Brief Meetings and Farewells | Eric Conrad

Eric Conrad

I arrived in Antofagasta with a giant sock and a huge pair of underwear. Everything else would be built on-site at the Antofagasta Regional Library. I developed a daily routine over the coming weeks. I would wake to familiar voices drifting up from the kitchen below, then walk downstairs and greet SACO staff and fellow artists from around the world. “Good morning Bartek, Kinga, Elodie. Hey Carole. Hola Miguel!” We had all gathered here in the Southern Hemisphere, on the South American continent, in the country of Chile, in the coastal desert city of Antofagasta, in this artist residency kitchen, to eat, drink, chat, and begin our day. Then, I’m off to the library with a purpose. I pet the neighborhood dogs on the way, grab an empanada, take a collective taxi to the city center, and sit on a bench in Plaza Colón. These 15 minutes before the library opened each morning were precious to me. I would point my index finger at the library’s facade and draw in space, imagining and planning the day’s work as I ate my breakfast.

Within a week, a gigantic pair of underwear had appeared, propped precariously out a third floor window. In the mornings that followed, I watched many people walk by, look up at the tighty whities billowing in the wind, elbow their friend, smile, and take photos before moving on with their day. Soon after, someone showed me a picture of the underpants posted on Instagram. To my amazement it had received over 4000 likes by people in Antofagasta. Many people posted comments speculating on the back-story of this intimate garment hanging off of this important public building.

I came to this project with vague goals relating to vulnerability, contradictions, and the apocalyptic theme of Flood. But each day as I added, adjusted, and looked, more was revealed to me. I was responding to these discoveries and to the people and environment I was interacting with.

“Note to self: Must add sparkly sequin covered flags to catch the morning sunlight. Celebrate this humiliating, underpants-up-flagpole moment. Turn this negative into a positive.”

As the inside structure took form, I began working with students in a workshop. During the last hours of each day we would meet in a back room, blast loud music, cut, sew, braid, and plan together. Student: “I like the flags going up to the window better.” Me: “OK, well… I’m considering it.” I can be stubborn. A few minutes later, me: “OK, yeah, let’s do it!” And so, it went that way, a back and forth of talking and making that led to a result that was both as-planned and betterthan-planned because it was done together.

I finished the work on the last day and took a taxi back to the residency before departing. The driver asked why I was in Antofagasta. “Big-clothes-front-library-building-art,” I said in broken Spanish. He beamed with excitement having already seen it himself, pulled at his own underwear, and we laughed together. We talked about family and work, then said our goodbyes.