Hernán Salamanco
This interview took shape long before the idea of filming ever emerged. Its point of departure was the arteBA fair, where I made my first short video interview for Stories—a kind of visual commentary on the fair’s participants. Among the first booths I encountered was Herlitzka & Co. gallery, and meeting its founder, Mauro, left a strong impression: a rare combination of energy, charisma, and a rich biography turned our brief exchange into a distinct moment within the overall flow of the fair’s bustle.
Later, outside the fair’s immediate context, I turned to the history of the gallery and its curatorial program. As I explored the projects and artists represented by Herlitzka & Co., I increasingly felt the desire to experience this space in its own rhythm, under conditions of more focused and attentive perception.
That opportunity arose through the Circuito de Galerías de Arte de Recoleta—an open Saturday route through seven galleries in the neighborhood. This format, which encourages unhurried movement and dialogue between spaces, proved to be an ideal context for engaging with the current exhibition. It was then that I first encountered the work of Hernán Salamanca and his project Ojo de Agua—a painterly statement in which materiality, technique, and poetic thinking converge into a single, multilayered system.
Our conversation emerged naturally and immediately pointed toward the need for continuation, this time in the form of an in-depth interview. In artistic practice, I am прежде всего interested in the figure of the artist: their path, their system of coordinates, their ways of thinking, and the inner energy from which the work is born. It is precisely from this interest that the present conversation grew.
Later, outside the fair’s immediate context, I turned to the history of the gallery and its curatorial program. As I explored the projects and artists represented by Herlitzka & Co., I increasingly felt the desire to experience this space in its own rhythm, under conditions of more focused and attentive perception.
That opportunity arose through the Circuito de Galerías de Arte de Recoleta—an open Saturday route through seven galleries in the neighborhood. This format, which encourages unhurried movement and dialogue between spaces, proved to be an ideal context for engaging with the current exhibition. It was then that I first encountered the work of Hernán Salamanca and his project Ojo de Agua—a painterly statement in which materiality, technique, and poetic thinking converge into a single, multilayered system.
Our conversation emerged naturally and immediately pointed toward the need for continuation, this time in the form of an in-depth interview. In artistic practice, I am прежде всего interested in the figure of the artist: their path, their system of coordinates, their ways of thinking, and the inner energy from which the work is born. It is precisely from this interest that the present conversation grew.
How did you come to painting? Was there a moment when you felt it was your language?
As a child I lived with my grandparents in Buenos Aires, and their house was full of paintings that belonged to their friends, who were artists. My grandfather studied at the School of Fine Arts; he came from a small town and was unable to complete his studies. He moved in with a friend and eventually worked in the advertising industry. The same thing happened to my uncle—he began studying medicine and at the same time attended art school, but he didn’t become an artist either. I think that in the family there was a kind of vacant place—as if someone needed to continue what had been left unfinished. After finishing school and taking a trip, I decided that I would study painting—also because a female classmate was planning to apply, and I went along with her. And I realized that art school was my place.
Did you consider other paths, or was art always the only option?
My parents are veterinarians and work in the scientific field, so I was very accustomed to laboratories and to the environment related to their work. I thought about studying molecular biology and researching the cell, the microscopic processes of the human body. But I chose art after a trip to the United States, where we saw many museums and a lot of art. It made a huge impression on me.
Why did you start working with metal sheets?
I started out like everyone else—on canvas and paper. But I began to notice that they were too traditional, both as objects and as supports. I needed a hard surface. I tried wood, but it didn’t work for me. In 2001 there was a severe economic crisis in Argentina: the government and the banks seized people’s deposits.
This caused chaos—in society and in the state. People had no money and were left with no choice but to sell or rent out their homes. The streets filled with metal signboards and notices. I would walk around and see them everywhere. And I thought: “This material is already used for painting, it’s on the street, it’s hard, it’s durable… I can use it.” That’s how I first came to metal.
What attracts you to metal and synthetic enamel?
A deep mastery of a material allows you to command the technique. And within technique there is already a message: what we want to say begins to flow through the technique. In my case, it’s enamel and metal sheet. Metal can be smooth, granular, it can change its sheen and surface. Enamel is also very diverse. Their combination is the technique. That’s why I advise young artists to keep experimenting until they find a combination that gives them what they are looking for. When they find it—even if they don’t yet know what they are looking for—they will feel it immediately. All the other attempts will be “yes,” “no,” “so-so,” and this one will be a decisive “yes.”
As a child I lived with my grandparents in Buenos Aires, and their house was full of paintings that belonged to their friends, who were artists. My grandfather studied at the School of Fine Arts; he came from a small town and was unable to complete his studies. He moved in with a friend and eventually worked in the advertising industry. The same thing happened to my uncle—he began studying medicine and at the same time attended art school, but he didn’t become an artist either. I think that in the family there was a kind of vacant place—as if someone needed to continue what had been left unfinished. After finishing school and taking a trip, I decided that I would study painting—also because a female classmate was planning to apply, and I went along with her. And I realized that art school was my place.
Did you consider other paths, or was art always the only option?
My parents are veterinarians and work in the scientific field, so I was very accustomed to laboratories and to the environment related to their work. I thought about studying molecular biology and researching the cell, the microscopic processes of the human body. But I chose art after a trip to the United States, where we saw many museums and a lot of art. It made a huge impression on me.
Why did you start working with metal sheets?
I started out like everyone else—on canvas and paper. But I began to notice that they were too traditional, both as objects and as supports. I needed a hard surface. I tried wood, but it didn’t work for me. In 2001 there was a severe economic crisis in Argentina: the government and the banks seized people’s deposits.
This caused chaos—in society and in the state. People had no money and were left with no choice but to sell or rent out their homes. The streets filled with metal signboards and notices. I would walk around and see them everywhere. And I thought: “This material is already used for painting, it’s on the street, it’s hard, it’s durable… I can use it.” That’s how I first came to metal.
What attracts you to metal and synthetic enamel?
A deep mastery of a material allows you to command the technique. And within technique there is already a message: what we want to say begins to flow through the technique. In my case, it’s enamel and metal sheet. Metal can be smooth, granular, it can change its sheen and surface. Enamel is also very diverse. Their combination is the technique. That’s why I advise young artists to keep experimenting until they find a combination that gives them what they are looking for. When they find it—even if they don’t yet know what they are looking for—they will feel it immediately. All the other attempts will be “yes,” “no,” “so-so,” and this one will be a decisive “yes.”
How did you come to painting? Was there a moment when you felt it was your language?
As a child I lived with my grandparents in Buenos Aires, and their house was full of paintings that belonged to their friends, who were artists. My grandfather studied at the School of Fine Arts; he came from a small town and was unable to complete his studies. He moved in with a friend and eventually worked in the advertising industry. The same thing happened to my uncle—he began studying medicine and at the same time attended art school, but he didn’t become an artist either. I think that in the family there was a kind of vacant place—as if someone needed to continue what had been left unfinished. After finishing school and taking a trip, I decided that I would study painting—also because a female classmate was planning to apply, and I went along with her. And I realized that art school was my place.
Did you consider other paths, or was art always the only option?
My parents are veterinarians and work in the scientific field, so I was very accustomed to laboratories and to the environment related to their work. I thought about studying molecular biology and researching the cell, the microscopic processes of the human body. But I chose art after a trip to the United States, where we saw many museums and a lot of art. It made a huge impression on me.
Why did you start working with metal sheets?
I started out like everyone else—on canvas and paper. But I began to notice that they were too traditional, both as objects and as supports. I needed a hard surface. I tried wood, but it didn’t work for me. In 2001 there was a severe economic crisis in Argentina: the government and the banks seized people’s deposits.
This caused chaos—in society and in the state. People had no money and were left with no choice but to sell or rent out their homes. The streets filled with metal signboards and notices. I would walk around and see them everywhere. And I thought: “This material is already used for painting, it’s on the street, it’s hard, it’s durable… I can use it.” That’s how I first came to metal.
What attracts you to metal and synthetic enamel?
A deep mastery of a material allows you to command the technique. And within technique there is already a message: what we want to say begins to flow through the technique. In my case, it’s enamel and metal sheet. Metal can be smooth, granular, it can change its sheen and surface. Enamel is also very diverse. Their combination is the technique. That’s why I advise young artists to keep experimenting until they find a combination that gives them what they are looking for. When they find it—even if they don’t yet know what they are looking for—they will feel it immediately. All the other attempts will be “yes,” “no,” “so-so,” and this one will be a decisive “yes.”
As a child I lived with my grandparents in Buenos Aires, and their house was full of paintings that belonged to their friends, who were artists. My grandfather studied at the School of Fine Arts; he came from a small town and was unable to complete his studies. He moved in with a friend and eventually worked in the advertising industry. The same thing happened to my uncle—he began studying medicine and at the same time attended art school, but he didn’t become an artist either. I think that in the family there was a kind of vacant place—as if someone needed to continue what had been left unfinished. After finishing school and taking a trip, I decided that I would study painting—also because a female classmate was planning to apply, and I went along with her. And I realized that art school was my place.
Did you consider other paths, or was art always the only option?
My parents are veterinarians and work in the scientific field, so I was very accustomed to laboratories and to the environment related to their work. I thought about studying molecular biology and researching the cell, the microscopic processes of the human body. But I chose art after a trip to the United States, where we saw many museums and a lot of art. It made a huge impression on me.
Why did you start working with metal sheets?
I started out like everyone else—on canvas and paper. But I began to notice that they were too traditional, both as objects and as supports. I needed a hard surface. I tried wood, but it didn’t work for me. In 2001 there was a severe economic crisis in Argentina: the government and the banks seized people’s deposits.
This caused chaos—in society and in the state. People had no money and were left with no choice but to sell or rent out their homes. The streets filled with metal signboards and notices. I would walk around and see them everywhere. And I thought: “This material is already used for painting, it’s on the street, it’s hard, it’s durable… I can use it.” That’s how I first came to metal.
What attracts you to metal and synthetic enamel?
A deep mastery of a material allows you to command the technique. And within technique there is already a message: what we want to say begins to flow through the technique. In my case, it’s enamel and metal sheet. Metal can be smooth, granular, it can change its sheen and surface. Enamel is also very diverse. Their combination is the technique. That’s why I advise young artists to keep experimenting until they find a combination that gives them what they are looking for. When they find it—even if they don’t yet know what they are looking for—they will feel it immediately. All the other attempts will be “yes,” “no,” “so-so,” and this one will be a decisive “yes.”