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a discovery that will constantly mark the production<br />

of form in Lygia Clark’s work.<br />

An immediate reading led me to associate this<br />

‘fall’ of Constructivism towards organic form with some<br />

images in F.X. Archive that depict the demolition of<br />

great religious monuments, with a heavy load of stone,<br />

images of destruction with strong symbolic overtones<br />

since their nature as a milestone, once constructed,<br />

now destroyed, is maintained. At first that association<br />

took us to the destroyed image of the monument of<br />

the Sagrado Corazón de Jesús in Antequera, in the<br />

province of Malaga, with its great smashed blocks of<br />

stone scattered on the ground in a diagonal layout,<br />

while to one side lay the main stone plinth. The meaning<br />

was the same, the collapse of a tower, of a little heap<br />

of stones aligned vertically. The fall of the tower, the<br />

fall of the square left a trace in the air, organic lines,<br />

curvilinear traces. The constructivist force of Clark’s<br />

painting, in which the lines were rightly maintained<br />

as straight lines, faithful to the generating principle<br />

of the picture, gave rise to another interpretation. The<br />

destructive gesture was also a constructivist gesture,<br />

the point was not an opposition between the stony<br />

and the organic, it was a conclusion, a constructed,<br />

man-made discovery. And so, reviewing the abundant<br />

iconography of these sacred monuments destroyed<br />

at different moments of iconoclastic violence, we<br />

found in the photo cycle that provides a detailed<br />

illustration of the destruction of the monument in El<br />

Cerro de los Ángeles, in Getafe, Madrid, in the exact<br />

geographical centre of Spain, an image of workers<br />

hauling on a rope tensed by the power of a mechanical<br />

tractor with which they were trying to pull down the<br />

Monument. It was in the tension of the rope that we<br />

found an equivalent to the two aerial lines in Descoberta<br />

da linha orgânica. Little did we imagine the set of<br />

metonymies we were going to make between this<br />

group of photographs and the work by Lygia Clark.<br />

Arquitetura fantástica from some ruins of the<br />

Monument on which a great iron beam transmuted<br />

into an angel’s wing is poised against a drawing of<br />

a starry space, with half-destroyed figures cut out<br />

against the sky, while a soldier, with his rifle on his<br />

shoulder, is watchful. Trepante with the lines of shadows<br />

arranging themselves among the cracks in a great<br />

heap of stones, rocky debris from the destroyed<br />

Monument. Arquiteturas biológicas-estructuras vivas<br />

with a group of workers tied together by ropes, baskets<br />

and loose shirts (the same folds in the shirts and the<br />

carved stone) which bind them to the Monument that<br />

they are about to destroy with levers and drills. Pedra<br />

e ar with the organic image of a heart of Jesus, torn<br />

from among the emblems of the Monument, with some<br />

bullet holes, the crown crushing the representation<br />

of the entrails that are drawn in striations, also aureolas,<br />

also striations of destruction. Máscaras sensoriais,<br />

the face of an angel, detached from the Monument,<br />

whose nose, eyes and mouth have been mutilated,<br />

but which wears a more ecstatic expression precisely<br />

because of that damage. Máscaras abismo, a phallic<br />

shape corresponding to the head of Jesus that crowned<br />

the Monument, whose features have been erased by<br />

gunshots and blows, ‘the stones that have fallen on<br />

it from above and the bullets that have pierced it from<br />

below’, since the militias had used it for target practice.<br />

It is this very image that we have printed on the packets<br />

of condoms, which, at the entrance to Descoberta<br />

da linha orgânica, can be filled with air or helium<br />

and let fly, climbing on high.<br />

It was in the second half of the nineteenth century<br />

that the cult of the sacred heart of Jesus, oddly enough<br />

an attempt by the French to purge Catholicism of<br />

entrails, began to spread across Spain. The local clergy,<br />

especially the Jesuits, were determined to make the<br />

country a safe bastion. The idea of covering the national<br />

territory with these spires, phallic monuments with<br />

a sharp vertical elevation, placed on high ground<br />

and hill tops to the astonishment of Christians and<br />

people in general. The plan, brought into operation<br />

from 1900, consisted of turning Spain into a Monument.<br />

Indeed in many places the metonymy has reached<br />

the word and it is understood that by adoring the<br />

Monument one is in the presence of the sacred heart<br />

of Jesus. The bull’s skin would thus be shot through in<br />

a kind of topological acupuncture that would banish<br />

the evils of a nation of nations in which secularism<br />

and open hostility towards the Catholic Church were<br />

on the increase. The Jesuit militia made great efforts<br />

with these public monuments and crowned the highest<br />

buildings in provincial cities with them, competed<br />

with the factory chimneys where the industrial fabric<br />

was being tentatively woven, adorned the highest<br />

mountains and threw their shadow over the urban<br />

masses of any city.<br />

Symbolically, the consecration in Spain of the sacred<br />

heart of Jesus caused much controversy among<br />

a citizenry in search of self-government, already tired<br />

of the religious and military guardians who seemed<br />

bent on excluding the country from the new myth of<br />

modernity. The events around this hideous sculpture,<br />

its construction, its destruction and later reconstruction,<br />

were what stirred the need to extend the idea of<br />

the Monument throughout Spain over the twentieth<br />

century. The monument business began in 1919 and<br />

immediately became a national cause with the defence<br />

of Christ’s precious vital bodily organ. It was erected<br />

on the so-called Cerro de los Ángeles, a chapel in<br />

Getafe dedicated to the Virgin of the same name,<br />

near Madrid, which was considered the geographical<br />

centre of Spain. The travellers who came to Madrid<br />

from the south could see its silhouette from far off: that<br />

was the intention, to symbolically occupy the magnetic<br />

centre – not in the polar but in the obscurantist sense<br />

– of the nation. A famous photograph of 1936 and the<br />

corresponding film sequence – a firing squad shooting<br />

at the Monument in the style of Goya’s Executions<br />

of 3 May or rather, because of the perspective, of<br />

Manet’s Execution of Emperor Maximilian – bear<br />

witness to the force of the iconoclastic event that led<br />

to the nationalist-Catholic military coup on 18 July of<br />

the same year. The suspicion that it was a theatrical<br />

montage in the service of the anarchist revolutionary<br />

cause has never been dispelled. Indeed the nationalist<br />

variant of the photograph, abused by European<br />

fascist propaganda, was indeed a photomontage in<br />

which the silhouette of Jesus on top of the Monument<br />

crumbled. A crude photomontage, it must be said,<br />

since the cutout of the photograph left its traces by<br />

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