Sergio Miguel

"And I advise you, Araspes, not to let your eyes dwell long upon beautiful persons; for as fire burns those that touch it, beautiful persons inflame those that look at them even from a distance, so that they are set on fire with love."

—Xenophon, Cyropædia

Do not let your glance linger on these arquebusier angels. You might be taken with the only truly consequential kind of love: the love for the norm. Miguel’s women-angels, devious epigones of the donne angelicate of the Renaissance, know no virtue other than that of dominion. Your submission to law will become even fierier, your piety complete, if you observe these alluring emblems from a distance. Aspiring exegete, try cracking a fissure between your body and the absolute demand of the principle they adorn: then you are truly spellbound. It is known that an angel is needed to preside over the transmission of the invisible as invisible, aiding creatures’ exodus into their true, impossible names. These unnecessary angels instead are pure icons, spectacles of obscure radiance to which the gaze is drawn like the mind to a riddle. Save your ejaculations: they accept no prayers; they simply don’t care. The poses you glimpse—Beatriz’s studied melancholia, Mercedes’s untouched defiance, Begoña’s satisfied composure, the tender hint of a frown on Mariarosa’s face, Carlotta’s knowing languor, Jacinta’s careless glum, the uncertain retreat of Leopolda—rather than free you into despair about the transient, bind you through sight to that in whose name they speak their sensuous deceit. Their insouciance is nourished by the effortless efficacy of heavenly bureaucracy, in which the clerical lexicon of the ministry, the mission, the office finds its ethereal twin. Archontic figures of the managerial, they sing their quiet praise to the origin as they enact its fictive truth, creating the world’s imaginary order. These angels found and embellished, they are both ground and décor. They don’t need a scepter: it’s as a scepter that they masquerade. Though they cover a void, they lure you to imagine a sovereign behind the prohibitive masks of their government. The exception principle of their commanding tricks lies nowhere else than in their trickery. With these girlbossy arquebusiers the arcana imperii are safe, hidden in plain sight. You’d be forever enthralled, but the artist’s your friend: don’t the ashen abodes out of which these creatures emerge resemble a stage? And why do they flaunt the arquebus? A double of their own being, the firearm they handle gives away the charade: once displayed, the scepter is idle. The sphinx lacks a secret, the scene is undone. So why are you still looking?

—Emanuel Fiano, 2022

Sergio Miguel (b. 1992, Mexicali, Mexico) received his B.A. in Art History in 2014 and his M.F.A. in Studio Art from Columbia University in 2021. Recent group shows include De Por Vida curated by Ken Castaneda at Company Gallery in 2021, and The Fool at 8th House Projects in Mexico City in 2022. Army of Angels is the artist’s first solo exhibition.