Ivan Navarro Maps The Cosmos And Confronts Power In His Latest Exhibition

Forbes

13 hours ago

Iván Navarro, The Eye, 2025, neon, wood and electrical energy, 48 × 96 × 12 in. Photo Thelma Garcia. Courtesy of the artist and Templon, Paris – Brussels - New York
Stepping into Iván Navarro's 'Cyclops' at Templon gallery feels less like visiting an art exhibition and more like crossing a portal into a glowing battlefield where Greek myths collide with contemporary traumas. At once dazzling and disquieting, the solo show by the Brooklyn-based Chilean artist, on view through July 19, 2025, transforms light and myth into sculpture. Known for his hypnotic use of neon, mirrors and repetition, he draws on childhood memories of Chile's star-filled skies and the political trauma of life under dictatorship to craft works that explore power, perception and resistance. In 'Cyclops, he turns his gaze skyward – quite literally – with a gigantic neon figure inspired by ancient mythology, zodiac constellations laser-etched onto a mirror and eye charts referencing recent Chilean protests. The result is an exhibition that seduces with glowing color while interrogating the systems – both celestial and political – that shape how and what we see. He speaks about the influences behind the works in the show.
The themes in your exhibition 'Cyclops' at Templon range from celestial phenomena to questions of power. What drew you to the cosmos?
My interest in the cosmos started very young. I was always fascinated with telescopes, even just as toys – it all felt very mysterious. My mom used to take us outside at night to look at the stars, and actually, my dad just gave her a telescope for her birthday. She's 70! That's how much we still love looking at the sky. In Chile, especially in the north, where my father is from, the skies are incredibly clear. That region is home to some of the world's most powerful telescopes. I grew up with that sense of vastness and mystery above us. Seeing shooting stars, eclipses, reading constellations – it all leaves an impression. And now, I'm also interested in the idea of light pollution. In cities, you can't really see the stars anymore. But when you go somewhere rural or even to the beach, the sky opens up again.
How did that experience translate into your work for this show?
There's a piece in the exhibition called 'The Observatory'. It plays with that idea of light, but does the opposite of what you'd expect. It's a light piece enclosed in a tank, so the light doesn't spill out or create any pollution. You can only view it by peering through a peephole – like the kind you use in a door to see who's there. I think that piece might be the beginning of a new series. Sometimes there's one work in a show that sets the path for the next chapter.
Iván Navarro, Shell Shock V, 2024, LED, paint, wood, mirror, one-way mirror and electric energy, 25 1/2 × 25 1/2 × 4 in. Photo Thelma Garcia. Courtesy of the artist and Templon, Paris – Brussels - New York
When did celestial phenomena start appearing in your work?
It's pretty recent. The first pieces were from my last show at Templon in Paris, 'Planetarium'. That was right before COVID. And when COVID hit, I couldn't work with assistants or fabricators – everything was shut down. So I had to go back to making things by hand, working in my studio alone. That isolation pushed me into this more introspective, handmade process with mirrors and painting. It became meditative. When you work like that, you can't delegate. You can't ask an assistant to do something that's meant to be unique. It doesn't work. So I started questioning the way I work – what if I step away from the computer and try to make the same image by hand? What does that change?
Your monumental neon sculpture 'The Cyclops' is central to the exhibition. How did you make it?
Actually, I made it alone. The sculpture is built from eight panels, so I could work on each one in my studio separately. The only part where I needed help was the installation. It's also the first major neon sculpture I've made that doesn't use mirrors and can be experienced in daylight. Usually, when I work with mirrors, I need a darkened room. But 'The Cyclops' can be shown outdoors, in a bright space or even in an office lobby. It's more flexible. It builds on a series I made before called 'Fortune', where I used fragments of recycled neon to create images of open palms. 'The Cyclops' continues that thread; there's another work in the show called 'The Eye', also made with recycled neon.
What does the figure of the cyclops mean to you?
The cyclops is a mythological figure that was used to explain natural disasters: lightning, thunder, those kinds of things. People needed to personify those forces. No one's ever seen a cyclops, obviously, but the idea is powerful. Natural disasters are closely tied to electricity and light, which is why I became interested in the cyclops. It's a kind of monster, yes, but it's also a symbol of someone with enormous power who uses it to control or destroy. That reminds me of dictators like Pinochet in Chile. During the dictatorship, blackouts were used to control people. Electricity became a tool of fear, even torture. So for me, the cyclops becomes both a metaphor for that authoritarian force and, at the same time, a figure of vulnerability. That duality is important.
Iván Navarro, The Cyclops, 2025, recycled neon light, wood, Formica and electrical energy, 144 x 96 x 10 in. Photo Thelma Garcia. Courtesy of the artist and Templon, Paris – Brussels - New York
Can you say more about that duality – how the cyclops might also be a victim?
In 2019-2020, during the protests in Chile, police were violently targeting people's eyes. A lot of people lost their vision. It was horrifying – something we hadn't seen since the dictatorship. In the show, I have four 'Eye Chart' pieces. They reference those events, but also the idea of how we see or don't see. When you go to the eye doctor, you cover one eye and then the other. Maybe with one eye, you see one thing, and with the other one, you see another thing – you literally get two perspectives. For me, that connects to the cyclops again. One who sees with one eye, or perhaps loses sight altogether. There's always this tension in the work between the oppressor and the oppressed.