The Silent Vocal Language of Textiles
An exhibition exploring memory, conflict and peace.
Upside~Down Downside~Up
a sculpture selected for the exhibition at the
D Contemporary
18 September - 2 October
A Conversation with GM Urso by Nero Black
When Giuseppe Mario Urso speaks about his work, he does so with the calm precision of someone who understands that art’s power often lies in its quietest inversions. His piece, Upside~Down Downside~Up—presented in Neo Norte 5.0, curated by Tere Chad—brings together two monumental symbols: Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe and the Statue of Liberty. But Urso refuses to let these icons rest on their pedestals. Instead, he flips them—literally and conceptually—to ask what happens when identity, faith, and migration meet in unexpected proximity.
Your work often deals with displacement, identity and mirrored perspectives. What first inspired you to create Upside~Down Downside~Up?
Giuseppe Mario Urso: The initial impulse came from thinking about symbols we take for granted. For many in Mexico—especially the mothers of the disappeared—Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe holds deep emotional weight. Meanwhile, the Statue of Liberty functions almost globally as a symbol of migration: of loss, hope, and the possibility of a new life. I wanted to place these two figures in dialogue, to see what happens when their roles and visual identities begin to overlap. By swapping their garments and colours, their cultural boundaries blur. Their humanity becomes more visible.
The piece shows the two figures as mirror images connected by a transparent divide. What does this fragile connection represent?
Urso: The transparent connection suggests vulnerability. Borders, whether physical or psychological, are fragile no matter how solid they might seem. The viewer can see straight through the divide, which for me symbolizes the illusion of separateness. When we bring two powerful icons into such close proximity, the question becomes almost unavoidable: Are we truly different, or are we essentially the same?
In many of your pieces, we see inversion—things flipped upside down or positioned in unexpected ways. Why is inversion such a recurring method in your practice?
Urso: Inversion forces us to pause. When a familiar object or icon is flipped, rotated, or displaced, our perception resets. We look again. That moment of disorientation is precious—it creates room for empathy and reflection. I’m not interested in breaking symbols; I’m interested in revealing their hidden or forgotten meanings. Inversion becomes a tool to shake loose the assumptions we didn’t know we were carrying.
Your work blends spirituality, politics, and personal narrative. How do you navigate the emotional weight behind themes like disappearance and migration?
Urso: With humility. These themes carry real pain and real histories. When I reference them, especially in connection with communities like the mothers of the disappeared, my role is to create space—not to speak for anyone, but to invite viewers into a reflection they may otherwise avoid. Art can hold complexity; it can hold contradiction. That’s why I work the way I do.
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