Mónica Inés Fierro: “Classical dance was my first love and the axis of my whole life”
“Classical dance was my first love and the axis of my whole life”
Mónica Inés Fierro
Mónica is an open book, just like the works she intervenes and gives volume to with flowers and women. She is vital and tenacious but, above all, she is an artist who radiates gratitude for getting to do what she loves most — and for showing her creations as another way of speaking to the world.
Who is Mónica Inés Fierro
For Mónica, dance is the axis of her life; without it, she says, she would not be the visual artist she is today. She feels that beyond talent, discipline and balance are essential when it comes to imagining new worlds — and that inheritance comes, without a doubt, from ballet.
In the mornings she likes to go out walking, and on those walks she fills up with ideas that she works on later while listening to Brahms, or to Tony Bennett when it’s jazz.
She values a sense of humour and honesty in others. As a girl she loved dressing up in clothes she made herself — already a bold child, unafraid to show others what she had made. And she hasn’t only managed to show it: she puts her whole body into every collection.
She enjoys working with her hands; they are the fine tool she expresses herself with best. She uses paper as if it were fabric — folding it, embroidering it, stitching with needle and thread to intervene books. She usually creates without a fixed idea, and that is precisely what she finds richest: not knowing where she is going, and letting herself be carried by the melody her intuition is playing.
The interview
You were born in Córdoba…
Yes, but I came to Buenos Aires at seventeen because I began studying ballet at the Teatro Colón, and then continued with Olga Ferri and Wasil Tupin.
What does dance mean to you? How has it shaped your work?
Classical dance was my first love and the axis of my whole life. I think it’s thanks to dance that I became the artist I am today, because beyond talent you need discipline and perseverance. In my work I always look for balance — you may or may not find what you see interesting, but what matters to me is that it doesn’t disturb the eye. That has marked my work in a very particular way.
Who are your references in dance?
I follow Marianela Núñez as Argentina’s great figure, even though she’s in London. Paloma Herrera too. And then dancers who interest me for the quality of their interpretation, beyond technique — if there’s no passion…
Why did you choose paper to give your work its form?
I use it as if it were fabric. It all started because I moved to Holland with my husband and children, and then to England. I wanted to improve my English so I bought light fiction, but when we came back to Argentina I had a pile of books and thought, “what do I do with these?” Since I came from textiles — I had been embroidering for a long time, making clothes for myself and my friends — hand embroidery seemed interesting, together with the folds I started making in the books. That’s how it all began, and how my intervened books became stages where stories happen.
What message would you like to leave people with?
I didn’t start this very young — it was about fifteen years ago. Sometimes things happen that way; they don’t arrive the same way for everyone. But when they do arrive, in my case art, it came to fill me up. I’d like people not to think “I’m too old for this or that”, but to remember that age doesn’t matter — even if the context, unfortunately, doesn’t always help.
Which social issues concern you?
I think many people, many women, could be doing things, developing, having the chance to study, to move forward. Education is vital for that, and I feel that here whatever ground we gain, we then lose again. The conditions are complex.
When did you decide to devote yourself to this fully?
When I entered the Museo Eduardo Sívori Biennial in 2009. It’s a national textile art prize. It was the first time I had entered anything, and I ended up winning the First Acquisition Prize — which, beyond the honour, comes with a lifetime stipend. It’s very good that the State recognises our work; it gives you the chance to carry on.
What are your books made of?
Thread and needle, and then I add characters. Women among birds and flowers — but strong women, funny women, who walk alone if they have to. Women who are afraid of almost nothing. There also comes a point when the book disappears as such and I start rolling strips, and there are other stories to tell there.
Which women, living or dead, do you admire?
A great English dancer, Margot Fonteyn, because she kept going well beyond her age — she danced with Rudolf Nureyev when he was very young. Also an aunt of mine from Tucumán, a great artist in the sixties, Beba Fierro. Another aunt, Aunt Mari, was a wonderful embroiderer. My grandmother on my mother’s side taught me to knit; her designs were exquisite. Then my parents too, for the freedom they gave my siblings and me to attend workshops in whatever we felt like. And the textile artist Tana Sachs, one of the pioneers in Argentina and a great example for me. Another artist I admire is Simone Pheulpin, French, who works with discarded fabric.
What defines you as a woman?
I think it’s that power to create without inhibition — that freedom we were talking about.
What did you play at as a girl?
I loved dressing up in clothes I made myself and dancing in them. At school I took part in theatre, dance, visual art competitions, choir — they even gave me a prize from Billiken magazine for a drawing I had coloured in. In the summers my cousin and I would go swimming at a club; she loved reading and I would knit and embroider. It was lovely to be together, each of us doing what we liked.
What did you imagine you would be when you grew up?
I dreamed of showing what I made, whatever it was. The dolls I made as a child and then sold made me think, “when I’m grown up I’ll sell these in other places.” I wanted my own shop of handmade clothes, made from found fabrics and hand-knitted pieces. Decorating houses fascinated me too — looking for the details that turn a house into a home.
In the creative process, what comes first: content or form?
I’m intuitive, I play a lot. I start cutting, folding. I love going out for a walk and, after a while, things occur to me. Then I try them, and that’s the richest part of the process — not knowing what will happen next. During the pandemic, for instance, I made a series of collages in black and white. It wasn’t something I thought out; I was sad, and that was the way to show my distress. And what came out was a slightly surreal series, with a lot of humour in it too.
How have you lived through this strange time?
My studio is at home, which was very good. It’s a room with a lot of light, and it did me so much good to go into my own place and give what was happening to us another turn.
What is your working routine?
When my daughter gets up we talk for a while, sometimes we buy pain au chocolat, and then in the afternoon I keep working. I’m very sociable, I meet people and then work in the studio. I can spend three hours seeming to do nothing and then suddenly start making the thing that had been turning over in my head.
What defines you as a person and as an artist?
Constant joy. It doesn’t mean I’m happy all the time — it’s more a matter of being grateful for what happens to me. So how could I not share it? Showing my work without being afraid. Sometimes when I’m stuck with a piece I put it in the living room or the kitchen, somewhere visible, so my family sees it and tells me what they think.
What are the pleasures of your everyday life?
First, listening to music. I get up and make tea with the china I brought back from England. I sit down and read — right now I’m on some short stories by Mariana Enríquez. Then I start cutting, going over work I’ve been making…
What music do you listen to?
Classical, very varied — and in jazz I love Tony Bennett as an interpreter. He’s a genius! My eldest son is a jazz musician and when he comes home for lunch he plays; sometimes his brother, who plays piano, joins him.
How long does a piece take you?
The full process takes time, but with the recent map works it’s quite a bit faster — I can finish in about two weeks. Other smaller works, where you have to assemble piece by piece, are a lot of work and take longer. It has also happened that I leave a series in a drawer for a few days and come back to it later.
Which country would you like to live in?
My husband and I lived in England, in Surrey. We had a wonderful time, and the English are very funny. But before that we had lived in Holland, in The Hague. What I like about it is that it’s a more equal society — there is diversity, everyone lives together peacefully. I’d like there to be a bit of that in Argentina.
What other profession would you have liked?
For years I did decoration, and everything I put in was made with my own hands. I didn’t buy things, I made them — vases, candlesticks. You can’t imagine the maths of what I earned, but I didn’t care. I enjoyed myself and learned a great deal too.
Anything still on your list?
I’d have liked more willpower to finish a degree. I started journalism and didn’t complete it. Learning French, maybe.
Which qualities do you value in others?
Being grateful to life and aware of it. After that, good humour and decency seem to me fundamental traits.
And which do you dislike?
When people rest on their laurels. And when they don’t smile — a smile is a beautiful thing, and if people see you smile, even for that instant, life smiles back at you.
What are you working on now?
Cut-outs of antique maps, which I’ve been cutting into triangles. This project has more colour than the previous one I made in 2020. And I’m carrying on with my assemblages — these little rolls of book cut-outs that join together and form a kind of infinite coral.
Mónica in her studio
Mónica Inés Fierro is part of United by Art, the programme through which Iskin Sisters invites contemporary women artists to create the art prints that accompany every piece in its packaging.