Fiesta en el Cielo Exhibition at Centro Cultural Borges (Photo: Hannah Flint)

In 2012, at this advanced stage of globalisation, it can be difficult to comprehend just how revolutionary the birth of aviation must have been for those who achieved and witnessed the earliest flights.

Children who now grow up with toy Cessna planes and fighter jets, gleefully crashing remote controlled helicopters into kitchen cabinets, are a clear illustration of how flight has transformed our imagination and sense of possibility in the world.

The hundreds of thousands who board domestic and international flights each day, traversing the skies in their sleep, further serve as a testament to the gruelling engineers and aviation workers who toil to make this kind of world a reality.

It was in this thoughtful and playful spirit that the Argentine Association of Aeroplane Pilots (AAA) conceived the idea of ‘Fiesta en el Cielo’, a 700m² free exhibition at the Borges Cultural Centre in downtown Buenos Aires.

Sponsored and produced by the AAA, the organisation chose world-renowned Argentine pop artist Edgardo Gimenez to bring the party to the sky.

The exhibition space is, frankly, a very bizarre one. For starters, the Borges Cultural Centre is only a few stories high, but the walls of the exhibit are suspended in cloudy blue skies that distort your sense of altitude. It’s not impossible to detect the eccentric spirit of Jorge Luis Borges himself, tweaking out your proprioception in ways only he could.

Displayed throughout the exhibit are five jumbo toy aeroplanes constructed from moulds. Four of them are in bold, solid colour and the last, in the very back, is a white model with green and red emblazoned on its surfaces.

Fiesta en el Cielo Exhibition at Centro Cultural Borges includes life size photographs of flight attendants offering help in many forms. (Photo: Hannah Flint)

All along the walls, standing side by side in mid-air, are recurring life-size photographs of flight attendants dressed in uniform, smiling courteously and offering you refreshments, promotional magazines, safety instructions and the like.

A lot of comparisons come to mind in this space, particularly in the later hours when there are fewer patrons. It could easily be mistaken for either Willy Wonka’s private hangar, heaven as monitored by aircraft personnel, a scene in ‘The Matrix’, or ‘Toy Story’ heavily pumped up on juice. Without question, Gimenez has skilfully captured the oddly sterile cheer and beaming pop potency that stirs up tides of collective imagery.

If this were all, however, the exhibit would leave the visitor with a cloudy understanding of why it came together in the first place.

Ultimately, ‘Fiesta en el Cielo’ is worth the RSVP because, for those inspired to examine such things, it also packages a strong political and social message from the AAA without nose-diving into pure propaganda.

At the centre of the exhibition, a small theatre is set up for visitors to watch a brief documentary chronicling the major milestones of Argentine aviation. The video and exhibit pay tribute to the proud but contentious history of commercial aviation and labour struggle in Argentina.

Focusing primarily on state-owned companies like Aerolineas Argentinas and Austral, the documentary traces the industry’s growth in Argentina through its Peronist foundations, its austere restructuring in the years of dictatorship, the privatisations of the Menem years, and the re-nationalisation that took place in 2008 under the current president, Cristina Fernández de Kirchner.

Going the extra step, the AAA has also generously supplied the exhibit with free copies of its 161-page book ‘El cielo es nuestra’ (Heaven is Ours), in which the history of the aviation workers’ struggles and achievements is related in forceful narrative and first-hand testimonies.

The account, written in Spanish, is a refreshingly informative homage, expressed from the specific social angle of union leadership. It makes for a compelling case study of one of Argentina’s historically pioneering industries—from its crises to its triumphs and future aspirations.

Recoleta Cemetery is a ‘must see’ for most visitors to Buenos Aires. Inaugurated in 1822, this miniature city for the dead is home to some 4,870 tombs, including that of Eva Duarte de Perón, which is probably the most photographed of them all.

Julie-Anne Cosgrove, 44, moved from London to Buenos Aires in 2004 to dance tango, but got sidetracked photographing the cemetery. She uses reflections in her photographs – all single shots – to add a mysterious, sometimes playful dimension. “The reflections breathe life into the characters in the stained glass and the statues,” she explains, “and also capture the feeling that we are part of something greater than ourselves.”

Julie-Anne’s photography exhibition, Real Reflections: bringing Recoleta Cemetery to life, opens at 7pm on 29th March at Mallin, Otamendi 300, Buenos Aires, and runs through 28th April. Below is a selection of what you can expect to see at her exhibit.

Weeping Mary, 2010

Speed & light, 2011

Cherub UFO: day, 2009 & Cherub UFO, 2010

Rosary ghost, 2009 & Stairway to heaven, 2010

Double bill, 2010 & Destiny, 2012

War & peace, 2010 & Shepherd boy on the steps, 2010

Praying ghost, 2010 & Renovation, 2011

Gaby Messina and Fernando Entin enjoy friendship and work both. (Photo: Beatrice Murch)

“In my opinion, she’s one of the best artists in the region.” Fernando Entin, a Buenos Aires’ gallery owner who works with photographer Gaby Messina, says it like he means it.

“When he’s telling people about my work, he gives his time, his dedication and his love – you don’t get that with everybody,” says Messina, returning the compliment.

Sitting in a café in Belgrano, with the sun streaming through the window, there’s a whiff of suspicion that this lunch-date could turn into a PR event. But it doesn’t take long to realise that the exchanges of flattery are authentic and the warmth between the two is genuine.

Throughout the conversation the pair flash sideways glances at one another, sharing jokes and grabbing each other’s arms in a typically Latin display of affection. Beyond the obvious respect they have for each other’s work, they also seem to enjoy one another’s company.

Embracing the last of summer in a blue floral dress, Messina is personable and engaging. The 41-year-old photographer from Buenos Aires province has exhibited internationally and currently has work hanging in the city’s Museum of Latin American Art (MALBA).

Entin has thick black curly hair and smiles with his whole face. His ebullient personality is infectious and belies his position as the president of the Argentine Association of Contemporary Art Galleries (GALAAC).

In 2010 the pair collaborated for the first time when Messina exhibited her photography series, ‘Lima, Kilometro 100’, at Entin’s Palermo gallery, Elsi Del Rio.

'Hosepipe' courtesy of Gaby Messina

In ‘Lima, Kilometro 100’ Messina took her camera to a small town 100km from Buenos Aires and, over the course of two years, shot portraits of its inhabitants.

“Lima is a small, traditional town in the province where one of the most important nuclear power plants in the country is situated,” she explains. And it’s this contrast between a sleepy town and the enormous nuclear power station that grabbed her attention: “It’s a great location with the perfect cast.”

The series saw the photographer introduce a surreal twist to her portraiture style. Bold, clean and well composed, her photographs make good use of strong colours and geometric shapes. “I love mixing natural light with artificial light,” she says of her technique, which often sees her using beams of light to dissect her images.

Her photographs are sometimes humorous, but many have a darker, more melancholic edge. “My images aren’t decorative. A lot of these photos come from stories that aren’t the most light-hearted.”

The Lima series hints ever so slightly at the work of North American photographer Diane Arbus, famous for photographing the weird and the wonderful on the margins of society.

'Gaucho' courtesy of Gaby Messina

In this case, the transformation of the ordinary to the extraordinary is helped by Messina’s surreal use of props and strange poses, but it’s perhaps the quieter compositions that stand out from the series. Between the more attention grabbing images of a man dressed in a garden hose and a middle aged woman sitting atop a papier-mâché camel, you’ll find subtler shots of a gaucho leaning on a fence, or an old man sitting in a chair holding a pitchfork.

Having previously worked in advertising, Messina finds it easy to work with people. “You’ve got to be a people person but you’ve also got to be a little pushy. If you’re shy and too respectful, you won’t get any good photos.”

But the photographic process isn’t an easy one. “I don’t steal the photos, I have to work for them, and it’s tiring,” she explains. “I have to be switched on and alert all the time so I don’t miss anything.

“Sometimes I get a bit nervous because I’m setting everything up and I don’t have a clue what I’m going to do. People will ask me, ‘Should I be like this, or like that?’ and I’ll answer, ‘I’ve got no idea!’ But I know I’ll find something, because everyone has their own light and their own stories to tell.”

Throughout the conversation, Entin makes a point to highlight Messina’s tireless work ethic: “She never stops producing. Sometimes I’ve got to hold her back and say, ‘Look, you’ve just brought out your second book. Let people digest it a little’, but she’s got so much energy…”

In her latest project Messina turns the camera on her own life for the first time: “At one point I thought, I always tell other people’s stories, now I’m going to get it together and tell my own.”

For Messina, approaching the subject of her father’s death through photography was a way of addressing his death and exploring larger religious issues: “When my father died I stopped believing in the God that, until I was 18, was with me all the time. When my real guardian died, my spiritual guardian died too. And now I’m taking them both with me into the images.

“It’s very intense and very personal,” she says of the new project, which will also launch at Entin’s Elsi del Rio gallery.

“It was a strange place to open a gallery,” Entin says of his decision to open the gallery in Palermo Hollywood back in the year 2000.

“These days it’s Palermo Hollywood, back then it was just Palermo. People looked at me like I was a Martian when I took an old grocery store, recycled it and turned it into a space for contemporary art.”

Fernando in front of his gallery Elsi del Rio in Pallermo Hollywood. (Courtesy of Elsi)

The gallery was expected to hit its own turbulent waters when Argentina’s economic crisis struck, but its success surprised everyone: “People were in such a bad state when the banks took their money that they bought artwork with what they had left. In 2001, 2002 and 2003 we had record sales,” says Entin, still seeming surprised.

Despite the commercial success the crash brought the gallery, Entin and Messina are glad a semblance of normality has returned to the country, but know they can never get too comfortable. “We keep falling down, then getting up again, falling down, getting up, falling down, getting up – It’s part of being Argentine,” comments Messina.

But by all accounts, the tumultuous nature of Argentine life seems to suit their working styles. Entin says Messina is always looking to challenge and do new things in her projects, and she thinks the two work well together: “He’s always searching for new ideas, for change and for – I know it’s an overused word but, transformation.”

For people who enjoy being challenging and pushing the boundaries, these two seem remarkably easy-going and, as the arrival of dessert signals the end of lunch, I’m reminded that there’s nothing that binds Argentines, even the movers and shakers of the art world, like dulce de leche.