The career of the Argentinian artist Guillermina Baiguera has been on my radar for the past couple of years. As one the most intriguing and innovative embroidery Latin American artists, she is ever-expanding the field of textile arts and unwarping exciting facets of very traditional practices like embroidery, sewing, and stitching. Her visual and material language can be often interpreted as surrealism, emotional abstractionism, or intuitive expressionism – translating not only affect and trauma but also serenity, joy, and pleasure into pieces with her hands and various fibres. By investigating the mental states and images that emerge in her mind, her current practice reveals transformations of her psyche that escape easy categorisation between pleasure and pain, beauty and horror, attraction and abject.
Guillermina has been especially interested in bringing embroidery work to challenging or critical situations. In this sense, she has incorporated drawing, sculpture, or sculptural objects, ceramics, as well as found objects or objects from his workshop or personal collection. In the past two years, due to personal and intimate circumstances, she started to be interested in human hair as a material that provokes both sensations of repelling and attraction as a matter of art. The artist mostly collaborates with women to gather the hair that she later transforms applying textile techniques to address immaterial themes, such as fear, pain, regeneration, and the passage of time.
Recently, I had the great pleasure of meeting her to learn more about the changes that her practices have gone through and the aesthetic choices she made to bring together a new exhibition Medium, curated by Carlos Gutiérrez and held at the Museo Carlos Alonso in General Villegas, Argentina, till the end of February.
Let’s begin with your hometown, General Villegas. You recently opened an exhibition there. How does it feel to return to your roots?
General Villegas is a small town in Buenos Aires Province, about 500 kilometres from the capital. It’s northwest of the province, near La Pampa. I was born there and lived my first 17 years before moving to Buenos Aires to study. While I’ve spent more time in the city, returning to Villegas for this exhibition felt deeply significant. The show is at the Carlos Alonso Museum of Fine Arts, and it feels like a full-circle moment – bringing my work back to where everything began.
The show is called Medium. What inspired you to create it? Was there a specific concept or atmosphere you wanted to evoke for viewers?
The idea for Medium had been emerging for over two years. Initially, when the museum director invited me to exhibit, I hesitated because my process is slow – working with embroidery or hair takes months or even years. Around that time, I began working with human hair as a medium, driven by personal reasons tied to grief. Hair became central to my practice, and this exhibition gathers pieces created during this transformative period. The show aims to evoke an atmosphere tied to time’s passage, regeneration, and what remains of us as humans – our remnants. Each piece carries its own narrative but collectively creates a space where viewers can reflect on these themes.
The show aims to evoke an atmosphere tied to time’s passage, regeneration, and what remains of us as humans – our remnants.
— Guillermina Baiguera
So it’s like you’ve learnt to speak a new language. When we first met, you were exploring embroidery within Latin American artistic practices. How has your artistic process evolved since then? Does embroidery still play a role?
The embroidery will always be part of my life. It’s a tool that helped me navigate life’s challenges. While there’s been a shift in materials, my approach remains rooted in textile techniques. Working with human hair involves incorporating elements from hairdressing but treating hair as fibre. This transition feels natural because both embroidery and working with hair demand patience and meticulous attention.
Your choice of human hair as a medium is striking. What emotions or sensations do you hope viewers experience when engaging with these works?
Initially, my work with hair was tied to grief and loss, exploring death and mourning through physical remnants like hair. Over time, it evolved into something broader – reflecting on what remains after we’re gone and how materials like hair endure over time. Each piece has its own narrative but collectively creates an atmosphere of transformation – what lies beneath the surface coming into view. For instance, some pieces emerge from the ground or seem suspended in air, evoking both regeneration and decay.
Your practice seems deeply intuitive and process-driven. Would you say it has a therapeutic dimension?
Absolutely. My process is immersive. I lose myself in it entirely. Working with hair initially felt unsettling; it evoked disgust as we usually associate loose hair with waste or decay. But as I spent more time handling it, those feelings turned into fascination. Creating these works brings me immense joy rather than relief from something heavy. It’s like entering a state of flow where time ceases to matter. Perhaps that sense of continuity, knowing there’s always another piece waiting, offers its own kind of solace.
Collaboration seems integral to your work. Could you elaborate on how others contribute to your pieces?
For this exhibition, I consciously worked only with women’s hair. Friends donated their hair, either strands that fell naturally or locks from haircuts, and I combined it with my own. Each piece respects its donor’s individuality; some works use only one person’s hair, while others mix theirs with mine. This collaboration brought new layers of meaning and intimacy to the pieces.
The exhibition text mentions a mix of beauty and terror in your work. How do these elements manifest?
Hair carries dualities. It symbolises both vitality and loss since it detaches from our bodies as we age or change. Paired with earth elements in the exhibition space, this creates tension between life and decay. For example, one piece made entirely of white hair is titled La Muerta (“The Dead One”). It references both physical death and how white hairs are considered “dead”. These contrasts invite viewers to confront mortality while finding beauty in what remains.
So, would you describe your art as a medium for something greater – perhaps emotions or ideas?
That’s an excellent question! In many ways, these works act as mediums themselves, conveying themes like grief, memory, and transformation through their materiality and form. They invite viewers into an intimate dialogue shaped by their own experiences. For me personally, creating them was about channelling emotions into something tangible – turning loss into beauty while leaving space for others’ interpretations.
It’s like entering a state of flow where time ceases to matter. Perhaps that sense of continuity, knowing there’s always another piece waiting, offers its own kind of solace.
— Guillermina Baiguera
You could say it’s a rather site-specific presentation. How involved were you in curating the exhibition space?
Very involved! I worked closely with curator Carlos Gutiérrez to decide how each piece would be displayed – whether mounted on walls, emerging from the floor, or suspended from ceilings. We wanted the works to feel grounded yet transformative as if they were rising from the earth itself. Also very important was the collaboration with the architect Charlotte Bovy, who was instrumental in thinking through and empowering the rather challenging exhibition space. While I’m emotionally detached from these pieces now (they’ve served their purpose for me), I remain invested in how they’re presented so their impact isn’t lost.
But then, with Medium marking such a significant chapter in your practice, what comes next? Are you exploring new techniques or materials?
After dedicating so much time to this body of work, I’m allowing myself space to rest and reflect before diving into new projects. I’m considering integrating thread and hair into textiles, a mix I haven’t fully explored yet, and continuing some ideas that emerged late in this process. This shift feels like integrating parts of myself that weren’t visible before – embracing authenticity through experimentation.
