches. What this will look like remains uncertain. But if this crisis is global – or threatens to become one – it could also prompt a shift toward less hierarchical collaboration, with the traditional North-South power imbalance becoming less dominant in the future. Ideally, this would spark new, more equitable conversations about international artistic exchange. I can’t predict the outcome, but one thing is clear: money cannot be the only thing that connects us. When it is no longer available, we must forge alternative pathways for exchange – perhaps in ways that bring us even closer to our own artistic practices.
We agree that the concept of «development aid» is inherently problematic, as it always implies an unequal relationship. This structure goes beyond mere financial resources.
Indeed. European and North American art institutions have historically held the greatest financial resources, giving them significant power to shape the global art scene – including determining which themes are promoted in international art. Many artists from the Global South have been pressured to focus on themes that align with current European trends. This has not only influenced but, at times, distorted their artistic expressions.
I hope that, in the future, we can collaboratively create a new agenda, rather than simply adopting the narratives imposed upon us. Perhaps this crisis presents an opportunity.
I think we need to approach our own concerns with more confidence. Perhaps this situation can lay the foundation for a new, more equitable international art scene.
Credits
Interview: Lea Loeb, on February 12, 2025, via Zoom.
The conversation was conducted in Spanish.
Translation from Spanish to German: Lea Loeb
Translation from German to English: Franziska Henner
Portrait photos: Nacho Correa Belino
Photos of «Vendo Humo»: Ignacio Yuchark