JOAN and Now Instant present a selection of experimental films by Colectivo Los Ingrávidos, an anonymous film collective founded in Tehuacán, Mexico, in 2012. Emerging amid widespread protests against the Mexican government during the later years of the “War on Drugs,” the collective developed a radical audiovisual language in response to a period of political upheaval that marked a turning point for many in Mexico. Through psychedelic colors, layered analog film, and rhythmic soundscapes, their films preserve the memory of those affected by mass violence, from protesters and the disappeared to the dead. 

For Colectivo Los Ingrávidos, anonymity is a political strategy that challenges the artist-centered logic of neoliberalism, which privileges individual authorship and intention in the production and interpretation of art. By working collectively, the group resists the notion of the singular artist as the primary source of meaning and value. Their commitment to collective authorship carries particular weight in Mexico, one of the world’s most dangerous countries for journalists, where reporting on organized crime and political corruption is often met with state retaliation.

The selected films draw on key moments in Mexican history, from Aztec mythology to the 1968 Tlatelolco massacre and the 2014 forced disappearance of the 43 Ayotzinapa student teachers. These historical references intersect with contemporary protests that bring enduring histories of violence into public consciousness. Colectivo Los Ingrávidos describes its aesthetic approach as “shamanic materialism,” combining expired film stock, found footage, color inversion, and organic materials that alter the surface of celluloid. The resulting images create a disorienting, trance-like experience that jolts the senses. Through these layered compositions, the collective exhumes fragments of collective memory that remain largely absent from mainstream television and commercial cinema.

This program is curated by JOAN Associate Curator Nahui Garcia.

Drawing on ancient Aztec mythology, El Nido del Sol references Xólotl, the canine deity; Huitzilin, the hummingbird; and Xóchitl, the flower. Vivid, saturated images of flowers blend into one another, accompanied by rhythmic drumming. Translating to The Nest of the Sun, the title evokes the spiritual interconnectedness of celestial beings and the natural world in Indigenous Mexican cosmologies.

A tribute to Aldo Gutiérrez Solano, a student at the Ayotzinapa Rural Teachers’ College who was among those attacked by police on September 26, 2014. That night, students traveling in buses in Iguala, Guerrero, were attacked while preparing to travel to Mexico City for the annual commemoration of the 1968 Tlatelolco student massacre. Forty-three students were forcibly disappeared, while Gutiérrez Solano survived a gunshot wound to the head that left him in a persistent vegetative state. Investigations have implicated local police, organized crime, and members of the Mexican military in the events surrounding the attacks and disappearances.

An audiovisual tribute to Chilean poet Vicente Huidobro’s 1931 avant-garde poem Altazor. The poem follows a cosmic aviator in free fall through time, space, and infinity, exploring the limits of language and the nature of human existence.

Drawing on the ancient Nahuatl concept of tonalli, understood as the vital energy that animates living beings, the film alludes to the Day of the Dead and its roots to Indigenous Mesoamerican civilizations. Two heads, one a skull and the other a clay figure, fade in and out of view, each surrounded by flowers.

Aria 68 revisits the historical trauma and recurring cyclices of violence surrounding the Tlatelolco student massacre, which took place in Mexico City on October 2, 1968. A recurring subject in the collective’s filmography, the massacre forms the basis for this “shamanic composition,” an intense audiovisual reflection on the enduring legacies of state violence in contemporary Mexico.

Scenes of contemporary protests unfold through freeway tunnels and the streets of downtown Mexico City, where demonstrators carry banners and images, including depictions of the Virgin Mary, flyers of missing women, and slogans commemorating the Tlatelolco Massacre. The footage is accompanied by the voice of poet, filmmaker, and artist Jonas Mekas, who reflects on the fragmented nature of memory.

Please note: seating is limited. Box Office opens thirty minutes prior to the listed showtime. Guests may add their name to the standby list upon arrival. Online ticket sales will be honored up until 15 minutes after the scheduled showtime; at that time, any unclaimed seats will be released for in-store purchase on a first-come, first-served basis. All Sales Final.