Decoding anarchism: Juan Pablo Macías's 'Tiempo Muerto'

In 2007, Mexican artist Juan Pablo Macías developed an interest in anarchism – a set of beliefs that seeks to dismantle hierarchical government in favour of a mutualistic society. “But it was incredibly hard to find any information,” he recalls.

I find it absurd and brutal that an image can hold more legal significance than human relationships.

“The only available resource was a library in Mexico City, but its collection had been confiscated, and it faced eviction due to unpaid rent.” Determined to try and save it, Macías sought ways to secure funding. “I’m always looking to divert money from the art world to finance the library’s activities and any form of anarchist militancy.”

Founded in 1978 by Catalonian political exile Ricardo Mestre, the Biblioteca Social Reconstruir became the foundation for Macías’ lifelong engagement with anarchism and libertarianism. This work led him to establish the digital archive Biblioteca de Anarquismo y Anarquistas and launch Tiempo Muerto (“dead time”), a publication dedicated to exploring anarchist practice. “It’s my way of understanding anarchism,” he explains, “its relationship with art, and as a tool to interrogate the power structures that shape our worldview.”

For the first time, every edition of Tiempo Muerto, along with accompanying video work, will be exhibited at Galerie im Körnerpark, coinciding with the release of the publication’s seventh edition on the exhibition’s opening date. Macías began publishing Tiempo Muerto in 2012, with each issue exploring a different aspect of anarchism, from private property and the legacy of influential European anarchists to key texts like the second chapter of Henry David Thoreau’s Walden (1854).

A supplement in the second edition explored a utopian colony founded in Topolobampo, Mexico, in 1896. “It was socialist in nature,” Macías explains. “For 20 years, there was no private property and no money in circulation.”

The publication features early black-and-white photographs taken by a participant, depicting mass gatherings, white colonial architecture, expansive skies, and rolling, cloud-strewn hills. “It’s unclear whether the images are fully in the public domain,” he admits, “but conceptually, I’m fascinated by the question of image ownership. I find it absurd and brutal that an image can hold more legal significance than human relationships.”

Given the deep impact of anarchism on his academic and artistic practice, has it influenced how he lives his own life? “No matter how differently you try to live, you’re always caught in contradiction,” he reflects. “Like a dog chasing its own tail. We all participate in society; we all pay taxes that ultimately fund munitions and weapons we oppose. We’re all, in the end, accomplices to the system.”