Her long orange hair is her most recognizable hallmark and, perhaps, what had the most impact when, in 2015, she was the image of the Bolivia clothing brand: dressed in a suit and tie, Delia Cancela (83) looked at the world with his sky-blue eyes from enormous posters that were displayed throughout Buenos Aires. Fragile in appearance, petite and with a shy smile, this woman who stood out on the list of avant-garde artists of the Di Tella Institute in the 60s, who anticipated everyone by transferring the language of fashion to art and who, for three decades He worked in New York, London and Paris with Pablo Mesejeán – his partner at the time and creative co-team, with whom he appeared in magazines such as Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar and even had his own clothing brand, Pablo & Delia –, he keeps intact her irreverent spirit, her creative energy and her refusal to be labeled. In that order. Distinguished with the Lifetime Achievement Award granted by the Ministry of Culture in 2018, among others, she has shown her creations in the most important galleries and museums in Buenos Aires and Europe, and knew how to recover from the restlessness that invaded her after the fire that, in 2001, destroyed all her work and practically forced her to start over. Mother of a daughter –Celeste, photographer, 38 years old, lives in Paris–, Cancela received HELLO! Argentina in her house-workshop in Colegiales with her inseparable cat Nutella to talk – during a conversation that could be a painting, because Delia speaks as she paints, with brushstrokes of dazzling colors, while birds, butterflies and hearts seem to fly over her sun-fed hair – about everything: her life, her career, feminisms, her passion for art and her loves.
–You continue working a lot. What does work mean to you?
–Work is life, it is a necessity. People ask me: “Are you still active?” An artist continues doing. Of course, if you are a dancer, it is difficult to continue dancing at a certain age, because your body sets limits for you. And also if you are a visual artist it is difficult, because of all the physical problems you may have moving things, climbing high to paint, etc. Luckily I like to draw, especially drawing small, and I do it on any paper. That helps me a lot. I also draw in bed.
–After so many years, do the same things inspire you?
-I don’t know. Many things remain the same inside me, others do not. It’s like the manifesto we made in the 60s: “We love.” I still love many of those things… And there are people who inspired me and inspire me, beings or characters that I love and have been with me for a long time. Totoro by Miyazaki, for example, or artists like Bonnard, to whom I dedicated an exhibition called “I love you, I hate you (and how I come to love you despite everything)”, because Bonnard is so beautiful, so strong what he It transmits to me that it is almost a love-hate.
–Throughout your career you received many awards and distinctions. What value do you give to the recognition of others about your work?
–We all want to be loved, so yes, I value them a lot. For example, having the exhibition that Victoria Noorthoorn did for me at the Museum of Modern Art, with Carla Barbero as curator, was beautiful for me. Being given the Lifetime Achievement Award without having to apply was a wonderful surprise.
–What do you cling to in difficult times?
–When there was a fire at my work, for example, I felt like I was dead and I said it: “I am dead in life. “I feel horizontal.” She felt like she couldn’t stand. It was very difficult and I couldn’t do much of anything for a while. Then I moved forward. As? I’m not very clear about it, I think it’s something visceral, that comes from within, from necessity. And I also believe that love helps, love for what you do, self-love, love for people… The strength that others can give you is key.
–Is it true that after the fire you never cried again?
-It’s true. I cry inside. I feel like I have thousands of characters inside me that are crying, crying and crying… but nothing comes out.
–What is your relationship with your daughter like from a distance?
–It’s like any distance link: wonderful and horrible. It has the advantages of not being close to each other and, at the same time, it is terrible because it is not a short distance. At this point in my life, I would like to be living an hour from where she lives.
–Would you like to be a grandmother?
-Yes, why not?
–What memories do you have of your years with Pablo Mesejeán?
–Despite the fact that I have a fairly intense life, I still miss Pablo, because he is a part of me. After we separated we continued working together, we remained friends. And because for a long time we were like two halves of one thing. When one is in a couple with another and on top of that works with that other, creates with the other… one becomes a half. And, suddenly, you are left alone, even though it was a decision, and you don’t know how to become one again. You have to put yourself together again, bit by bit.
–And what happened when you got back together after the separation?
–Then I met my daughter’s father and then, when I was alone again, it was me. Because there is a part of me with Pablo that people know here, which is everything we did in the 60s, a time in which I was very different from what I am now, because I was a shy girl, very inward, who did not participate. She did, but she didn’t speak. So, that part later changes: when I leave the country I start to be another Delia, and when I am left alone with my daughter a totally different one.
photo: Matías Salgado
–Several times you defined yourself as “desperately optimistic.” Are you still optimistic?
–To be optimistic at this moment you have to be a little stupid. Deep down, I was never an optimist who believed blindly. Yes that helped me get out. Believing and feeling that I could do a certain thing helped me. Thinking that everything is going to be okay helped me. Because you have to be optimistic to be able to create. But at this moment it is very difficult for me to be. This time is not like the 60s, in the sense that even though very serious things were happening, we were a generation that believed in the possibility of changing the world. The hippie movement was that. Now, with everything that’s happening, I can’t be optimistic. Although I have great admiration for people who take to the streets and fight, like when the Voluntary Interruption of Pregnancy Law was achieved. Bravo, girls! I support them completely, but I can’t do it, I can’t go out on the street, I never could, the crowds distress me.
–You were a pioneering feminist. How do you get along with feminisms?
–I always say that I am an early feminist, without knowing that I was. Because since my first paintings or collages I have questioned things linked to the lives of women, to temptations, to female bodies…, but they are questions that I ask myself alone, I am alone asking those questions. Then I went to the United States, London, Paris… and there I began to discover feminists, to realize that, in some way, this is linked to me and that I am also a feminist. Then I discovered Agnès Varda, who is a feminist who touches me a lot, I discovered feminist writers, and I feel that yes, I am a feminist. And although I do not agree with all current feminisms – I think it is a delicate time to say some things and take a position – I am very happy to have discovered writers from here that I find incredible, like Gabriela Cabezón Cámara, for example. I like to live with people who have that pretty figured out.
–Was the world of the Di Tella Institute sexist?
–The art world has always been sexist, especially in Argentina. We didn’t feel that way at that time, because of the way we lived, but yes, art has always been a sexist universe. I laugh now, because I wish I had Pablo here so I could tell him and he would say something else. I heard an artist that I love and consider very much say: “Well, but what happens is that men are more creative.” –Do you think about death? –My family in France suddenly died. They were my false family, those around me, my friends, Pablo among them, and they all died in a short time. It was very difficult. At this moment I think about that a lot and I say a phrase that I don’t know if many people understand: “Now I’m punk: no future.” But it’s something horrible. It is true that at a certain age you start to think about death, or they start to make you think about it, about what you left behind. But I’m still here! I have plans, projects, here and abroad. Right now I’m organizing everything with my assistant, I have to organize brushes, pencils, fabrics… I have to organize everything so I can start working on something new.
photo: Matías Salgado
–Were you happy?
–As Borges says: “Over the years I have observed that beauty, like happiness, is frequent. Not a day goes by that we are not, for a moment, in paradise.”
![A portrait of the artist. “Although I have a fairly intense life, Pablo [Mesejeán] “I still miss it, because it is a part of me.”](https://resizer.glanacion.com/resizer/v2/un-retrato-de-la-artista-pese-a-que-tengo-una-KIRWDPL6WVAXRJ5JEQIW5IABAU.jpg?auth=f800338a7a6903998713ff2244040230ae62110e291a85d6e52462b51c1d1e7d&width=780&height=1170&quality=70&smart=true)
photo: Matías Salgado
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