In her work, Keila Alaver investigates objects that represent the culture in which she lives and that have gradually disappeared, either because of consumers’ lack of interest, or because of changes in the local production chain.
When modified and moved into the context of art, objects acquire a new meaning, giving rise to questions about their status.
In the first moment of the occupation, Alaver presents a set of envelopes and other stationery items customized using different techniques. During the occupation, other works created from his personal archive will be incorporated including live performative actions.
The occupation of the stand located in the courtyard of Vermelho began in 2022 with the collective Depois do fim da Arte.
Read the full curatorial text.
Vermelho presents the exhibition No fim da madrugada [At the end of daybreak], curated by Lisette Lagnado, opening on October 26th.
No fim da madrugada [At the end of daybreak] presents works by: Alair Gomes, André Vargas, Ani Ganzala, bruno o. e Acervo Bajubá, Carlo Zacquini, Carmézia Emiliano, Clara Ianni, Claudia Andujar, Eustáquio Neves, Rebeca Carapiá, Rosângela Rennó, Tiago Guimarães, Ventura Profana, Vulcanica Pokaropa e Yhuri Cruz.
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The title is taken from the poem Notebook of a Return to the Native Land, by Aimé Césaire (1913-2008) and, true to the spirit of the poem, the exhibition examines certain images stemming from both official archives and subjective reminiscences.
The idea is to highlight the gaps in the documents that constitute the historiographical knowledge. Bearing in mind the ethical status of the photographic image, Lagnado worked with artists from different practices, for whom this medium has the capacity to reveal wounds caused by the greed of extractivism and hide cosmologies. How to restore a collective body that has been violently dismembered by coloniality is a question that finds echoes in works that celebrate the manifestation of playing bodies and the resistance of dissident spiritualities.
A fachada da Vermelho apresenta uma Contrafachada, projetada por Tiago Guimarães. Literalmente a maior extensão de parede da galeria, a face frontal do edifício incorpora seis estruturas de sarrafos de madeira que apresentam seu avesso. Gesto arquitetônico de uma assertividade quase singela: sustentar que não há neutralidade, até mesmo no desenho do contêiner, habitat ou tanque de guerra; tudo tem um avesso e um fundo. Toda versão oculta, uma contraversão. Inversão, contravenção e vice-versa.
Trecho de No Fim da Madrugada, de Lisette Lagnado
A fachada da Vermelho apresenta uma Contrafachada, projetada por Tiago Guimarães. Literalmente a maior extensão de parede da galeria, a face frontal do edifício incorpora seis estruturas de sarrafos de madeira que apresentam seu avesso. Gesto arquitetônico de uma assertividade quase singela: sustentar que não há neutralidade, até mesmo no desenho do contêiner, habitat ou tanque de guerra; tudo tem um avesso e um fundo. Toda versão oculta, uma contraversão. Inversão, contravenção e vice-versa.
Trecho de No Fim da Madrugada, de Lisette Lagnado
“[…] In this work of resignification, Pero Vaz de Caminha’s letter to His Highness The King of Portugal, in which he reported having “found” an expanse of inhabited land in 1500, becomes itself a record of extractivism and the gold rush in Brazil. The absence of iconographic documents on the invasion hence became Rosângela Rennó’s pretext for inventing the dialogues of her 2000 film Vera Cruz. According to the artist, the “old, scratched and worn-out image on the film” reinforces the gap between photographic documentation and fiction.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
–
Only three textual accounts of Pedro Alváres Cabral’s great undertaking have survived the 500 or so years that have passed since the discovery of Brazil by the Portuguese. The most complete is the letter signed by Pero Vaz de Caminha and addressed to King D. Manuel I of Portugal, informing precisely of the discovery of a new Eden.
The famous document frustrates our senses because, despite the wealth of details about the ten days spent by its author, among Portuguese captains and sailors, on the coast of Ilha de Vera Cruz, it is based solely on the discoverer’s perception. We lack, of course, the response and reaction of the ‘others’ — those Edenic human beings, so different from the European conqueror. Dialogue between the Portuguese and the native Amerindians was impossible, for obvious reasons: the language barrier. The letter suggests the development of a bodily dialogue —an action that is difficult to transcribe verbatim, no matter how detailed it is— and it is up to the reader to imagine this dialogue, and use it as support for the absence of spoken dialogue.
So many impossibilities could only engender a work that is based on impossibilities and transcendences: a crossing that is more temporal than spatial and geographical. The impossible dialogue between the Portuguese and the natives finds its double in a remnant of image and sound that constituted the ‘testimony’ of that moment. It is as if some spectator of that episode, aware of so much impossibility, had recorded something beyond the textual account. What is transcendent (and magical…) is that it seems that this record, recorded on film, time was unable to completely erase.
VERA CRUZ is, therefore, a video copy of an (im)possible film that oscillates between documentary and fiction genres, about the moment of the discovery of Brazil by the Portuguese, as reported in Caminha’s letter. From the removed image we can only see the image of the film, old, scratched, worn out by hundreds of years of existence and excessive use. The sound of the words was also removed, as the dialogue itself, between the discoverer and the native, did not take place. All that remained were the sound of the sea and the wind — witnesses to what happened — and the story transformed into a caption text, now available in five versions: Portuguese, English, French, Spanish and Cyrillic.
Coincidentally, if the origin of the work is based on the solitary resistance of subtitles — the exchange of the image for its textual version — the fate of what remains of this documentary/fiction also seems to reside in translation, into as many languages as possible. The confrontation between them proposes a very peculiar and curiously didactic semantic situation: more and new (im)possible dialogues, ad infinitum, that make us reflect on the precariousness of media and perception and, above all, on the fragility of human relationships.
Rosângela Rennó, 2000 – 2011
“[…] In this work of resignification, Pero Vaz de Caminha’s letter to His Highness The King of Portugal, in which he reported having “found” an expanse of inhabited land in 1500, becomes itself a record of extractivism and the gold rush in Brazil. The absence of iconographic documents on the invasion hence became Rosângela Rennó’s pretext for inventing the dialogues of her 2000 film Vera Cruz. According to the artist, the “old, scratched and worn-out image on the film” reinforces the gap between photographic documentation and fiction.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
–
Only three textual accounts of Pedro Alváres Cabral’s great undertaking have survived the 500 or so years that have passed since the discovery of Brazil by the Portuguese. The most complete is the letter signed by Pero Vaz de Caminha and addressed to King D. Manuel I of Portugal, informing precisely of the discovery of a new Eden.
The famous document frustrates our senses because, despite the wealth of details about the ten days spent by its author, among Portuguese captains and sailors, on the coast of Ilha de Vera Cruz, it is based solely on the discoverer’s perception. We lack, of course, the response and reaction of the ‘others’ — those Edenic human beings, so different from the European conqueror. Dialogue between the Portuguese and the native Amerindians was impossible, for obvious reasons: the language barrier. The letter suggests the development of a bodily dialogue —an action that is difficult to transcribe verbatim, no matter how detailed it is— and it is up to the reader to imagine this dialogue, and use it as support for the absence of spoken dialogue.
So many impossibilities could only engender a work that is based on impossibilities and transcendences: a crossing that is more temporal than spatial and geographical. The impossible dialogue between the Portuguese and the natives finds its double in a remnant of image and sound that constituted the ‘testimony’ of that moment. It is as if some spectator of that episode, aware of so much impossibility, had recorded something beyond the textual account. What is transcendent (and magical…) is that it seems that this record, recorded on film, time was unable to completely erase.
VERA CRUZ is, therefore, a video copy of an (im)possible film that oscillates between documentary and fiction genres, about the moment of the discovery of Brazil by the Portuguese, as reported in Caminha’s letter. From the removed image we can only see the image of the film, old, scratched, worn out by hundreds of years of existence and excessive use. The sound of the words was also removed, as the dialogue itself, between the discoverer and the native, did not take place. All that remained were the sound of the sea and the wind — witnesses to what happened — and the story transformed into a caption text, now available in five versions: Portuguese, English, French, Spanish and Cyrillic.
Coincidentally, if the origin of the work is based on the solitary resistance of subtitles — the exchange of the image for its textual version — the fate of what remains of this documentary/fiction also seems to reside in translation, into as many languages as possible. The confrontation between them proposes a very peculiar and curiously didactic semantic situation: more and new (im)possible dialogues, ad infinitum, that make us reflect on the precariousness of media and perception and, above all, on the fragility of human relationships.
Rosângela Rennó, 2000 – 2011
“’My people’, says Carmézia Emiliano, a Macuxi artist whose people have always known that nature has inherent rights. It is the title of a painting, in which more than two-thirds of the canvas is filled by a flutter of butterflies bursting from the earth’s humus and flying over the narrow strip of a village. The question remains: what can we learn from her notion of ‘people’, which embraces living beings and biomes?”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“’My people’, says Carmézia Emiliano, a Macuxi artist whose people have always known that nature has inherent rights. It is the title of a painting, in which more than two-thirds of the canvas is filled by a flutter of butterflies bursting from the earth’s humus and flying over the narrow strip of a village. The question remains: what can we learn from her notion of ‘people’, which embraces living beings and biomes?”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“The end of daybreak is about time awareness, but also a figure of speech. As a metaphor, it evokes whatever comes after collusions under cover of darkness, and it embraces waves of indignation and anger. Among countless examples of manipulation and intrigue, one can mention the burning of the archives on slavery, under the responsibility of Minister of Finance Ruy Barbosa, on May 13, 1891. I nourished the winds, I unlaced the monsters — persistent denunciations by social movement activists are finally making Brazil confront institutions founded upon structural racism.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
–
“This work displays with fire marks the date of the burning of the slavery archives ordered by Ruy Barbosa, a historical fact that makes it difficult to recover an important part of black people’s history in Brazil by those who seek to uncover the trajectory of their ancestors”
André Vargas
“The end of daybreak is about time awareness, but also a figure of speech. As a metaphor, it evokes whatever comes after collusions under cover of darkness, and it embraces waves of indignation and anger. Among countless examples of manipulation and intrigue, one can mention the burning of the archives on slavery, under the responsibility of Minister of Finance Ruy Barbosa, on May 13, 1891. I nourished the winds, I unlaced the monsters — persistent denunciations by social movement activists are finally making Brazil confront institutions founded upon structural racism.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
–
“This work displays with fire marks the date of the burning of the slavery archives ordered by Ruy Barbosa, a historical fact that makes it difficult to recover an important part of black people’s history in Brazil by those who seek to uncover the trajectory of their ancestors”
André Vargas
“Archives and documents on coloniality must have their categories reconfigured if we want to surmise hypotheses and produce reversals of meaning. Artist and educator bruno o., an active member of Acervo Bajubá, a “project recording memories of Brazilian LGBT+ communities”, chose to highlight the story of Marcos Puga, “a transvestite and plant thief”. The work on display is part of an ongoing investigation on cataloging, documentation, and archive reorganization practices. Bruno considers other types of testimonies, recognition and activation of memories, places and bodies involved in gathering situated knowledge. He explains that “Marcos Puga’s case questions the reproduction of the epistemicide colonial operations responsible for the indexation of life within monolithic orders”. What was it like, under the Brazilian civilian-military dictatorship, to tell the story of a person whose only remains are material fragments… and rumors?
In his search for information, bruno o. located a niece of Marcos Puga’s, who defended him when he was illegally arrested and tortured in 2001 after an anonymous tip. She says Marcos had been a baby left on her grandmother’s doorstep. A kind and beloved child, he found family care and, in turn, cared for his adoptive aunts and grandparents. His niece does not remember much about the fern thefts; she thinks it is a lie. She says that she knew he performed in a nightclub, but never saw anything, not even a wig; he probably left everything somewhere else. She only knows that he shaved his body. Marcos disappeared in 2002, and she was contacted years later by a São Bernardo do Campo police team who had found human remains they supposed were his — since he had been adopted, no identification was possible.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Archives and documents on coloniality must have their categories reconfigured if we want to surmise hypotheses and produce reversals of meaning. Artist and educator bruno o., an active member of Acervo Bajubá, a “project recording memories of Brazilian LGBT+ communities”, chose to highlight the story of Marcos Puga, “a transvestite and plant thief”. The work on display is part of an ongoing investigation on cataloging, documentation, and archive reorganization practices. Bruno considers other types of testimonies, recognition and activation of memories, places and bodies involved in gathering situated knowledge. He explains that “Marcos Puga’s case questions the reproduction of the epistemicide colonial operations responsible for the indexation of life within monolithic orders”. What was it like, under the Brazilian civilian-military dictatorship, to tell the story of a person whose only remains are material fragments… and rumors?
In his search for information, bruno o. located a niece of Marcos Puga’s, who defended him when he was illegally arrested and tortured in 2001 after an anonymous tip. She says Marcos had been a baby left on her grandmother’s doorstep. A kind and beloved child, he found family care and, in turn, cared for his adoptive aunts and grandparents. His niece does not remember much about the fern thefts; she thinks it is a lie. She says that she knew he performed in a nightclub, but never saw anything, not even a wig; he probably left everything somewhere else. She only knows that he shaved his body. Marcos disappeared in 2002, and she was contacted years later by a São Bernardo do Campo police team who had found human remains they supposed were his — since he had been adopted, no identification was possible.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Archives and documents on coloniality must have their categories reconfigured if we want to surmise hypotheses and produce reversals of meaning. Artist and educator bruno o., an active member of Acervo Bajubá, a “project recording memories of Brazilian LGBT+ communities”, chose to highlight the story of Marcos Puga, “a transvestite and plant thief”. The work on display is part of an ongoing investigation on cataloging, documentation, and archive reorganization practices. Bruno considers other types of testimonies, recognition and activation of memories, places and bodies involved in gathering situated knowledge. He explains that “Marcos Puga’s case questions the reproduction of the epistemicide colonial operations responsible for the indexation of life within monolithic orders”. What was it like, under the Brazilian civilian-military dictatorship, to tell the story of a person whose only remains are material fragments… and rumors?
In his search for information, bruno o. located a niece of Marcos Puga’s, who defended him when he was illegally arrested and tortured in 2001 after an anonymous tip. She says Marcos had been a baby left on her grandmother’s doorstep. A kind and beloved child, he found family care and, in turn, cared for his adoptive aunts and grandparents. His niece does not remember much about the fern thefts; she thinks it is a lie. She says that she knew he performed in a nightclub, but never saw anything, not even a wig; he probably left everything somewhere else. She only knows that he shaved his body. Marcos disappeared in 2002, and she was contacted years later by a São Bernardo do Campo police team who had found human remains they supposed were his — since he had been adopted, no identification was possible.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Archives and documents on coloniality must have their categories reconfigured if we want to surmise hypotheses and produce reversals of meaning. Artist and educator bruno o., an active member of Acervo Bajubá, a “project recording memories of Brazilian LGBT+ communities”, chose to highlight the story of Marcos Puga, “a transvestite and plant thief”. The work on display is part of an ongoing investigation on cataloging, documentation, and archive reorganization practices. Bruno considers other types of testimonies, recognition and activation of memories, places and bodies involved in gathering situated knowledge. He explains that “Marcos Puga’s case questions the reproduction of the epistemicide colonial operations responsible for the indexation of life within monolithic orders”. What was it like, under the Brazilian civilian-military dictatorship, to tell the story of a person whose only remains are material fragments… and rumors?
In his search for information, bruno o. located a niece of Marcos Puga’s, who defended him when he was illegally arrested and tortured in 2001 after an anonymous tip. She says Marcos had been a baby left on her grandmother’s doorstep. A kind and beloved child, he found family care and, in turn, cared for his adoptive aunts and grandparents. His niece does not remember much about the fern thefts; she thinks it is a lie. She says that she knew he performed in a nightclub, but never saw anything, not even a wig; he probably left everything somewhere else. She only knows that he shaved his body. Marcos disappeared in 2002, and she was contacted years later by a São Bernardo do Campo police team who had found human remains they supposed were his — since he had been adopted, no identification was possible.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Archives and documents on coloniality must have their categories reconfigured if we want to surmise hypotheses and produce reversals of meaning. Artist and educator bruno o., an active member of Acervo Bajubá, a “project recording memories of Brazilian LGBT+ communities”, chose to highlight the story of Marcos Puga, “a transvestite and plant thief”. The work on display is part of an ongoing investigation on cataloging, documentation, and archive reorganization practices. Bruno considers other types of testimonies, recognition and activation of memories, places and bodies involved in gathering situated knowledge. He explains that “Marcos Puga’s case questions the reproduction of the epistemicide colonial operations responsible for the indexation of life within monolithic orders”. What was it like, under the Brazilian civilian-military dictatorship, to tell the story of a person whose only remains are material fragments… and rumors?
In his search for information, bruno o. located a niece of Marcos Puga’s, who defended him when he was illegally arrested and tortured in 2001 after an anonymous tip. She says Marcos had been a baby left on her grandmother’s doorstep. A kind and beloved child, he found family care and, in turn, cared for his adoptive aunts and grandparents. His niece does not remember much about the fern thefts; she thinks it is a lie. She says that she knew he performed in a nightclub, but never saw anything, not even a wig; he probably left everything somewhere else. She only knows that he shaved his body. Marcos disappeared in 2002, and she was contacted years later by a São Bernardo do Campo police team who had found human remains they supposed were his — since he had been adopted, no identification was possible.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Archives and documents on coloniality must have their categories reconfigured if we want to surmise hypotheses and produce reversals of meaning. Artist and educator bruno o., an active member of Acervo Bajubá, a “project recording memories of Brazilian LGBT+ communities”, chose to highlight the story of Marcos Puga, “a transvestite and plant thief”. The work on display is part of an ongoing investigation on cataloging, documentation, and archive reorganization practices. Bruno considers other types of testimonies, recognition and activation of memories, places and bodies involved in gathering situated knowledge. He explains that “Marcos Puga’s case questions the reproduction of the epistemicide colonial operations responsible for the indexation of life within monolithic orders”. What was it like, under the Brazilian civilian-military dictatorship, to tell the story of a person whose only remains are material fragments… and rumors?
In his search for information, bruno o. located a niece of Marcos Puga’s, who defended him when he was illegally arrested and tortured in 2001 after an anonymous tip. She says Marcos had been a baby left on her grandmother’s doorstep. A kind and beloved child, he found family care and, in turn, cared for his adoptive aunts and grandparents. His niece does not remember much about the fern thefts; she thinks it is a lie. She says that she knew he performed in a nightclub, but never saw anything, not even a wig; he probably left everything somewhere else. She only knows that he shaved his body. Marcos disappeared in 2002, and she was contacted years later by a São Bernardo do Campo police team who had found human remains they supposed were his — since he had been adopted, no identification was possible.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“There is no denying that images can mobilize public opinion and awaken it from torpor, indifference or ignorance. In the drawn-out demarcation process of the Yanomami Indigenous Land, the release of Claudia Andujar and Carlo Zacquini’s photographs played a fundamental role in raising awareness. Despite this historic achievement, however, ongoing invasion waves by miners and businessmen in search of gold and cassiterite, with the direct or indirect support of the State and the Armed Forces, keep causing social and environmental disasters due to contamination by mercury and other pollutants. In the Vermelho exhibition, we decided not to expose the victims and to highlight the seductive aesthetics of imperialism. The language of the gold rush assimilates typical codes of touristic ads, with their (western movie!) chromatic scales and typography filled with subliminal messages. While Andujar’s Metais Ltda. [Metals LLC] (1989) assembles a set of travel agency posters of Amazon charter flights, the scenes recorded by Zacquini are self-explanatory: in the heart of the Indigenous territory, you can see a tent belonging to the gold mining company and the helicopter runway. A photographer who has been a Consolata missionary since 1957 and moved to Boa Vista in 1965, he reveals that “the company owner was elected and re-elected a federal representative for the Roraima state and was known as the ‘man with the golden gun’”. This documentation work was conducted during a trip of the Action for Citizenship, at the invitation of Senator Severo Gomes, to investigate crimes against human rights on the Yanomami Indigenous Land. Its truthfulness constitutes irrefutable evidence of the ongoing genocides, whose national and international repercussions are meant to reverse or, at least, control situations of abuse.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“There is no denying that images can mobilize public opinion and awaken it from torpor, indifference or ignorance. In the drawn-out demarcation process of the Yanomami Indigenous Land, the release of Claudia Andujar and Carlo Zacquini’s photographs played a fundamental role in raising awareness. Despite this historic achievement, however, ongoing invasion waves by miners and businessmen in search of gold and cassiterite, with the direct or indirect support of the State and the Armed Forces, keep causing social and environmental disasters due to contamination by mercury and other pollutants. In the Vermelho exhibition, we decided not to expose the victims and to highlight the seductive aesthetics of imperialism. The language of the gold rush assimilates typical codes of touristic ads, with their (western movie!) chromatic scales and typography filled with subliminal messages. While Andujar’s Metais Ltda. [Metals LLC] (1989) assembles a set of travel agency posters of Amazon charter flights, the scenes recorded by Zacquini are self-explanatory: in the heart of the Indigenous territory, you can see a tent belonging to the gold mining company and the helicopter runway. A photographer who has been a Consolata missionary since 1957 and moved to Boa Vista in 1965, he reveals that “the company owner was elected and re-elected a federal representative for the Roraima state and was known as the ‘man with the golden gun’”. This documentation work was conducted during a trip of the Action for Citizenship, at the invitation of Senator Severo Gomes, to investigate crimes against human rights on the Yanomami Indigenous Land. Its truthfulness constitutes irrefutable evidence of the ongoing genocides, whose national and international repercussions are meant to reverse or, at least, control situations of abuse.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“There is no denying that images can mobilize public opinion and awaken it from torpor, indifference or ignorance. In the drawn-out demarcation process of the Yanomami Indigenous Land, the release of Claudia Andujar and Carlo Zacquini’s photographs played a fundamental role in raising awareness. Despite this historic achievement, however, ongoing invasion waves by miners and businessmen in search of gold and cassiterite, with the direct or indirect support of the State and the Armed Forces, keep causing social and environmental disasters due to contamination by mercury and other pollutants. In the Vermelho exhibition, we decided not to expose the victims and to highlight the seductive aesthetics of imperialism. The language of the gold rush assimilates typical codes of touristic ads, with their (western movie!) chromatic scales and typography filled with subliminal messages. While Andujar’s Metais Ltda. [Metals LLC] (1989) assembles a set of travel agency posters of Amazon charter flights, the scenes recorded by Zacquini are self-explanatory: in the heart of the Indigenous territory, you can see a tent belonging to the gold mining company and the helicopter runway. A photographer who has been a Consolata missionary since 1957 and moved to Boa Vista in 1965, he reveals that “the company owner was elected and re-elected a federal representative for the Roraima state and was known as the ‘man with the golden gun’”. This documentation work was conducted during a trip of the Action for Citizenship, at the invitation of Senator Severo Gomes, to investigate crimes against human rights on the Yanomami Indigenous Land. Its truthfulness constitutes irrefutable evidence of the ongoing genocides, whose national and international repercussions are meant to reverse or, at least, control situations of abuse.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“There is no denying that images can mobilize public opinion and awaken it from torpor, indifference or ignorance. In the drawn-out demarcation process of the Yanomami Indigenous Land, the release of Claudia Andujar and Carlo Zacquini’s photographs played a fundamental role in raising awareness. Despite this historic achievement, however, ongoing invasion waves by miners and businessmen in search of gold and cassiterite, with the direct or indirect support of the State and the Armed Forces, keep causing social and environmental disasters due to contamination by mercury and other pollutants. In the Vermelho exhibition, we decided not to expose the victims and to highlight the seductive aesthetics of imperialism. The language of the gold rush assimilates typical codes of touristic ads, with their (western movie!) chromatic scales and typography filled with subliminal messages. While Andujar’s Metais Ltda. [Metals LLC] (1989) assembles a set of travel agency posters of Amazon charter flights, the scenes recorded by Zacquini are self-explanatory: in the heart of the Indigenous territory, you can see a tent belonging to the gold mining company and the helicopter runway. A photographer who has been a Consolata missionary since 1957 and moved to Boa Vista in 1965, he reveals that “the company owner was elected and re-elected a federal representative for the Roraima state and was known as the ‘man with the golden gun’”. This documentation work was conducted during a trip of the Action for Citizenship, at the invitation of Senator Severo Gomes, to investigate crimes against human rights on the Yanomami Indigenous Land. Its truthfulness constitutes irrefutable evidence of the ongoing genocides, whose national and international repercussions are meant to reverse or, at least, control situations of abuse.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“There is no denying that images can mobilize public opinion and awaken it from torpor, indifference or ignorance. In the drawn-out demarcation process of the Yanomami Indigenous Land, the release of Claudia Andujar and Carlo Zacquini’s photographs played a fundamental role in raising awareness. Despite this historic achievement, however, ongoing invasion waves by miners and businessmen in search of gold and cassiterite, with the direct or indirect support of the State and the Armed Forces, keep causing social and environmental disasters due to contamination by mercury and other pollutants. In the Vermelho exhibition, we decided not to expose the victims and to highlight the seductive aesthetics of imperialism. The language of the gold rush assimilates typical codes of touristic ads, with their (western movie!) chromatic scales and typography filled with subliminal messages. While Andujar’s Metais Ltda. [Metals LLC] (1989) assembles a set of travel agency posters of Amazon charter flights, the scenes recorded by Zacquini are self-explanatory: in the heart of the Indigenous territory, you can see a tent belonging to the gold mining company and the helicopter runway. A photographer who has been a Consolata missionary since 1957 and moved to Boa Vista in 1965, he reveals that “the company owner was elected and re-elected a federal representative for the Roraima state and was known as the ‘man with the golden gun’”. This documentation work was conducted during a trip of the Action for Citizenship, at the invitation of Senator Severo Gomes, to investigate crimes against human rights on the Yanomami Indigenous Land. Its truthfulness constitutes irrefutable evidence of the ongoing genocides, whose national and international repercussions are meant to reverse or, at least, control situations of abuse.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“There is no denying that images can mobilize public opinion and awaken it from torpor, indifference or ignorance. In the drawn-out demarcation process of the Yanomami Indigenous Land, the release of Claudia Andujar and Carlo Zacquini’s photographs played a fundamental role in raising awareness. Despite this historic achievement, however, ongoing invasion waves by miners and businessmen in search of gold and cassiterite, with the direct or indirect support of the State and the Armed Forces, keep causing social and environmental disasters due to contamination by mercury and other pollutants. In the Vermelho exhibition, we decided not to expose the victims and to highlight the seductive aesthetics of imperialism. The language of the gold rush assimilates typical codes of touristic ads, with their (western movie!) chromatic scales and typography filled with subliminal messages. While Andujar’s Metais Ltda. [Metals LLC] (1989) assembles a set of travel agency posters of Amazon charter flights, the scenes recorded by Zacquini are self-explanatory: in the heart of the Indigenous territory, you can see a tent belonging to the gold mining company and the helicopter runway. A photographer who has been a Consolata missionary since 1957 and moved to Boa Vista in 1965, he reveals that “the company owner was elected and re-elected a federal representative for the Roraima state and was known as the ‘man with the golden gun’”. This documentation work was conducted during a trip of the Action for Citizenship, at the invitation of Senator Severo Gomes, to investigate crimes against human rights on the Yanomami Indigenous Land. Its truthfulness constitutes irrefutable evidence of the ongoing genocides, whose national and international repercussions are meant to reverse or, at least, control situations of abuse.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“There is no denying that images can mobilize public opinion and awaken it from torpor, indifference or ignorance. In the drawn-out demarcation process of the Yanomami Indigenous Land, the release of Claudia Andujar and Carlo Zacquini’s photographs played a fundamental role in raising awareness. Despite this historic achievement, however, ongoing invasion waves by miners and businessmen in search of gold and cassiterite, with the direct or indirect support of the State and the Armed Forces, keep causing social and environmental disasters due to contamination by mercury and other pollutants. In the Vermelho exhibition, we decided not to expose the victims and to highlight the seductive aesthetics of imperialism. The language of the gold rush assimilates typical codes of touristic ads, with their (western movie!) chromatic scales and typography filled with subliminal messages. While Andujar’s Metais Ltda. [Metals LLC] (1989) assembles a set of travel agency posters of Amazon charter flights, the scenes recorded by Zacquini are self-explanatory: in the heart of the Indigenous territory, you can see a tent belonging to the gold mining company and the helicopter runway. A photographer who has been a Consolata missionary since 1957 and moved to Boa Vista in 1965, he reveals that “the company owner was elected and re-elected a federal representative for the Roraima state and was known as the ‘man with the golden gun’”. This documentation work was conducted during a trip of the Action for Citizenship, at the invitation of Senator Severo Gomes, to investigate crimes against human rights on the Yanomami Indigenous Land. Its truthfulness constitutes irrefutable evidence of the ongoing genocides, whose national and international repercussions are meant to reverse or, at least, control situations of abuse.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“There is no denying that images can mobilize public opinion and awaken it from torpor, indifference or ignorance. In the drawn-out demarcation process of the Yanomami Indigenous Land, the release of Claudia Andujar and Carlo Zacquini’s photographs played a fundamental role in raising awareness. Despite this historic achievement, however, ongoing invasion waves by miners and businessmen in search of gold and cassiterite, with the direct or indirect support of the State and the Armed Forces, keep causing social and environmental disasters due to contamination by mercury and other pollutants. In the Vermelho exhibition, we decided not to expose the victims and to highlight the seductive aesthetics of imperialism. The language of the gold rush assimilates typical codes of touristic ads, with their (western movie!) chromatic scales and typography filled with subliminal messages. While Andujar’s Metais Ltda. [Metals LLC] (1989) assembles a set of travel agency posters of Amazon charter flights, the scenes recorded by Zacquini are self-explanatory: in the heart of the Indigenous territory, you can see a tent belonging to the gold mining company and the helicopter runway. A photographer who has been a Consolata missionary since 1957 and moved to Boa Vista in 1965, he reveals that “the company owner was elected and re-elected a federal representative for the Roraima state and was known as the ‘man with the golden gun’”. This documentation work was conducted during a trip of the Action for Citizenship, at the invitation of Senator Severo Gomes, to investigate crimes against human rights on the Yanomami Indigenous Land. Its truthfulness constitutes irrefutable evidence of the ongoing genocides, whose national and international repercussions are meant to reverse or, at least, control situations of abuse.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“[…] how can artistic language abolish the rule of the lords?
Pastor Ventura Profana’s research focused on the methodology of neo-Pentecostal churches. She was educated in Baptist temples and claims to be a prophetess “of the abundance of Black, Indigenous and transvestite life”. Composed after the liturgy of a true hymn to life (to “eternal life”, no less), the music video for the song Eu não vou morrer [I am not going to die] (2020) evades the Lord to honor the female Orixás (Yabás). Profana’s epiphanic release allows a vertiginous plunge into what has been the annihilation of ancestries, intelligences and utopias. One listens to a psalm praising people finally free from colonial policies of extermination, and one exults with the path from the furnace to the living waters in Calunga, da Cruz à Encruzilhada [Calunga, from the Cross to the Crossroads]. This work evokes intergenerational dreams and visions through a fabulous dialogue with matter (who does not want to learn how to fly?), ushering in the time of the Black trans women inside the white cube of the art “cathedral”.
Profana explains in several statements that this Lord transcends religious order and must be projected onto other patriarchal figures (the landowner, the gun advocate, the patron saint…). It is her pastoral mission to invest the insurrectional fury of peripheral bodies attacked by extractive capital against all the explicit and implicit patriarchy of a Brazilian state conceived through its enslavement history. […]”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“[…] how can artistic language abolish the rule of the lords?
Pastor Ventura Profana’s research focused on the methodology of neo-Pentecostal churches. She was educated in Baptist temples and claims to be a prophetess “of the abundance of Black, Indigenous and transvestite life”. Composed after the liturgy of a true hymn to life (to “eternal life”, no less), the music video for the song Eu não vou morrer [I am not going to die] (2020) evades the Lord to honor the female Orixás (Yabás). Profana’s epiphanic release allows a vertiginous plunge into what has been the annihilation of ancestries, intelligences and utopias. One listens to a psalm praising people finally free from colonial policies of extermination, and one exults with the path from the furnace to the living waters in Calunga, da Cruz à Encruzilhada [Calunga, from the Cross to the Crossroads]. This work evokes intergenerational dreams and visions through a fabulous dialogue with matter (who does not want to learn how to fly?), ushering in the time of the Black trans women inside the white cube of the art “cathedral”.
Profana explains in several statements that this Lord transcends religious order and must be projected onto other patriarchal figures (the landowner, the gun advocate, the patron saint…). It is her pastoral mission to invest the insurrectional fury of peripheral bodies attacked by extractive capital against all the explicit and implicit patriarchy of a Brazilian state conceived through its enslavement history. […]”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
Pastor Ventura Profana’s research focused on the methodology of neo-Pentecostal churches. She was educated in Baptist temples and claims to be a prophetess “of the abundance of Black, Indigenous and transvestite life”. Composed after the liturgy of a true hymn to life (to “eternal life”, no less), the music video for the song Eu não vou morrer [I am not going to die] (2020) evades the Lord to honor the female Orixás (Yabás). Profana's epiphanic release allows a vertiginous plunge into what has been the annihilation of ancestries, intelligences and utopias. One listens to a psalm praising people finally free from colonial policies of extermination, and one exults with the path from the furnace to the living waters in Calunga, da Cruz à Encruzilhada [Calunga, from the Cross to the Crossroads]. This work evokes intergenerational dreams and visions through a fabulous dialogue with matter (who does not want to learn how to fly?), ushering in the time of the Black trans women inside the white cube of the art “cathedral”.
Profana explains in several statements that this Lord transcends religious order and must be projected onto other patriarchal figures (the landowner, the gun advocate, the patron saint...). It is her pastoral mission to invest the insurrectional fury of peripheral bodies attacked by extractive capital against all the explicit and implicit patriarchy of a Brazilian state conceived through its enslavement history. […]”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
Pastor Ventura Profana’s research focused on the methodology of neo-Pentecostal churches. She was educated in Baptist temples and claims to be a prophetess “of the abundance of Black, Indigenous and transvestite life”. Composed after the liturgy of a true hymn to life (to “eternal life”, no less), the music video for the song Eu não vou morrer [I am not going to die] (2020) evades the Lord to honor the female Orixás (Yabás). Profana's epiphanic release allows a vertiginous plunge into what has been the annihilation of ancestries, intelligences and utopias. One listens to a psalm praising people finally free from colonial policies of extermination, and one exults with the path from the furnace to the living waters in Calunga, da Cruz à Encruzilhada [Calunga, from the Cross to the Crossroads]. This work evokes intergenerational dreams and visions through a fabulous dialogue with matter (who does not want to learn how to fly?), ushering in the time of the Black trans women inside the white cube of the art “cathedral”.
Profana explains in several statements that this Lord transcends religious order and must be projected onto other patriarchal figures (the landowner, the gun advocate, the patron saint...). It is her pastoral mission to invest the insurrectional fury of peripheral bodies attacked by extractive capital against all the explicit and implicit patriarchy of a Brazilian state conceived through its enslavement history. […]”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“In the same room as Andujar, Zacquini and Profana, Cultivo [Tillage] and Bancada [Caucus] (2021), two photographs from the “Cotidiano” [Daily] series by militant transsexual artist and performer Vulcanica Pokaropa, expands the above agenda with the ongoing fight against the landowners’ congressional faction, which protects agricultural companies known for their deforestation and invasion of protected areas.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“In the same room as Andujar, Zacquini and Profana, Cultivo [Tillage] and Bancada [Caucus] (2021), two photographs from the “Cotidiano” [Daily] series by militant transsexual artist and performer Vulcanica Pokaropa, expands the above agenda with the ongoing fight against the landowners’ congressional faction, which protects agricultural companies known for their deforestation and invasion of protected areas.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“In the same room as Andujar, Zacquini and Profana, Cultivo [Tillage] and Bancada [Caucus] (2021), two photographs from the “Cotidiano” [Daily] series by militant transsexual artist and performer Vulcanica Pokaropa, expands the above agenda with the ongoing fight against the landowners’ congressional faction, which protects agricultural companies known for their deforestation and invasion of protected areas.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“In the same room as Andujar, Zacquini and Profana, Cultivo [Tillage] and Bancada [Caucus] (2021), two photographs from the “Cotidiano” [Daily] series by militant transsexual artist and performer Vulcanica Pokaropa, expands the above agenda with the ongoing fight against the landowners’ congressional faction, which protects agricultural companies known for their deforestation and invasion of protected areas.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“In the same room as Andujar, Zacquini and Profana, Cultivo [Tillage] and Bancada [Caucus] (2021), two photographs from the “Cotidiano” [Daily] series by militant transsexual artist and performer Vulcanica Pokaropa, expands the above agenda with the ongoing fight against the landowners’ congressional faction, which protects agricultural companies known for their deforestation and invasion of protected areas.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“In the same room as Andujar, Zacquini and Profana, Cultivo [Tillage] and Bancada [Caucus] (2021), two photographs from the “Cotidiano” [Daily] series by militant transsexual artist and performer Vulcanica Pokaropa, expands the above agenda with the ongoing fight against the landowners’ congressional faction, which protects agricultural companies known for their deforestation and invasion of protected areas.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“There is no denying that images can mobilize public opinion and awaken it from torpor, indifference or ignorance. In the drawn-out demarcation process of the Yanomami Indigenous Land, the release of Claudia Andujar and Carlo Zacquini’s photographs played a fundamental role in raising awareness. Despite this historic achievement, however, ongoing invasion waves by miners and businessmen in search of gold and cassiterite, with the direct or indirect support of the State and the Armed Forces, keep causing social and environmental disasters due to contamination by mercury and other pollutants. In the Vermelho exhibition, we decided not to expose the victims and to highlight the seductive aesthetics of imperialism. The language of the gold rush assimilates typical codes of touristic ads, with their (western movie!) chromatic scales and typography filled with subliminal messages. While Andujar’s Metais Ltda. [Metals LLC] (1989) assembles a set of travel agency posters of Amazon charter flights, the scenes recorded by Zacquini are self-explanatory: in the heart of the Indigenous territory, you can see a tent belonging to the gold mining company and the helicopter runway. A photographer who has been a Consolata missionary since 1957 and moved to Boa Vista in 1965, he reveals that “the company owner was elected and re-elected a federal representative for the Roraima state and was known as the ‘man with the golden gun’”. This documentation work was conducted during a trip of the Action for Citizenship, at the invitation of Senator Severo Gomes, to investigate crimes against human rights on the Yanomami Indigenous Land. Its truthfulness constitutes irrefutable evidence of the ongoing genocides, whose national and international repercussions are meant to reverse or, at least, control situations of abuse.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“There is no denying that images can mobilize public opinion and awaken it from torpor, indifference or ignorance. In the drawn-out demarcation process of the Yanomami Indigenous Land, the release of Claudia Andujar and Carlo Zacquini’s photographs played a fundamental role in raising awareness. Despite this historic achievement, however, ongoing invasion waves by miners and businessmen in search of gold and cassiterite, with the direct or indirect support of the State and the Armed Forces, keep causing social and environmental disasters due to contamination by mercury and other pollutants. In the Vermelho exhibition, we decided not to expose the victims and to highlight the seductive aesthetics of imperialism. The language of the gold rush assimilates typical codes of touristic ads, with their (western movie!) chromatic scales and typography filled with subliminal messages. While Andujar’s Metais Ltda. [Metals LLC] (1989) assembles a set of travel agency posters of Amazon charter flights, the scenes recorded by Zacquini are self-explanatory: in the heart of the Indigenous territory, you can see a tent belonging to the gold mining company and the helicopter runway. A photographer who has been a Consolata missionary since 1957 and moved to Boa Vista in 1965, he reveals that “the company owner was elected and re-elected a federal representative for the Roraima state and was known as the ‘man with the golden gun’”. This documentation work was conducted during a trip of the Action for Citizenship, at the invitation of Senator Severo Gomes, to investigate crimes against human rights on the Yanomami Indigenous Land. Its truthfulness constitutes irrefutable evidence of the ongoing genocides, whose national and international repercussions are meant to reverse or, at least, control situations of abuse.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“The iron sculpture Sentinela avançada, guarda imortal [Advanced Sentinel, Immortal Guard] (2020) heralds the stormy encounter between the warrior Iansã, materialized in the Senhor do Bonfim red satin ribbons, and the colonial poison that drips from the premises of Christianity — beat it, evil grigri, you bedbug of a petty monk.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“The iron sculpture Sentinela avançada, guarda imortal [Advanced Sentinel, Immortal Guard] (2020) heralds the stormy encounter between the warrior Iansã, materialized in the Senhor do Bonfim red satin ribbons, and the colonial poison that drips from the premises of Christianity — beat it, evil grigri, you bedbug of a petty monk.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“The modern myth of a universal history spread by Europe appears in Clara Ianni’s Segunda Natureza [Second Nature] (2023), filmed inside the Maastricht Lutheran Church (Netherlands). The artist addresses the notion of capital accumulation (seeds, fibers, minerals…), uniting the themes of land exploitation and the exploitation of human labor. The result of the Christianized world, colonial extraction based its expansion on several separations. The split between (man’s) body and spirit for greater control over Nature stems from Western modernity. The Protestant principle Soli Deo gloria (“Glory to God alone”), by which not even life has meaning outside this order, defines other divisions: between the clergy and common people, and between true devotion and false beliefs. Yet, although the film expresses the yearning for the landscape outside the Church’s windows, it is at least an allusion to possibilities of regeneration through the qualities of interdependence and camaraderie.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“The modern myth of a universal history spread by Europe appears in Clara Ianni’s Segunda Natureza [Second Nature] (2023), filmed inside the Maastricht Lutheran Church (Netherlands). The artist addresses the notion of capital accumulation (seeds, fibers, minerals…), uniting the themes of land exploitation and the exploitation of human labor. The result of the Christianized world, colonial extraction based its expansion on several separations. The split between (man’s) body and spirit for greater control over Nature stems from Western modernity. The Protestant principle Soli Deo gloria (“Glory to God alone”), by which not even life has meaning outside this order, defines other divisions: between the clergy and common people, and between true devotion and false beliefs. Yet, although the film expresses the yearning for the landscape outside the Church’s windows, it is at least an allusion to possibilities of regeneration through the qualities of interdependence and camaraderie.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Interestingly, popular memory holds ancestral knowledge and war strategy to be equivalent. After a trip to Angola in 2018, Ani Ganzala has researched the influence of botany on the Black Diaspora. Only an initiated look can apprehend the diversity of vegetation and identify the physical and spiritual healing possibilities of each species. Ganzala was certainly not indifferent to the story of the beatings inflicted by local resistance forces on Portuguese sailors with nettlespurge stalks. Even though no documentary evidence has been found on freed slave Maria Filipa’s, her actions during Bahia’s independence process live in the Itaparica islanders’ imagination. In this critical dimension of historically marginalized bodies, the Black feminism of artist-activists like Ganzala joins a growing chorus, along with studies aimed at recognizing Bahia’s legacy in the formation of contemporary Brazil.”
Excerpt from No fim da madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Interestingly, popular memory holds ancestral knowledge and war strategy to be equivalent. After a trip to Angola in 2018, Ani Ganzala has researched the influence of botany on the Black Diaspora. Only an initiated look can apprehend the diversity of vegetation and identify the physical and spiritual healing possibilities of each species. Ganzala was certainly not indifferent to the story of the beatings inflicted by local resistance forces on Portuguese sailors with nettlespurge stalks. Even though no documentary evidence has been found on freed slave Maria Filipa’s, her actions during Bahia’s independence process live in the Itaparica islanders’ imagination. In this critical dimension of historically marginalized bodies, the Black feminism of artist-activists like Ganzala joins a growing chorus, along with studies aimed at recognizing Bahia’s legacy in the formation of contemporary Brazil.”
Excerpt from No fim da madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Interestingly, popular memory holds ancestral knowledge and war strategy to be equivalent. After a trip to Angola in 2018, Ani Ganzala has researched the influence of botany on the Black Diaspora. Only an initiated look can apprehend the diversity of vegetation and identify the physical and spiritual healing possibilities of each species. Ganzala was certainly not indifferent to the story of the beatings inflicted by local resistance forces on Portuguese sailors with nettlespurge stalks. Even though no documentary evidence has been found on freed slave Maria Filipa’s, her actions during Bahia’s independence process live in the Itaparica islanders’ imagination. In this critical dimension of historically marginalized bodies, the Black feminism of artist-activists like Ganzala joins a growing chorus, along with studies aimed at recognizing Bahia’s legacy in the formation of contemporary Brazil.”
Excerpt from No fim da madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Interestingly, popular memory holds ancestral knowledge and war strategy to be equivalent. After a trip to Angola in 2018, Ani Ganzala has researched the influence of botany on the Black Diaspora. Only an initiated look can apprehend the diversity of vegetation and identify the physical and spiritual healing possibilities of each species. Ganzala was certainly not indifferent to the story of the beatings inflicted by local resistance forces on Portuguese sailors with nettlespurge stalks. Even though no documentary evidence has been found on freed slave Maria Filipa’s, her actions during Bahia’s independence process live in the Itaparica islanders’ imagination. In this critical dimension of historically marginalized bodies, the Black feminism of artist-activists like Ganzala joins a growing chorus, along with studies aimed at recognizing Bahia’s legacy in the formation of contemporary Brazil.”
Excerpt from No fim da madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Artist Eustáquio Neves’s Sete [Seven] (2023) lends a new breadth to the Catholic religion. We have before us six photographic enlargements (photographic emulsion on cotton paper and oil painting) along with a digital copy from an original file of the author’s first communion, now covered in countless layers of pigments and chemicals. From the depths of these nebulous surfaces, a Black boy draws our attention, wearing a white short-sleeved shirt, dark shorts, ankle socks and black polished moccasins. Despite documenting an event, the image hides several other worlds. The result offers a diagnosis of the relations of power and domination that have always affected Afro-Brazilian citizenship. Several hands skillfully adjusted this small body to prepare it for the sacrament of the Eucharist and for the paper image to be proudly distributed among the maternal uncles. Placing the ethical status of photography under suspicion, Neves blurs his own portrait to display a torn childhood: the child’s left hand holds an element of the imposed culture; his right hand, the instrument of his ancestral resistance.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Artist Eustáquio Neves’s Sete [Seven] (2023) lends a new breadth to the Catholic religion. We have before us six photographic enlargements (photographic emulsion on cotton paper and oil painting) along with a digital copy from an original file of the author’s first communion, now covered in countless layers of pigments and chemicals. From the depths of these nebulous surfaces, a Black boy draws our attention, wearing a white short-sleeved shirt, dark shorts, ankle socks and black polished moccasins. Despite documenting an event, the image hides several other worlds. The result offers a diagnosis of the relations of power and domination that have always affected Afro-Brazilian citizenship. Several hands skillfully adjusted this small body to prepare it for the sacrament of the Eucharist and for the paper image to be proudly distributed among the maternal uncles. Placing the ethical status of photography under suspicion, Neves blurs his own portrait to display a torn childhood: the child’s left hand holds an element of the imposed culture; his right hand, the instrument of his ancestral resistance.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Artist Eustáquio Neves’s Sete [Seven] (2023) lends a new breadth to the Catholic religion. We have before us six photographic enlargements (photographic emulsion on cotton paper and oil painting) along with a digital copy from an original file of the author’s first communion, now covered in countless layers of pigments and chemicals. From the depths of these nebulous surfaces, a Black boy draws our attention, wearing a white short-sleeved shirt, dark shorts, ankle socks and black polished moccasins. Despite documenting an event, the image hides several other worlds. The result offers a diagnosis of the relations of power and domination that have always affected Afro-Brazilian citizenship. Several hands skillfully adjusted this small body to prepare it for the sacrament of the Eucharist and for the paper image to be proudly distributed among the maternal uncles. Placing the ethical status of photography under suspicion, Neves blurs his own portrait to display a torn childhood: the child’s left hand holds an element of the imposed culture; his right hand, the instrument of his ancestral resistance.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Artist Eustáquio Neves’s Sete [Seven] (2023) lends a new breadth to the Catholic religion. We have before us six photographic enlargements (photographic emulsion on cotton paper and oil painting) along with a digital copy from an original file of the author’s first communion, now covered in countless layers of pigments and chemicals. From the depths of these nebulous surfaces, a Black boy draws our attention, wearing a white short-sleeved shirt, dark shorts, ankle socks and black polished moccasins. Despite documenting an event, the image hides several other worlds. The result offers a diagnosis of the relations of power and domination that have always affected Afro-Brazilian citizenship. Several hands skillfully adjusted this small body to prepare it for the sacrament of the Eucharist and for the paper image to be proudly distributed among the maternal uncles. Placing the ethical status of photography under suspicion, Neves blurs his own portrait to display a torn childhood: the child’s left hand holds an element of the imposed culture; his right hand, the instrument of his ancestral resistance.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Interestingly, popular memory holds ancestral knowledge and war strategy to be equivalent. After a trip to Angola in 2018, Ani Ganzala has researched the influence of botany on the Black Diaspora. Only an initiated look can apprehend the diversity of vegetation and identify the physical and spiritual healing possibilities of each species. Ganzala was certainly not indifferent to the story of the beatings inflicted by local resistance forces on Portuguese sailors with nettlespurge stalks. Even though no documentary evidence has been found on freed slave Maria Filipa’s, her actions during Bahia’s independence process live in the Itaparica islanders’ imagination. In this critical dimension of historically marginalized bodies, the Black feminism of artist-activists like Ganzala joins a growing chorus, along with studies aimed at recognizing Bahia’s legacy in the formation of contemporary Brazil.”
Excerpt from No fim da madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Interestingly, popular memory holds ancestral knowledge and war strategy to be equivalent. After a trip to Angola in 2018, Ani Ganzala has researched the influence of botany on the Black Diaspora. Only an initiated look can apprehend the diversity of vegetation and identify the physical and spiritual healing possibilities of each species. Ganzala was certainly not indifferent to the story of the beatings inflicted by local resistance forces on Portuguese sailors with nettlespurge stalks. Even though no documentary evidence has been found on freed slave Maria Filipa’s, her actions during Bahia’s independence process live in the Itaparica islanders’ imagination. In this critical dimension of historically marginalized bodies, the Black feminism of artist-activists like Ganzala joins a growing chorus, along with studies aimed at recognizing Bahia’s legacy in the formation of contemporary Brazil.”
Excerpt from No fim da madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“While playful bodies punctuate several works in the exhibition, it is in Vulcanica Pokaropa’s Mambembes [Carnies] series (2022), that their protagonism takes on an interpretation inseparable from the darkness of dawn. A transvestite and circus artist for Cia Fundo Mundo, Pokaropa was raised and received her Confirmation upstate São Paulo, a region dominated by monoculture (soy and eucalyptus) and agribusiness. The word “mambembe” refers to an artistic expression that plays with its derogatory connotation (“inferior”, “poorly done”). These records intend to boost the precarious visibility of the LGBTQIAP+ population in the circus world, and certainly also in theater and performance.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“While playful bodies punctuate several works in the exhibition, it is in Vulcanica Pokaropa’s Mambembes [Carnies] series (2022), that their protagonism takes on an interpretation inseparable from the darkness of dawn. A transvestite and circus artist for Cia Fundo Mundo, Pokaropa was raised and received her Confirmation upstate São Paulo, a region dominated by monoculture (soy and eucalyptus) and agribusiness. The word “mambembe” refers to an artistic expression that plays with its derogatory connotation (“inferior”, “poorly done”). These records intend to boost the precarious visibility of the LGBTQIAP+ population in the circus world, and certainly also in theater and performance.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“While playful bodies punctuate several works in the exhibition, it is in Vulcanica Pokaropa’s Mambembes [Carnies] series (2022), that their protagonism takes on an interpretation inseparable from the darkness of dawn. A transvestite and circus artist for Cia Fundo Mundo, Pokaropa was raised and received her Confirmation upstate São Paulo, a region dominated by monoculture (soy and eucalyptus) and agribusiness. The word “mambembe” refers to an artistic expression that plays with its derogatory connotation (“inferior”, “poorly done”). These records intend to boost the precarious visibility of the LGBTQIAP+ population in the circus world, and certainly also in theater and performance.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“While playful bodies punctuate several works in the exhibition, it is in Vulcanica Pokaropa’s Mambembes [Carnies] series (2022), that their protagonism takes on an interpretation inseparable from the darkness of dawn. A transvestite and circus artist for Cia Fundo Mundo, Pokaropa was raised and received her Confirmation upstate São Paulo, a region dominated by monoculture (soy and eucalyptus) and agribusiness. The word “mambembe” refers to an artistic expression that plays with its derogatory connotation (“inferior”, “poorly done”). These records intend to boost the precarious visibility of the LGBTQIAP+ population in the circus world, and certainly also in theater and performance.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“At the end of daybreak” is taken from a verse in the Notebook of a Return to the Native Land, the first work by Martinican writer Aimé Césaire (1913-2008). This poem went through several editions between its beginning in 1935 and its 1956 definitive version and was soon acclaimed for its monumental lyricism. The verse inspired the curatorship of the exhibition, whose aim was to transpose to the Brazilian context the poetic subjectivity of a voice from the generation that founded the Negritude movement in the Antilles.”
Excerpt from No fim da madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“At the end of daybreak” is taken from a verse in the Notebook of a Return to the Native Land, the first work by Martinican writer Aimé Césaire (1913-2008). This poem went through several editions between its beginning in 1935 and its 1956 definitive version and was soon acclaimed for its monumental lyricism. The verse inspired the curatorship of the exhibition, whose aim was to transpose to the Brazilian context the poetic subjectivity of a voice from the generation that founded the Negritude movement in the Antilles.”
Excerpt from No fim da madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“[…] in the composition of the project that bears the ironic “Universal Archive” title: the absence of a figure makes each entry in this invented inventory function as an image. Almirante Negro [Black Admiral], for example, describes the episode of a publisher who mistakenly replaced João Cândido’s portrait with the face of another Black sailor and compounded his error alleging “doubts about the true image […]”. The image-text is therefore designed to question what is known about the hero who led the Revolt of the Lash, as much as about any other Black body.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“[…] in the composition of the project that bears the ironic “Universal Archive” title: the absence of a figure makes each entry in this invented inventory function as an image. Almirante Negro [Black Admiral], for example, describes the episode of a publisher who mistakenly replaced João Cândido’s portrait with the face of another Black sailor and compounded his error alleging “doubts about the true image […]”. The image-text is therefore designed to question what is known about the hero who led the Revolt of the Lash, as much as about any other Black body.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“[…] in the composition of the project that bears the ironic “Universal Archive” title: the absence of a figure makes each entry in this invented inventory function as an image. Almirante Negro [Black Admiral], for example, describes the episode of a publisher who mistakenly replaced João Cândido’s portrait with the face of another Black sailor and compounded his error alleging “doubts about the true image […]”. The image-text is therefore designed to question what is known about the hero who led the Revolt of the Lash, as much as about any other Black body.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“[…] in the composition of the project that bears the ironic “Universal Archive” title: the absence of a figure makes each entry in this invented inventory function as an image. Almirante Negro [Black Admiral], for example, describes the episode of a publisher who mistakenly replaced João Cândido’s portrait with the face of another Black sailor and compounded his error alleging “doubts about the true image […]”. The image-text is therefore designed to question what is known about the hero who led the Revolt of the Lash, as much as about any other Black body.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Throughout the exhibition, one may realize the way the absence of images and information favored the attribution of incomplete citizenship — take for example the forced anonymity in the data sheets of the plaster collection stored at El Museo Canario de Antropología (Las Palmas, Canary Islands). What would be the common ground of a Hindustan woman, a Rochet Island man and a Zanguebar boy? They appear to be “remarkable beings” just because they do not belong to whiteness. To create this 2019 series, Rennó uncovers the information gaps in one of the largest archaeological collections in the region. The artist takes busts meant to represent “different races of the world” and responds to the violence of “nameless” bodies by printing them on marble-textured paper, like a “skin” that bestows upon them the barest semblance of the grave, hence a right to memory (a “monument”).”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Throughout the exhibition, one may realize the way the absence of images and information favored the attribution of incomplete citizenship — take for example the forced anonymity in the data sheets of the plaster collection stored at El Museo Canario de Antropología (Las Palmas, Canary Islands). What would be the common ground of a Hindustan woman, a Rochet Island man and a Zanguebar boy? They appear to be “remarkable beings” just because they do not belong to whiteness. To create this 2019 series, Rennó uncovers the information gaps in one of the largest archaeological collections in the region. The artist takes busts meant to represent “different races of the world” and responds to the violence of “nameless” bodies by printing them on marble-textured paper, like a “skin” that bestows upon them the barest semblance of the grave, hence a right to memory (a “monument”).”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Throughout the exhibition, one may realize the way the absence of images and information favored the attribution of incomplete citizenship — take for example the forced anonymity in the data sheets of the plaster collection stored at El Museo Canario de Antropología (Las Palmas, Canary Islands). What would be the common ground of a Hindustan woman, a Rochet Island man and a Zanguebar boy? They appear to be “remarkable beings” just because they do not belong to whiteness. To create this 2019 series, Rennó uncovers the information gaps in one of the largest archaeological collections in the region. The artist takes busts meant to represent “different races of the world” and responds to the violence of “nameless” bodies by printing them on marble-textured paper, like a “skin” that bestows upon them the barest semblance of the grave, hence a right to memory (a “monument”).”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Throughout the exhibition, one may realize the way the absence of images and information favored the attribution of incomplete citizenship — take for example the forced anonymity in the data sheets of the plaster collection stored at El Museo Canario de Antropología (Las Palmas, Canary Islands). What would be the common ground of a Hindustan woman, a Rochet Island man and a Zanguebar boy? They appear to be “remarkable beings” just because they do not belong to whiteness. To create this 2019 series, Rennó uncovers the information gaps in one of the largest archaeological collections in the region. The artist takes busts meant to represent “different races of the world” and responds to the violence of “nameless” bodies by printing them on marble-textured paper, like a “skin” that bestows upon them the barest semblance of the grave, hence a right to memory (a “monument”).”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Throughout the exhibition, one may realize the way the absence of images and information favored the attribution of incomplete citizenship — take for example the forced anonymity in the data sheets of the plaster collection stored at El Museo Canario de Antropología (Las Palmas, Canary Islands). What would be the common ground of a Hindustan woman, a Rochet Island man and a Zanguebar boy? They appear to be “remarkable beings” just because they do not belong to whiteness. To create this 2019 series, Rennó uncovers the information gaps in one of the largest archaeological collections in the region. The artist takes busts meant to represent “different races of the world” and responds to the violence of “nameless” bodies by printing them on marble-textured paper, like a “skin” that bestows upon them the barest semblance of the grave, hence a right to memory (a “monument”).”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Throughout the exhibition, one may realize the way the absence of images and information favored the attribution of incomplete citizenship — take for example the forced anonymity in the data sheets of the plaster collection stored at El Museo Canario de Antropología (Las Palmas, Canary Islands). What would be the common ground of a Hindustan woman, a Rochet Island man and a Zanguebar boy? They appear to be “remarkable beings” just because they do not belong to whiteness. To create this 2019 series, Rennó uncovers the information gaps in one of the largest archaeological collections in the region. The artist takes busts meant to represent “different races of the world” and responds to the violence of “nameless” bodies by printing them on marble-textured paper, like a “skin” that bestows upon them the barest semblance of the grave, hence a right to memory (a “monument”).”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Alair Gomes’s Carnival photo essay (1967-68) is part of the artist’s thematic interest that continued throughout the following decade. Now, in this set of images, filled with Pasolinian reminiscences, the revelers do not belong to the aesthetic universe of the “bate-bolas”. Here, it is important to highlight a sequential (almost cinematic) quality based on the observation of body language, raised arms or twisted breasts, with a strong pagan connotation, a kind of celebration of a harvest festival. Unlike the ethnographic look, participants and observers are mingled.
The photographs are arranged on a horizontal plane, a device that counters the reverence for the religious icon on the wall. A top to bottom look at the series reminds us of a material that might be in the editing process and reconnects Gomes with mass communication, i.e the printmaking medium. For André Pitol, one of the main scholars of Alair Gomes’ relationship with the American scene, the artist’s photographic interventions in the graphic field (newspapers, magazines, posters, etc.) still lack contextualization, and were eclipsed by a fixation of critical essayists on images with more clearly homoerotic content.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Alair Gomes’s Carnival photo essay (1967-68) is part of the artist’s thematic interest that continued throughout the following decade. Now, in this set of images, filled with Pasolinian reminiscences, the revelers do not belong to the aesthetic universe of the “bate-bolas”. Here, it is important to highlight a sequential (almost cinematic) quality based on the observation of body language, raised arms or twisted breasts, with a strong pagan connotation, a kind of celebration of a harvest festival. Unlike the ethnographic look, participants and observers are mingled.
The photographs are arranged on a horizontal plane, a device that counters the reverence for the religious icon on the wall. A top to bottom look at the series reminds us of a material that might be in the editing process and reconnects Gomes with mass communication, i.e the printmaking medium. For André Pitol, one of the main scholars of Alair Gomes’ relationship with the American scene, the artist’s photographic interventions in the graphic field (newspapers, magazines, posters, etc.) still lack contextualization, and were eclipsed by a fixation of critical essayists on images with more clearly homoerotic content.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Alair Gomes’s Carnival photo essay (1967-68) is part of the artist’s thematic interest that continued throughout the following decade. Now, in this set of images, filled with Pasolinian reminiscences, the revelers do not belong to the aesthetic universe of the “bate-bolas”. Here, it is important to highlight a sequential (almost cinematic) quality based on the observation of body language, raised arms or twisted breasts, with a strong pagan connotation, a kind of celebration of a harvest festival. Unlike the ethnographic look, participants and observers are mingled.
The photographs are arranged on a horizontal plane, a device that counters the reverence for the religious icon on the wall. A top to bottom look at the series reminds us of a material that might be in the editing process and reconnects Gomes with mass communication, i.e the printmaking medium. For André Pitol, one of the main scholars of Alair Gomes’ relationship with the American scene, the artist’s photographic interventions in the graphic field (newspapers, magazines, posters, etc.) still lack contextualization, and were eclipsed by a fixation of critical essayists on images with more clearly homoerotic content.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Alair Gomes’s Carnival photo essay (1967-68) is part of the artist’s thematic interest that continued throughout the following decade. Now, in this set of images, filled with Pasolinian reminiscences, the revelers do not belong to the aesthetic universe of the “bate-bolas”. Here, it is important to highlight a sequential (almost cinematic) quality based on the observation of body language, raised arms or twisted breasts, with a strong pagan connotation, a kind of celebration of a harvest festival. Unlike the ethnographic look, participants and observers are mingled.
The photographs are arranged on a horizontal plane, a device that counters the reverence for the religious icon on the wall. A top to bottom look at the series reminds us of a material that might be in the editing process and reconnects Gomes with mass communication, i.e the printmaking medium. For André Pitol, one of the main scholars of Alair Gomes’ relationship with the American scene, the artist’s photographic interventions in the graphic field (newspapers, magazines, posters, etc.) still lack contextualization, and were eclipsed by a fixation of critical essayists on images with more clearly homoerotic content.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Alair Gomes’s Carnival photo essay (1967-68) is part of the artist’s thematic interest that continued throughout the following decade. Now, in this set of images, filled with Pasolinian reminiscences, the revelers do not belong to the aesthetic universe of the “bate-bolas”. Here, it is important to highlight a sequential (almost cinematic) quality based on the observation of body language, raised arms or twisted breasts, with a strong pagan connotation, a kind of celebration of a harvest festival. Unlike the ethnographic look, participants and observers are mingled.
The photographs are arranged on a horizontal plane, a device that counters the reverence for the religious icon on the wall. A top to bottom look at the series reminds us of a material that might be in the editing process and reconnects Gomes with mass communication, i.e the printmaking medium. For André Pitol, one of the main scholars of Alair Gomes’ relationship with the American scene, the artist’s photographic interventions in the graphic field (newspapers, magazines, posters, etc.) still lack contextualization, and were eclipsed by a fixation of critical essayists on images with more clearly homoerotic content.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Alair Gomes’s Carnival photo essay (1967-68) is part of the artist’s thematic interest that continued throughout the following decade. Now, in this set of images, filled with Pasolinian reminiscences, the revelers do not belong to the aesthetic universe of the “bate-bolas”. Here, it is important to highlight a sequential (almost cinematic) quality based on the observation of body language, raised arms or twisted breasts, with a strong pagan connotation, a kind of celebration of a harvest festival. Unlike the ethnographic look, participants and observers are mingled.
The photographs are arranged on a horizontal plane, a device that counters the reverence for the religious icon on the wall. A top to bottom look at the series reminds us of a material that might be in the editing process and reconnects Gomes with mass communication, i.e the printmaking medium. For André Pitol, one of the main scholars of Alair Gomes’ relationship with the American scene, the artist’s photographic interventions in the graphic field (newspapers, magazines, posters, etc.) still lack contextualization, and were eclipsed by a fixation of critical essayists on images with more clearly homoerotic content.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Alair Gomes’s Carnival photo essay (1967-68) is part of the artist’s thematic interest that continued throughout the following decade. Now, in this set of images, filled with Pasolinian reminiscences, the revelers do not belong to the aesthetic universe of the “bate-bolas”. Here, it is important to highlight a sequential (almost cinematic) quality based on the observation of body language, raised arms or twisted breasts, with a strong pagan connotation, a kind of celebration of a harvest festival. Unlike the ethnographic look, participants and observers are mingled.
The photographs are arranged on a horizontal plane, a device that counters the reverence for the religious icon on the wall. A top to bottom look at the series reminds us of a material that might be in the editing process and reconnects Gomes with mass communication, i.e the printmaking medium. For André Pitol, one of the main scholars of Alair Gomes’ relationship with the American scene, the artist’s photographic interventions in the graphic field (newspapers, magazines, posters, etc.) still lack contextualization, and were eclipsed by a fixation of critical essayists on images with more clearly homoerotic content.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“Alair Gomes’s Carnival photo essay (1967-68) is part of the artist’s thematic interest that continued throughout the following decade. Now, in this set of images, filled with Pasolinian reminiscences, the revelers do not belong to the aesthetic universe of the “bate-bolas”. Here, it is important to highlight a sequential (almost cinematic) quality based on the observation of body language, raised arms or twisted breasts, with a strong pagan connotation, a kind of celebration of a harvest festival. Unlike the ethnographic look, participants and observers are mingled.
The photographs are arranged on a horizontal plane, a device that counters the reverence for the religious icon on the wall. A top to bottom look at the series reminds us of a material that might be in the editing process and reconnects Gomes with mass communication, i.e the printmaking medium. For André Pitol, one of the main scholars of Alair Gomes’ relationship with the American scene, the artist’s photographic interventions in the graphic field (newspapers, magazines, posters, etc.) still lack contextualization, and were eclipsed by a fixation of critical essayists on images with more clearly homoerotic content.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“The scarcity of catalog sources in colonial museums, mainly on the origins of their heritage, would deserve a separate chapter. In Brazil, the negligence of public authorities has been endemic. Rennó made two albums in 2009 and 2013 to draw attention to unresolved files. She reproduced on the first one the back of the valuable photographs stolen from the Iconography Division of the National Library Foundation (FBN) and on the second one pages from the photographic albums left after the theft at the General Archive of the City of Rio de Janeiro (AGCRJ). The first album, named after the police investigation report, brings up the presence of a crime, but also absence as the essence of the photographic act; the second album’s title is the system created by Augusto Malta and his children to organize photographic documentation. From a Platonic perspective, the image of the album pages corresponds to a mere projection of the mind.”
Excerpt from No fim da madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“The scarcity of catalog sources in colonial museums, mainly on the origins of their heritage, would deserve a separate chapter. In Brazil, the negligence of public authorities has been endemic. Rennó made two albums in 2009 and 2013 to draw attention to unresolved files. She reproduced on the first one the back of the valuable photographs stolen from the Iconography Division of the National Library Foundation (FBN) and on the second one pages from the photographic albums left after the theft at the General Archive of the City of Rio de Janeiro (AGCRJ). The first album, named after the police investigation report, brings up the presence of a crime, but also absence as the essence of the photographic act; the second album’s title is the system created by Augusto Malta and his children to organize photographic documentation. From a Platonic perspective, the image of the album pages corresponds to a mere projection of the mind.”
Excerpt from No fim da madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“The scarcity of catalog sources in colonial museums, mainly on the origins of their heritage, would deserve a separate chapter. In Brazil, the negligence of public authorities has been endemic. Rennó made two albums in 2009 and 2013 to draw attention to unresolved files. She reproduced on the first one the back of the valuable photographs stolen from the Iconography Division of the National Library Foundation (FBN) and on the second one pages from the photographic albums left after the theft at the General Archive of the City of Rio de Janeiro (AGCRJ). The first album, named after the police investigation report, brings up the presence of a crime, but also absence as the essence of the photographic act; the second album’s title is the system created by Augusto Malta and his children to organize photographic documentation. From a Platonic perspective, the image of the album pages corresponds to a mere projection of the mind.”
Excerpt from No fim da madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“The scarcity of catalog sources in colonial museums, mainly on the origins of their heritage, would deserve a separate chapter. In Brazil, the negligence of public authorities has been endemic. Rennó made two albums in 2009 and 2013 to draw attention to unresolved files. She reproduced on the first one the back of the valuable photographs stolen from the Iconography Division of the National Library Foundation (FBN) and on the second one pages from the photographic albums left after the theft at the General Archive of the City of Rio de Janeiro (AGCRJ). The first album, named after the police investigation report, brings up the presence of a crime, but also absence as the essence of the photographic act; the second album’s title is the system created by Augusto Malta and his children to organize photographic documentation. From a Platonic perspective, the image of the album pages corresponds to a mere projection of the mind.”
Excerpt from No fim da madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“[…] Yhuri Cruz presents his short film O Túmulo da Terra [The Tomb of the Earth] (2021). Imbued with the dark and unsettling rhythm of a nightmare, the film is entirely shot in black and white and takes us to a tropical landscape where we follow the journey of a man haunted by his subjectivity. As is usual in expressionist language, the work conveys a mix of anguish and dread. What could seem like a fantastic setting is actually a place that houses the ruins of a sugar mill from Imperial Brazil, with the Laundry of the enslaved. From this perspective, it is interesting to see how the artist subverts the European canon into Afrofuturism through an identity-based dramaturgy involving Black protagonists.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“[…] Yhuri Cruz presents his short film O Túmulo da Terra [The Tomb of the Earth] (2021). Imbued with the dark and unsettling rhythm of a nightmare, the film is entirely shot in black and white and takes us to a tropical landscape where we follow the journey of a man haunted by his subjectivity. As is usual in expressionist language, the work conveys a mix of anguish and dread. What could seem like a fantastic setting is actually a place that houses the ruins of a sugar mill from Imperial Brazil, with the Laundry of the enslaved. From this perspective, it is interesting to see how the artist subverts the European canon into Afrofuturism through an identity-based dramaturgy involving Black protagonists.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“The fear of death haunts the Flash do Espírito [Flash of the Spirit] granite sculptures, inspired by Robert Farris Thompson’s book. Engraved on tombstones, the dominant image is the drawing of the smile filled with white teeth, which is also a mask and a grimace that return a fraction of the afterlife… made motionless by the photographic act.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“The fear of death haunts the Flash do Espírito [Flash of the Spirit] granite sculptures, inspired by Robert Farris Thompson’s book. Engraved on tombstones, the dominant image is the drawing of the smile filled with white teeth, which is also a mask and a grimace that return a fraction of the afterlife… made motionless by the photographic act.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“[…] Yhuri Cruz presents his short film O Túmulo da Terra [The Tomb of the Earth] (2021). Imbued with the dark and unsettling rhythm of a nightmare, the film is entirely shot in black and white and takes us to a tropical landscape where we follow the journey of a man haunted by his subjectivity. As is usual in expressionist language, the work conveys a mix of anguish and dread. What could seem like a fantastic setting is actually a place that houses the ruins of a sugar mill from Imperial Brazil, with the Laundry of the enslaved. From this perspective, it is interesting to see how the artist subverts the European canon into Afrofuturism through an identity-based dramaturgy involving Black protagonists.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“[…] Yhuri Cruz presents his short film O Túmulo da Terra [The Tomb of the Earth] (2021). Imbued with the dark and unsettling rhythm of a nightmare, the film is entirely shot in black and white and takes us to a tropical landscape where we follow the journey of a man haunted by his subjectivity. As is usual in expressionist language, the work conveys a mix of anguish and dread. What could seem like a fantastic setting is actually a place that houses the ruins of a sugar mill from Imperial Brazil, with the Laundry of the enslaved. From this perspective, it is interesting to see how the artist subverts the European canon into Afrofuturism through an identity-based dramaturgy involving Black protagonists.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“It is important to say that for Aimé Césaire négritude, a term that first appeared in the magazine L’Étudiant noir [The Black Student] in 1934, is a concept that is simultaneously literary and political. By reappropriating a racist term from the dominant colonizing language, he intends to promote Africa and its culture. A similar fate runs through the series of small black and red canvases on which André Vargas invents “his” Africanizations of the Brazilian Portuguese language. Mirroring Lélia Gonzalez’s pretuguês [“Blacktuguese”], it is a somewhat surrealistic and random play on words that seeks to trace approximations through sounds: “fomnologia”, “preticado”, “ilêitura”, “caciqnificado”, “perónome”, “sujeitupi”, “pluhaux”. Like the image-filled Creole language, this speech emerges from the slave ship’s hold to honor the linguistic branches that encompassed more than 600 languages forcefully removed from the African continent.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“It is important to say that for Aimé Césaire négritude, a term that first appeared in the magazine L’Étudiant noir [The Black Student] in 1934, is a concept that is simultaneously literary and political. By reappropriating a racist term from the dominant colonizing language, he intends to promote Africa and its culture. A similar fate runs through the series of small black and red canvases on which André Vargas invents “his” Africanizations of the Brazilian Portuguese language. Mirroring Lélia Gonzalez’s pretuguês [“Blacktuguese”], it is a somewhat surrealistic and random play on words that seeks to trace approximations through sounds: “fomnologia”, “preticado”, “ilêitura”, “caciqnificado”, “perónome”, “sujeitupi”, “pluhaux”. Like the image-filled Creole language, this speech emerges from the slave ship’s hold to honor the linguistic branches that encompassed more than 600 languages forcefully removed from the African continent.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
André Vargas’s masks complement this dissident perspective on the place of fear in the social imagination of whiteness. At the end of daybreak, the morne forgotten, forgetting to erupt. In O Terror da Sul [The South Terror] (2018-19), the artist refers to the introjection of racism and its relationship with social classes, more specifically the division of Rio’s cultural scene that separates the populous suburbs in the Baixada Fluminense neighborhoods from the so-called “Zona Sul” (the Southern District). His masks address the costumes used in the Clovis tradition (from the English word “clown”), whose groups are made up of masked men roaming the streets dressed as “bate-bola”.
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
A possible origin of this movement is related to freed slaves. These, who were sometimes unfairly persecuted by the police, dressed in costumes to be able to freely play at carnival and “use Bate-bola” to protest against oppression, hitting balls made from ox blathers on the ground to show that they had the strength and power to disrupt and transform together.
André Vargas’s masks complement this dissident perspective on the place of fear in the social imagination of whiteness. At the end of daybreak, the morne forgotten, forgetting to erupt. In O Terror da Sul [The South Terror] (2018-19), the artist refers to the introjection of racism and its relationship with social classes, more specifically the division of Rio’s cultural scene that separates the populous suburbs in the Baixada Fluminense neighborhoods from the so-called “Zona Sul” (the Southern District). His masks address the costumes used in the Clovis tradition (from the English word “clown”), whose groups are made up of masked men roaming the streets dressed as “bate-bola”.
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
A possible origin of this movement is related to freed slaves. These, who were sometimes unfairly persecuted by the police, dressed in costumes to be able to freely play at carnival and “use Bate-bola” to protest against oppression, hitting balls made from ox blathers on the ground to show that they had the strength and power to disrupt and transform together.
Painting on raw cotton that stems from a famous ex-voto from the city of La Rochelle that is exposed in the cathedral of San Luis, where the owner of a slave ship thanks the return of his vessel after a long time adrift at sea.
The painting, which paraphrases the old ex-voto, evokes another history and another of the sea´s powers, one much earlier and much greater for black people from before the terrible time of slavery, which is their relationship with the sacred, present in this work through the Orisha Iemanjá, queen of the sea, as well as her boat of offerings.
Painting on raw cotton that stems from a famous ex-voto from the city of La Rochelle that is exposed in the cathedral of San Luis, where the owner of a slave ship thanks the return of his vessel after a long time adrift at sea.
The painting, which paraphrases the old ex-voto, evokes another history and another of the sea´s powers, one much earlier and much greater for black people from before the terrible time of slavery, which is their relationship with the sacred, present in this work through the Orisha Iemanjá, queen of the sea, as well as her boat of offerings.
“An artist engaged in the formal investigation of sculpture, Rebeca Carapiá has shown rare caution among the artists of her generation, in her way of bypassing sacred contents of black spirituality and eluding religious figuration. For this exhibition, she revisited a photographic essay she produced in 2018, which could not be developed without prior problematization: given an evident folkloric bias, how could she overcome the exotic effect inherent to the representation of a tradition?
Quem tem medo de assombração? (As Caretas do Mingau) [Who’s afraid of hauntings? (MIngau’s grimaces)] is inspired by the women’s procession that fills the streets of Saubara, in the Bahia Reconcavo, and begins every year in the early morning of July 2 to celebrate the struggles of 1822-23. Carapiá has decided to confront the genre of ethnographic documentation by proposing an immersive experience. She draws our attention to the recurrence of what we could call a “theatre of apparitions”. These are artistic installations that invoke (and awaken!) personalities, “dead people who are not gone forever” (Bonaventure Soh Bejeng Ndikung). As immaterial as it is enchanted, the ghost returns to claim his right to memory, the imaginary fold that joins being and non-being. In other words: remembering the expulsion of the Portuguese colonizer means not letting the dead die.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
“An artist engaged in the formal investigation of sculpture, Rebeca Carapiá has shown rare caution among the artists of her generation, in her way of bypassing sacred contents of black spirituality and eluding religious figuration. For this exhibition, she revisited a photographic essay she produced in 2018, which could not be developed without prior problematization: given an evident folkloric bias, how could she overcome the exotic effect inherent to the representation of a tradition?
Quem tem medo de assombração? (As Caretas do Mingau) [Who’s afraid of hauntings? (MIngau’s grimaces)] is inspired by the women’s procession that fills the streets of Saubara, in the Bahia Reconcavo, and begins every year in the early morning of July 2 to celebrate the struggles of 1822-23. Carapiá has decided to confront the genre of ethnographic documentation by proposing an immersive experience. She draws our attention to the recurrence of what we could call a “theatre of apparitions”. These are artistic installations that invoke (and awaken!) personalities, “dead people who are not gone forever” (Bonaventure Soh Bejeng Ndikung). As immaterial as it is enchanted, the ghost returns to claim his right to memory, the imaginary fold that joins being and non-being. In other words: remembering the expulsion of the Portuguese colonizer means not letting the dead die.”
Excerpt from No Fim da Madrugada, by Lisette Lagnado
Vermelho presents, from August 24th through October 14th, Ceremony, mexican artist Tania Canidiani‘s first solo show in Brazil.
A central concern in Tania Candiani’s work is the expanded idea of translation, extended to the experimental field through the use of visual, sound, textual and symbolic languages. Many of her projects consider the universe of sound and the politics of listening as tools capable of expanding and transforming perceptions, both human and non-human.
Another fundamental part of her work is related to feminist policies and practices, understanding them as a communal, affective and ritual experience.
Candiani’s production involves interdisciplinary work groups in various fields, consolidating intersections between art, architecture, labor, literature, music and science. Her work deals with ancestral knowledge and techniques, technologies, and their history in the production of knowledge.
Tania Candiani lives and works in Mexico City. She is a member of the National System of Art Creators of Mexico. Candiani is a recipient of the Guggenheim Fellowship in the Arts and the Smithsonian Institution Research Grant for Artists. Tania Candiani is an artist-in-residence at the Arts at CERN program, Geneva, Switzerland. In 2015 she represented Mexico at the 56th Venice Biennale. Her work has been exhibited internationally in museums, institutions and independent spaces, and is part of important public and private collections.
In Ceremony, Tania Candiani presents five new series of paintings and embroidery and three video installations. A common trait present in all of the works are the convergent choreographies the artist makes between rituals and public manifestations.
The Confrontadas series reproduces, through large embroidered paintings, scenes of clashes between protesters and police. The images are taken from media coverage of demonstrations with women protagonists that have taken place over the last 10 years. These women demonstrators appear in white embroidery over black acrylic paint, and the police in black embroidery over black paint. This difference denotes the distinct qualities between the protesters and the police – focusing on the former and giving the latter a phantasmagorical presentation.
Confrontadas derives from the Manifestantes series which she began in 2019.
“I started Manifestantes a week before the first march of the ‘revolución diamantina’ (a march protesting the rape of a young girl by police officers in northern Mexico City). I started thinking about a series of large-scale stitched paintings depicting women in different marches and protests around the world privileging the moment of unison protest – when their voices rise. Sewing for me is a kind of noisy drawing. These portraits are voices.”
In this series Tania Candiani creates portraits in which she monumentalizes protesters in different manifestations around the world through Brazilian, Mexican, Palestinian, Egyptian, and Pakistani characters. The noise that Tania Candiani refers to evidences a part of her practice intensely linked to the investigation of sound – natural or artificial, traditional or disruptive.
These different inflections are present in the video installation Pulso, from 2016. The installation is the result of the filming of a feminist ceremonial sound action in an urban setting. The artist filmed 207 women travelling through Mexico City´s metro system playing reproductions of pre-Hispanic ‘teponaztlis’ and Tarahumara drums. With their hands stained with scarlet cochineal, the women, organized in groups, traveled from beginning to end along the city´s twelve subway lines. The groups of women would get off at all stations on each line to play the drums until the arrival of the next train in a continuous movement until reaching the end station.
This movement generated a pulse of the city, of the underground and of the water – the layout of the Metro lines coincides with the hydrographic basin of Mexico City. The result is a three-channel video installation which sound evokes the ancestral strength of the Mexico-Tenochtitlán territory and fuses it into the present.
Mexican ancestry also appears in Danzas para la tierra, a video inspired by Danza de los Negritos, of Totonac origin, as practiced in the mountainous areas of the states of Veracruz, Puebla and Hidalgo in Mexico, and also in several Latin American countries.
Danzas para la tierra comprises a broad project by Candiani of recovering and reinterpreting traditional dances – of pre-Hispanic and colonial origin – based on the analysis of the narrative, symbolic, sound and choreographic parts that compose them. The video records the dance seen from above, tracing the body movements with colorful digital resources, like a documentary instruction added to the loud sound of the dancers’ tap dancing, creating tension between instruction and catharsis.
The dance has its origins in the period of the invasion of Mexican territory by the Spaniards and recalls the story of an enslaved African woman who, upon seeing her son being bitten by a snake, began to perform a typical African ceremony, which consisted of dancing, singing and screaming around the bitten young man. The Totonac Indians, who observed this ritual, were amazed at what the mother was doing and immediately began imitating her. Thus, the Black dance was born, a representation of the Afro-Mexican culture, characterized by strong percussive blows.
Accompanying the video is a set of paintings entitled Dance Score Paintings. Dance of the Negritos. The paintings reproduce the different moves of the choreography of Danza para la tierra. Made schematically, in primary colors, they are reminiscence of ancestral decorative paintings.
The Ceremonies and Dance Scores series also codifies ancestral choreographies of dances and rituals evoking wind and rain, for example.
A two-channel video installation, Tidal Choreography (2023), made after an artistic residency in the coastal village of Glin, on the southern edge of the River Shannon estuary, in Ireland, rounds off the exhibition.
In Glin, Candiani observed the interlocking rhythms amongst the community and the tidal river that runs through the village. In particular, Candiani spent time with the local female swimmers as they headed daily to the river at high tide.
Tidal Choreography records the ceremonial encounter between swimmers and nature evidencing a symbiotic and choreographic relationship with the tide, gravity, the swimmers and the aquatic life forms inhabiting the river.
In Ceremônia, Tania Candiani approaches rituals, manifestations, traditions and ancestry as a set of complementary relations.
The facade of the exhibition references posters of demonstrations staged in Brazil during the last 10 years. The phrases highlight feminine protagonism in claims within the logic of intersectional feminism, dealing with public health, security and equality.
The posters maintained the original typography when embroidered on cotton fabric. Once stitched together on the façade, they form a large collaborative quilt. La Marcha was made with Grupo Flor de Kantuta. The cooperative of Bolivian immigrant women works with sewing and embroidery, values ancestral knowledge and builds fair and sustainable labor relations.
The work was embroidered and sewn together by Bety Poquechoque Quispe, Jeovanna Rosario Huanca Loza, Zulema Calizaya Choque, Petrona Flores Colque and Teotora Flores.
The facade of the exhibition references posters of demonstrations staged in Brazil during the last 10 years. The phrases highlight feminine protagonism in claims within the logic of intersectional feminism, dealing with public health, security and equality.
The posters maintained the original typography when embroidered on cotton fabric. Once stitched together on the façade, they form a large collaborative quilt. La Marcha was made with Grupo Flor de Kantuta. The cooperative of Bolivian immigrant women works with sewing and embroidery, values ancestral knowledge and builds fair and sustainable labor relations.
The work was embroidered and sewn together by Bety Poquechoque Quispe, Jeovanna Rosario Huanca Loza, Zulema Calizaya Choque, Petrona Flores Colque and Teotora Flores.
In this series, Candiani works with the mathematical qualities of traditional Mexican dances. The artist worked from the choreographic notation methodology developed by Zacarías Segura Salinas and presented in the book Danzas Folkloricas de Mexico. The study presented in the book seeks to detail the choreographies, so that it is possible to record all the dance movements considering that movements such as the zapateado had no previous codification.
Translations and codification are constant procedures in Candiani’s production. Dance Scores deals with the codification presented in the study by Segura Salinas and also with the symbolic qualities of frame embroidery.
In this series, Candiani works with the mathematical qualities of traditional Mexican dances. The artist worked from the choreographic notation methodology developed by Zacarías Segura Salinas and presented in the book Danzas Folkloricas de Mexico. The study presented in the book seeks to detail the choreographies, so that it is possible to record all the dance movements considering that movements such as the zapateado had no previous codification.
Translations and codification are constant procedures in Candiani’s production. Dance Scores deals with the codification presented in the study by Segura Salinas and also with the symbolic qualities of frame embroidery.
In this series, Candiani works with the mathematical qualities of traditional Mexican dances. The artist worked from the choreographic notation methodology developed by Zacarías Segura Salinas and presented in the book Danzas Folkloricas de Mexico. The study presented in the book seeks to detail the choreographies, so that it is possible to record all the dance movements considering that movements such as the zapateado had no previous codification.
Translations and codification are constant procedures in Candiani’s production. Dance Scores deals with the codification presented in the study by Segura Salinas and also with the symbolic qualities of frame embroidery.
In this series, Candiani works with the mathematical qualities of traditional Mexican dances. The artist worked from the choreographic notation methodology developed by Zacarías Segura Salinas and presented in the book Danzas Folkloricas de Mexico. The study presented in the book seeks to detail the choreographies, so that it is possible to record all the dance movements considering that movements such as the zapateado had no previous codification.
Translations and codification are constant procedures in Candiani’s production. Dance Scores deals with the codification presented in the study by Segura Salinas and also with the symbolic qualities of frame embroidery.
In this series, Candiani works with the mathematical qualities of traditional Mexican dances. The artist worked from the choreographic notation methodology developed by Zacarías Segura Salinas and presented in the book Danzas Folkloricas de Mexico. The study presented in the book seeks to detail the choreographies, so that it is possible to record all the dance movements considering that movements such as the zapateado had no previous codification.
Translations and codification are constant procedures in Candiani’s production. Dance Scores deals with the codification presented in the study by Segura Salinas and also with the symbolic qualities of frame embroidery.
In this series, Candiani works with the mathematical qualities of traditional Mexican dances. The artist worked from the choreographic notation methodology developed by Zacarías Segura Salinas and presented in the book Danzas Folkloricas de Mexico. The study presented in the book seeks to detail the choreographies, so that it is possible to record all the dance movements considering that movements such as the zapateado had no previous codification.
Translations and codification are constant procedures in Candiani’s production. Dance Scores deals with the codification presented in the study by Segura Salinas and also with the symbolic qualities of frame embroidery.
“I started Manifestantes a week before the first march of the ‘revolución diamantina’ (a march protesting the rape of a young girl by police officers in northern Mexico City). I started thinking about a series of large-scale stitched paintings depicting women in different marches and protests around the world privileging the moment of unison protest – when their voices rise. Sewing for me is a kind of noisy drawing. These portraits are voices.”
Tania Candiani, 2023
“I started Manifestantes a week before the first march of the ‘revolución diamantina’ (a march protesting the rape of a young girl by police officers in northern Mexico City). I started thinking about a series of large-scale stitched paintings depicting women in different marches and protests around the world privileging the moment of unison protest – when their voices rise. Sewing for me is a kind of noisy drawing. These portraits are voices.”
Tania Candiani, 2023
In this series Tania Candiani creates portraits in which she monumentalizes protesters in different manifestations around the world through Brazilian, Mexican, Palestinian, Egyptian, and Pakistani characters. The noise that Tania Candiani refers to evidences a part of her practice intensely linked to the investigation of sound – natural or artificial, traditional or disruptive.
In this series Tania Candiani creates portraits in which she monumentalizes protesters in different manifestations around the world through Brazilian, Mexican, Palestinian, Egyptian, and Pakistani characters. The noise that Tania Candiani refers to evidences a part of her practice intensely linked to the investigation of sound – natural or artificial, traditional or disruptive.
The Confrontadas series reproduces, through large embroidered paintings, scenes of clashes between protesters and police. The images are taken from media coverage of demonstrations with women protagonists that have taken place over the last 10 years. These women demonstrators appear in white embroidery over black acrylic paint, and the police in black embroidery over black paint. This difference denotes the distinct qualities between the protesters and the police – focusing on the former and giving the latter a phantasmagorical presentation.
The Confrontadas series reproduces, through large embroidered paintings, scenes of clashes between protesters and police. The images are taken from media coverage of demonstrations with women protagonists that have taken place over the last 10 years. These women demonstrators appear in white embroidery over black acrylic paint, and the police in black embroidery over black paint. This difference denotes the distinct qualities between the protesters and the police – focusing on the former and giving the latter a phantasmagorical presentation.
A série Confrontadas reproduz, através de grandes pinturas bordadas, cenas de confrontos entre manifestantes e policiais. As imagens são oriundas do fotojornalismo e provém da cobertura de manifestações ocorridas nos últimos 10 anos que têm as mulheres como protagonistas. Estas mulheres/ manifestantes surgem em bordados brancos sobre a pintura em tinta acrílica preta, e os policiais em bordados pretos sobre a tinta preta. Essa diferença denota as distintas qualidades das manifestantes, ora confrontadoras, ora apaziguadoras.
A série Confrontadas reproduz, através de grandes pinturas bordadas, cenas de confrontos entre manifestantes e policiais. As imagens são oriundas do fotojornalismo e provém da cobertura de manifestações ocorridas nos últimos 10 anos que têm as mulheres como protagonistas. Estas mulheres/ manifestantes surgem em bordados brancos sobre a pintura em tinta acrílica preta, e os policiais em bordados pretos sobre a tinta preta. Essa diferença denota as distintas qualidades das manifestantes, ora confrontadoras, ora apaziguadoras.
“I started ‘Manifestantes’ a week before the first march of the ‘revolución diamantina’ (a march protesting the rape of a young girl by police officers in northern Mexico City). I started thinking about a series of large-scale stitched paintings depicting women in different marches and protests around the world privileging the moment of unison protest – when their voices rise.
Sewing for me is a kind of noisy drawing. These portraits are voices.”
Tania Candiani
“I started ‘Manifestantes’ a week before the first march of the ‘revolución diamantina’ (a march protesting the rape of a young girl by police officers in northern Mexico City). I started thinking about a series of large-scale stitched paintings depicting women in different marches and protests around the world privileging the moment of unison protest – when their voices rise.
Sewing for me is a kind of noisy drawing. These portraits are voices.”
Tania Candiani
Lágrimas em Chalco, 2022 [Tears in Chalco], is based on the Chalco Manuscript (1734), the first secular score from the Baroque era that evokes Lake Chalco, one of the bodies of water that formed part of what was then the lake city of the Valley of Mexico. This score is written with the graphic notation method for psalteries, using black-and-white notes. Candian translates it into a cartographic composition in which the circles simulate the notes of the psaltery and create hydraulic pathways. Like what the artist did with the piece Rebel River, the lines of the melody in Lágrimas en Chalco resemble the paths of rivers.
Lágrimas em Chalco, 2022 [Tears in Chalco], is based on the Chalco Manuscript (1734), the first secular score from the Baroque era that evokes Lake Chalco, one of the bodies of water that formed part of what was then the lake city of the Valley of Mexico. This score is written with the graphic notation method for psalteries, using black-and-white notes. Candian translates it into a cartographic composition in which the circles simulate the notes of the psaltery and create hydraulic pathways. Like what the artist did with the piece Rebel River, the lines of the melody in Lágrimas en Chalco resemble the paths of rivers.
Pulso is a film based on a sound action on an urban, collective and feminist scale. The action consisted of 207 women traveling through the Mexico City Metro system playing drums whose sound is constructed both by the present action and also by evoking memory. With their hands smeared with scarlet cochineal (an insect that lives on cacti native to Mexico, traditionally used in the production of food and decorative pigments), the women, organized in groups, traveled the twelve subway lines from beginning to end, getting off at all stations to play the drums until the arrival of the next train – generating a sort of pulse of the city – in a continuous movement until reaching the end of each line.
The drums used in Pulso are reproductions of pre-Columbian or pre-Hispanic instruments, reinforcing the female ancestral strength of the territory known as Mexico
Pulso is a film based on a sound action on an urban, collective and feminist scale. The action consisted of 207 women traveling through the Mexico City Metro system playing drums whose sound is constructed both by the present action and also by evoking memory. With their hands smeared with scarlet cochineal (an insect that lives on cacti native to Mexico, traditionally used in the production of food and decorative pigments), the women, organized in groups, traveled the twelve subway lines from beginning to end, getting off at all stations to play the drums until the arrival of the next train – generating a sort of pulse of the city – in a continuous movement until reaching the end of each line.
The drums used in Pulso are reproductions of pre-Columbian or pre-Hispanic instruments, reinforcing the female ancestral strength of the territory known as Mexico
“I started ‘Manifestantes’ a week before the first march of the ‘revolución diamantina’ (a march protesting the rape of a young girl by police officers in northern Mexico City). I started thinking about a series of large-scale stitched paintings depicting women in different marches and protests around the world privileging the moment of unison protest – when their voices rise.
Sewing for me is a kind of noisy drawing. These portraits are voices.”
Tania Candiani
“I started ‘Manifestantes’ a week before the first march of the ‘revolución diamantina’ (a march protesting the rape of a young girl by police officers in northern Mexico City). I started thinking about a series of large-scale stitched paintings depicting women in different marches and protests around the world privileging the moment of unison protest – when their voices rise.
Sewing for me is a kind of noisy drawing. These portraits are voices.”
Tania Candiani
Chorus of nonhuman voices, 2023, combines, in two structures and two audio channels, a dialogue between human and non-human voices. The piece mixes a nonlinguistic vocal sound action where a chorus of women imitates sounds of female animals in specific behaviors such as alertness, vigilance, territorial defense and mating, and their animal counterpart.
Chorus of nonhuman voices, 2023, combines, in two structures and two audio channels, a dialogue between human and non-human voices. The piece mixes a nonlinguistic vocal sound action where a chorus of women imitates sounds of female animals in specific behaviors such as alertness, vigilance, territorial defense and mating, and their animal counterpart.
Chorus of nonhuman voices, 2023, combines, in two structures and two audio channels, a dialogue between human and non-human voices. The piece mixes a nonlinguistic vocal sound action where a chorus of women imitates sounds of female animals in specific behaviors such as alertness, vigilance, territorial defense and mating, and their animal counterpart.
Chorus of nonhuman voices, 2023, combines, in two structures and two audio channels, a dialogue between human and non-human voices. The piece mixes a nonlinguistic vocal sound action where a chorus of women imitates sounds of female animals in specific behaviors such as alertness, vigilance, territorial defense and mating, and their animal counterpart.
Danzas para la tierra comprises a broad project by Candiani of recovering and reinterpreting traditional dances – of pre-Hispanic and colonial origin – based on the analysis of the narrative, symbolic, sound and choreographic parts that compose them. The video records the dance seen from above, tracing the body movements with colorful digital resources, like a documentary instruction added to the loud sound of the dancers’ tap dancing, creating tension between instruction and catharsis.
The dance has its origins in the period of the invasion of Mexican territory by the Spaniards and recalls the story of an enslaved African woman who, upon seeing her son being bitten by a snake, began to perform a typical African ceremony, which consisted of dancing, singing and screaming around the sick young man. The Totonac Indians, who observed this ritual, were amazed at what the mother was doing and immediately began to imitate her. Thus, the Black dance was born, a representation of the Afro-Mexican culture, characterized by strong percussive blows.
Danzas para la tierra comprises a broad project by Candiani of recovering and reinterpreting traditional dances – of pre-Hispanic and colonial origin – based on the analysis of the narrative, symbolic, sound and choreographic parts that compose them. The video records the dance seen from above, tracing the body movements with colorful digital resources, like a documentary instruction added to the loud sound of the dancers’ tap dancing, creating tension between instruction and catharsis.
The dance has its origins in the period of the invasion of Mexican territory by the Spaniards and recalls the story of an enslaved African woman who, upon seeing her son being bitten by a snake, began to perform a typical African ceremony, which consisted of dancing, singing and screaming around the sick young man. The Totonac Indians, who observed this ritual, were amazed at what the mother was doing and immediately began to imitate her. Thus, the Black dance was born, a representation of the Afro-Mexican culture, characterized by strong percussive blows.
Shore Line, 2023, encodes, on 22 color spools of thread, the hue of the Glin shore, where Tidal Coreography was filmed
Shore Line, 2023, encodes, on 22 color spools of thread, the hue of the Glin shore, where Tidal Coreography was filmed
The two-channel video installation Tidal Choreography, was made during an artistic residency in the coastal village of Glin, on the southern edge of the River Shannon estuary, in Ireland.
During that time, Candiani observed the interlocking rhythm between the community and the tidal river that runs through the village. In particular, Candiani spent time with the local female swimmers as they headed daily to the river at high tide.
Tidal Choreography records the meeting ceremony between swimmers and nature. What we see is a symbiotic and choreographic relationship between the tide, gravity, the swimmers and the group of aquatic life that inhabit the river.
The two-channel video installation Tidal Choreography, was made during an artistic residency in the coastal village of Glin, on the southern edge of the River Shannon estuary, in Ireland.
During that time, Candiani observed the interlocking rhythm between the community and the tidal river that runs through the village. In particular, Candiani spent time with the local female swimmers as they headed daily to the river at high tide.
Tidal Choreography records the meeting ceremony between swimmers and nature. What we see is a symbiotic and choreographic relationship between the tide, gravity, the swimmers and the group of aquatic life that inhabit the river.
During that time, Candiani observed the interlocking rhythm between the community and the tidal river that runs through the village. In particular, Candiani spent time with the local female swimmers as they headed daily to the river at high tide.
Tidal Choreography records the meeting ceremony between swimmers and nature. What we see is a symbiotic and choreographic relationship between the tide, gravity, the swimmers and the group of aquatic life that inhabit the river.
During that time, Candiani observed the interlocking rhythm between the community and the tidal river that runs through the village. In particular, Candiani spent time with the local female swimmers as they headed daily to the river at high tide.
Tidal Choreography records the meeting ceremony between swimmers and nature. What we see is a symbiotic and choreographic relationship between the tide, gravity, the swimmers and the group of aquatic life that inhabit the river.
The Ceremonies series conjure ancestral choreographies of dances and rituals evoking wind and rain, for example.
The Ceremonies series conjure ancestral choreographies of dances and rituals evoking wind and rain, for example.
La Maringuilla is the owner of all varieties of corn and the owner of medicinal herbs. In the Danza de los Negritos she represents the “mother of the serpent” and she is assimilated to Chalchiutlicue, goddess of water, she is also the mother/wife.
La Maringuilla wears breeches and a white shirt under a petticoat and a loose-fitting blouse or a long white dress and a shawl or shawl, evoking the clothing of the bourgeois women of the cities, she always wears a veil, not as a wedding veil, but to hide her face male. Since although she is the only female character, as in other colonial dances she is played by a man; what for some evidences the dual symbol guiding principle in the Totonac worldview; although it may also be due to the machismo of the time and region, which prohibited women from participating in ceremonies and dances.
Video of her features her swiveling with the snake in hand. The constant stomping, the continuous rhythm of its twists and turns, the undulating movement of its skirt remind us that it is also the goddess of rain or the mother of thunder, for which reason the dance, among the Totonacs, constitutes a fertility rite. symbolizing the arrival of the rains, death and resurrection.
In this piece, in the same way as in Sanes de la sanación, we see the image of the dancer, superimposed on his own dance, thus forming the horizontal narrative of the work, where the body itself becomes his ghost.
La Maringuilla is the owner of all varieties of corn and the owner of medicinal herbs. In the Danza de los Negritos she represents the “mother of the serpent” and she is assimilated to Chalchiutlicue, goddess of water, she is also the mother/wife.
La Maringuilla wears breeches and a white shirt under a petticoat and a loose-fitting blouse or a long white dress and a shawl or shawl, evoking the clothing of the bourgeois women of the cities, she always wears a veil, not as a wedding veil, but to hide her face male. Since although she is the only female character, as in other colonial dances she is played by a man; what for some evidences the dual symbol guiding principle in the Totonac worldview; although it may also be due to the machismo of the time and region, which prohibited women from participating in ceremonies and dances.
Video of her features her swiveling with the snake in hand. The constant stomping, the continuous rhythm of its twists and turns, the undulating movement of its skirt remind us that it is also the goddess of rain or the mother of thunder, for which reason the dance, among the Totonacs, constitutes a fertility rite. symbolizing the arrival of the rains, death and resurrection.
In this piece, in the same way as in Sanes de la sanación, we see the image of the dancer, superimposed on his own dance, thus forming the horizontal narrative of the work, where the body itself becomes his ghost.
The Depth of Things is a series of 24 photographs created from a star planisphere. Bacal isolated and separated the galactic plane (the Milky Way) into 24 fragments, which he then used as precise guides for composing the images.
The artist placed domestic objects on a black table, following the positions of the stars and nebulae. For stars belonging
to any of the constellations of modern science, he positioned the objects at a precise height. He used a very shallow depth of field so that only those objects were in focus. In the background, items like steel wool, rice grains, nuts, buttons, etc., lose their definition and transform into mysterious galactic forms.
The work also serves as a domestic homage to the astronomical images captured by the Hubble and Webb telescopes. The mundane transforms into the stellar, revealing a cosmology of disorder.
La velocidad de las cosas is a series of solid wood benches inlaid with household objects. Each bench has carved one of the 88 constellations that make up the planet’s sky. The position of the legs of the stools and the built-in objects directly corresponds to the organization of each constellation. Surrounding stars are depicted with pegs missing.
Modern science finished mapping the sky around the 17th century. Although many civilizations have placed great symbolic and mythological burden on asterisms, much of this modern sky is meaningless.
This project works as a poetic exercise to put possible associations between heaven and earth in motion. The embedded objects function in some cases as comments on existing mythologies, in others as lines of flight or starting points for new imaginations.
In any case, the logic of selecting the objects responds to two premises: the domestic universe and the cylindrical/circular shape so that, when inserting the piece and sanding it at the worktop level, the object functions more like a circle between the stars of sky maps.
La velocidad de las cosas is a series of solid wood benches inlaid with household objects. Each bench has carved one of the 88 constellations that make up the planet’s sky. The position of the legs of the stools and the built-in objects directly corresponds to the organization of each constellation. Surrounding stars are depicted with pegs missing.
Modern science finished mapping the sky around the 17th century. Although many civilizations have placed great symbolic and mythological burden on asterisms, much of this modern sky is meaningless.
This project works as a poetic exercise to put possible associations between heaven and earth in motion. The embedded objects function in some cases as comments on existing mythologies, in others as lines of flight or starting points for new imaginations.
In any case, the logic of selecting the objects responds to two premises: the domestic universe and the cylindrical/circular shape so that, when inserting the piece and sanding it at the worktop level, the object functions more like a circle between the stars of sky maps.
La velocidad de las cosas is a series of solid wood benches inlaid with household objects. Each bench has carved one of the 88 constellations that make up the planet’s sky. The position of the legs of the stools and the built-in objects directly corresponds to the organization of each constellation. Surrounding stars are depicted with pegs missing.
Modern science finished mapping the sky around the 17th century. Although many civilizations have placed great symbolic and mythological burden on asterisms, much of this modern sky is meaningless.
This project works as a poetic exercise to put possible associations between heaven and earth in motion. The embedded objects function in some cases as comments on existing mythologies, in others as lines of flight or starting points for new imaginations.
In any case, the logic of selecting the objects responds to two premises: the domestic universe and the cylindrical/circular shape so that, when inserting the piece and sanding it at the worktop level, the object functions more like a circle between the stars of sky maps.
La velocidad de las cosas is a series of solid wood benches inlaid with household objects. Each bench has carved one of the 88 constellations that make up the planet’s sky. The position of the legs of the stools and the built-in objects directly corresponds to the organization of each constellation. Surrounding stars are depicted with pegs missing.
Modern science finished mapping the sky around the 17th century. Although many civilizations have placed great symbolic and mythological burden on asterisms, much of this modern sky is meaningless.
This project works as a poetic exercise to put possible associations between heaven and earth in motion. The embedded objects function in some cases as comments on existing mythologies, in others as lines of flight or starting points for new imaginations.
In any case, the logic of selecting the objects responds to two premises: the domestic universe and the cylindrical/circular shape so that, when inserting the piece and sanding it at the worktop level, the object functions more like a circle between the stars of sky maps.
La velocidad de las cosas is a series of solid wood benches inlaid with household objects. Each bench has carved one of the 88 constellations that make up the planet’s sky. The position of the legs of the stools and the built-in objects directly corresponds to the organization of each constellation. Surrounding stars are depicted with pegs missing.
Modern science finished mapping the sky around the 17th century. Although many civilizations have placed great symbolic and mythological burden on asterisms, much of this modern sky is meaningless.
This project works as a poetic exercise to put possible associations between heaven and earth in motion. The embedded objects function in some cases as comments on existing mythologies, in others as lines of flight or starting points for new imaginations.
In any case, the logic of selecting the objects responds to two premises: the domestic universe and the cylindrical/circular shape so that, when inserting the piece and sanding it at the worktop level, the object functions more like a circle between the stars of sky maps.
La velocidad de las cosas is a series of solid wood benches inlaid with household objects. Each bench has carved one of the 88 constellations that make up the planet’s sky. The position of the legs of the stools and the built-in objects directly corresponds to the organization of each constellation. Surrounding stars are depicted with pegs missing.
Modern science finished mapping the sky around the 17th century. Although many civilizations have placed great symbolic and mythological burden on asterisms, much of this modern sky is meaningless.
This project works as a poetic exercise to put possible associations between heaven and earth in motion. The embedded objects function in some cases as comments on existing mythologies, in others as lines of flight or starting points for new imaginations.
In any case, the logic of selecting the objects responds to two premises: the domestic universe and the cylindrical/circular shape so that, when inserting the piece and sanding it at the worktop level, the object functions more like a circle between the stars of sky maps.
“The Depth of Things” is a series of 24 photographs created from a star planisphere. Bacal isolated and separated the galactic plane (the Milky Way) into 24 fragments, which he then used as precise guides for composing the images.
The artist placed domestic objects on a black table, following the positions of the stars and nebulae. For stars belonging
to any of the constellations of modern science, he positioned the objects at a precise height. He used a very shallow depth of field so that only those objects were in focus. In the background, items like steel wool, rice grains, nuts, buttons, etc., lose their definition and transform into galactic forms.
The work also serves as a domestic homage to the astronomical images captured by the Hubble and Webb telescopes. The mundane transforms into the stellar, revealing a cosmology of disorder.
“The Depth of Things” is a series of 24 photographs created from a star planisphere. Bacal isolated and separated the galactic plane (the Milky Way) into 24 fragments, which he then used as precise guides for composing the images.
The artist placed domestic objects on a black table, following the positions of the stars and nebulae. For stars belonging
to any of the constellations of modern science, he positioned the objects at a precise height. He used a very shallow depth of field so that only those objects were in focus. In the background, items like steel wool, rice grains, nuts, buttons, etc., lose their definition and transform into galactic forms.
The work also serves as a domestic homage to the astronomical images captured by the Hubble and Webb telescopes. The mundane transforms into the stellar, revealing a cosmology of disorder.
“The Depth of Things” is a series of 24 photographs created from a star planisphere. Bacal isolated and separated the galactic plane (the Milky Way) into 24 fragments, which he then used as precise guides for composing the images.
The artist placed domestic objects on a black table, following the positions of the stars and nebulae. For stars belonging
to any of the constellations of modern science, he positioned the objects at a precise height. He used a very shallow depth of field so that only those objects were in focus. In the background, items like steel wool, rice grains, nuts, buttons, etc., lose their definition and transform into galactic forms.
The work also serves as a domestic homage to the astronomical images captured by the Hubble and Webb telescopes. The mundane transforms into the stellar, revealing a cosmology of disorder.
“The Depth of Things” is a series of 24 photographs created from a star planisphere. Bacal isolated and separated the galactic plane (the Milky Way) into 24 fragments, which he then used as precise guides for composing the images.
The artist placed domestic objects on a black table, following the positions of the stars and nebulae. For stars belonging
to any of the constellations of modern science, he positioned the objects at a precise height. He used a very shallow depth of field so that only those objects were in focus. In the background, items like steel wool, rice grains, nuts, buttons, etc., lose their definition and transform into galactic forms.
The work also serves as a domestic homage to the astronomical images captured by the Hubble and Webb telescopes. The mundane transforms into the stellar, revealing a cosmology of disorder.
“The Depth of Things” is a series of 24 photographs created from a star planisphere. Bacal isolated and separated the galactic plane (the Milky Way) into 24 fragments, which he then used as precise guides for composing the images.
The artist placed domestic objects on a black table, following the positions of the stars and nebulae. For stars belonging
to any of the constellations of modern science, he positioned the objects at a precise height. He used a very shallow depth of field so that only those objects were in focus. In the background, items like steel wool, rice grains, nuts, buttons, etc., lose their definition and transform into galactic forms.
The work also serves as a domestic homage to the astronomical images captured by the Hubble and Webb telescopes. The mundane transforms into the stellar, revealing a cosmology of disorder.
“The Depth of Things” is a series of 24 photographs created from a star planisphere. Bacal isolated and separated the galactic plane (the Milky Way) into 24 fragments, which he then used as precise guides for composing the images.
The artist placed domestic objects on a black table, following the positions of the stars and nebulae. For stars belonging
to any of the constellations of modern science, he positioned the objects at a precise height. He used a very shallow depth of field so that only those objects were in focus. In the background, items like steel wool, rice grains, nuts, buttons, etc., lose their definition and transform into galactic forms.
The work also serves as a domestic homage to the astronomical images captured by the Hubble and Webb telescopes. The mundane transforms into the stellar, revealing a cosmology of disorder.
“The Depth of Things” is a series of 24 photographs created from a star planisphere. Bacal isolated and separated the galactic plane (the Milky Way) into 24 fragments, which he then used as precise guides for composing the images.
The artist placed domestic objects on a black table, following the positions of the stars and nebulae. For stars belonging to any of the constellations of modern science, he positioned the objects at a precise height. He used a very shallow depth of field so that only those objects were in focus. In the background, items like steel wool, rice grains, nuts, buttons, etc., lose their definition and transform into galactic forms.
The work also serves as a domestic homage to the astronomical images captured by the Hubble and Webb telescopes. The mundane transforms into the stellar, revealing a cosmology of disorder.
“The Depth of Things” is a series of 24 photographs created from a star planisphere. Bacal isolated and separated the galactic plane (the Milky Way) into 24 fragments, which he then used as precise guides for composing the images.
The artist placed domestic objects on a black table, following the positions of the stars and nebulae. For stars belonging to any of the constellations of modern science, he positioned the objects at a precise height. He used a very shallow depth of field so that only those objects were in focus. In the background, items like steel wool, rice grains, nuts, buttons, etc., lose their definition and transform into galactic forms.
The work also serves as a domestic homage to the astronomical images captured by the Hubble and Webb telescopes. The mundane transforms into the stellar, revealing a cosmology of disorder.
“The Depth of Things” is a series of 24 photographs created from a star planisphere. Bacal isolated and separated the galactic plane (the Milky Way) into 24 fragments, which he then used as precise guides for composing the images.
The artist placed domestic objects on a black table, following the positions of the stars and nebulae. For stars belonging to any of the constellations of modern science, he positioned the objects at a precise height. He used a very shallow depth of field so that only those objects were in focus. In the background, items like steel wool, rice grains, nuts, buttons, etc., lose their definition and transform into galactic forms.
The work also serves as a domestic homage to the astronomical images captured by the Hubble and Webb telescopes. The mundane transforms into the stellar, revealing a cosmology of disorder.
“The Depth of Things” is a series of 24 photographs created from a star planisphere. Bacal isolated and separated the galactic plane (the Milky Way) into 24 fragments, which he then used as precise guides for composing the images.
The artist placed domestic objects on a black table, following the positions of the stars and nebulae. For stars belonging to any of the constellations of modern science, he positioned the objects at a precise height. He used a very shallow depth of field so that only those objects were in focus. In the background, items like steel wool, rice grains, nuts, buttons, etc., lose their definition and transform into galactic forms.
The work also serves as a domestic homage to the astronomical images captured by the Hubble and Webb telescopes. The mundane transforms into the stellar, revealing a cosmology of disorder.
“The Depth of Things” is a series of 24 photographs created from a star planisphere. Bacal isolated and separated the galactic plane (the Milky Way) into 24 fragments, which he then used as precise guides for composing the images.
The artist placed domestic objects on a black table, following the positions of the stars and nebulae. For stars belonging to any of the constellations of modern science, he positioned the objects at a precise height. He used a very shallow depth of field so that only those objects were in focus. In the background, items like steel wool, rice grains, nuts, buttons, etc., lose their definition and transform into galactic forms.
The work also serves as a domestic homage to the astronomical images captured by the Hubble and Webb telescopes. The mundane transforms into the stellar, revealing a cosmology of disorder.
“The Depth of Things” is a series of 24 photographs created from a star planisphere. Bacal isolated and separated the galactic plane (the Milky Way) into 24 fragments, which he then used as precise guides for composing the images.
The artist placed domestic objects on a black table, following the positions of the stars and nebulae. For stars belonging to any of the constellations of modern science, he positioned the objects at a precise height. He used a very shallow depth of field so that only those objects were in focus. In the background, items like steel wool, rice grains, nuts, buttons, etc., lose their definition and transform into galactic forms.
The work also serves as a domestic homage to the astronomical images captured by the Hubble and Webb telescopes. The mundane transforms into the stellar, revealing a cosmology of disorder.
“The Depth of Things” is a series of 24 photographs created from a star planisphere. Bacal isolated and separated the galactic plane (the Milky Way) into 24 fragments, which he then used as precise guides for composing the images.
The artist placed domestic objects on a black table, following the positions of the stars and nebulae. For stars belonging
to any of the constellations of modern science, he positioned the objects at a precise height. He used a very shallow depth of field so that only those objects were in focus. In the background, items like steel wool, rice grains, nuts, buttons, etc., lose their definition and transform into galactic forms.
The work also serves as a domestic homage to the astronomical images captured by the Hubble and Webb telescopes. The mundane transforms into the stellar, revealing a cosmology of disorder.
“The Depth of Things” is a series of 24 photographs created from a star planisphere. Bacal isolated and separated the galactic plane (the Milky Way) into 24 fragments, which he then used as precise guides for composing the images.
The artist placed domestic objects on a black table, following the positions of the stars and nebulae. For stars belonging
to any of the constellations of modern science, he positioned the objects at a precise height. He used a very shallow depth of field so that only those objects were in focus. In the background, items like steel wool, rice grains, nuts, buttons, etc., lose their definition and transform into galactic forms.
The work also serves as a domestic homage to the astronomical images captured by the Hubble and Webb telescopes. The mundane transforms into the stellar, revealing a cosmology of disorder.
View from Nicolás Bacal’s studio showing the camera and the table where he builds the image.
View from Nicolás Bacal’s studio showing the camera and the table where he builds the image.
The exhibition is organized around a photograph by Rochelle Costi (1961-2022) entitled Casa do Céu [House in the sky] (2018). In the photograph, a small orange house built on top of a skyscraper rises from the roof of the building into the clear blue sky pointing to the invisible constellations above.
The intention of the exhibition is to celebrate some of the artists, works and ideas that contributed to give life, shape and survival not only to the gallery, but also to the ecosystem of which the institution that completes two decades is a part.
With: Albano Afonso, Amilcar Packer, Ana Dias Batista, André Komatsu, Angelo Venosa, assume vivid astro focus, Caetano de Almeida, Carolina Cordeiro, Claudia Andujar, Cadu, Carla Chaim, Carla Zaccagnini, Carmela Gross, Cássio Vasconcellos, Chelpa Ferro, Chiara Banfi, Cinthia Marcelle, Daniel Senise, Detanico Lain, Dora Longo Bahia, Edgard de Souza, Eustáquio Neves, Fabio Morais, Felippe Moraes, Flávia Ribeiro, Giselle Beiguelman, Gustavo Rezende, Henrique Cesar, João Loureiro, Laís Myhrra, Laura Lima, Leandro da Costa, Leda Catunda, Lenora de Barros, Leonilson, Leya Mira Brander, Lia Chaia, Lucas Bambozzi, Lucia Koch, Marcelo Cidade, Marcelo Zocchio, Márcia Xavier, Marcius Galan, Marco Paulo Rolla, Marilá Dardot, Marina Sheetikoff, Mario Ramiro, Maurício Ianês, Mônica Nador + JAMAC, Motta & Lima, Nicolás Bacal, Nicolás Robbio, Odires Mlászho, Regina Vater, Rochelle Costi, Rodrigo Braga, Ros4 Luz, Rosana Monnerat, Rosângela Rennó, Rosario López, Sandra Cinto, Sergio Augusto Porto, Tiago Sant’Ana, Valdirlei Dias Nunes, Vânia Mignone, ,Ovo_Luciana Martins + Gerson de Oliveira.
Acknowledgments: A Gentil Carioca, Carbono Galeria, Casa Triangulo, Central Galeria, Fortes D’Aloia & Gabriel, Galatea, Galeria Jaqueline Martins, Galeria Leme, Galeria Luisa Strina, Galeria Marilia Razuk, Galeria Millan, Galeria Raquel Arnaud, GDA, Gomide & Co, Luciana Brito Galeria, Marli Matsumoto Arte Contemporânea, Nara Roesler, Sé, VERVE, Zipper Galeria.
Special thanks to Coleção Maria Celeste e Pedro Siqueira
For Rochelle.
Almost all of my projects are born from issues concerning ‘memory, identity, my origins and structural and systemic racism. With the project in question, Retrato falado [Composite drawing], awarded by the ZUM Photography Scholarship, I continue insisting on the before mentioned issues.
By chance, while searching my personal and family archives, in the preparation of another project where the central issue was to discuss my origins and the forced and violent immigration of my ancestors, which was the enslavement of African peoples, I realized the total absence of a photographic record of my maternal grandfather. Considering that this side of the family was the most present and closest to me, I tried to understand this grandfather’s absence from the family records. There were and are, photographic records of my grandmother, great aunts, portraits of my mother and sisters taken at the famous and popular Cine Retex in Belo Horizonte, but not of my grandfather. This could have had to do with lack of resources; however, this was not his case.
Some of his characteristics that discovered from my investigations within the family, includes that he was a systematic and reserved person and, maybe because of this, he never had his photo taken. This could be, but I prefer to go further and bring up the discussion of structural racism that can lead a black person to feel excluded because he has never seen himself represented, including in photography.
In order to rescue the memory of Mr. João Catarino Ribeiro, my grandfather and, symbolically doing him justice, I made the Retrato falado series of which I had the happiness of being contemplated with the Zum Photography Scholarship and thus being able to share with more people concerns that are not just mine.
Eustáquio Neves, 2019
Almost all of my projects are born from issues concerning ‘memory, identity, my origins and structural and systemic racism. With the project in question, Retrato falado [Composite drawing], awarded by the ZUM Photography Scholarship, I continue insisting on the before mentioned issues.
By chance, while searching my personal and family archives, in the preparation of another project where the central issue was to discuss my origins and the forced and violent immigration of my ancestors, which was the enslavement of African peoples, I realized the total absence of a photographic record of my maternal grandfather. Considering that this side of the family was the most present and closest to me, I tried to understand this grandfather’s absence from the family records. There were and are, photographic records of my grandmother, great aunts, portraits of my mother and sisters taken at the famous and popular Cine Retex in Belo Horizonte, but not of my grandfather. This could have had to do with lack of resources; however, this was not his case.
Some of his characteristics that discovered from my investigations within the family, includes that he was a systematic and reserved person and, maybe because of this, he never had his photo taken. This could be, but I prefer to go further and bring up the discussion of structural racism that can lead a black person to feel excluded because he has never seen himself represented, including in photography.
In order to rescue the memory of Mr. João Catarino Ribeiro, my grandfather and, symbolically doing him justice, I made the Retrato falado series of which I had the happiness of being contemplated with the Zum Photography Scholarship and thus being able to share with more people concerns that are not just mine.
Eustáquio Neves, 2019
The works of the Fantasma (Phantom) series (2015-2018) continue Komatsu’s research that also led to his installation in the Brazilian Pavilion for the Venice Biennale in 2015. The artist works with the comfort felt by the individual in situations of domestic self-imprisonment, as in the security felt when we become hostages in our own homes surrounded by protection and elaborate devices to preserve our privacies. In these works, what we see is the celebration of these procedures transformed into objects of contemplation.
The works of the Fantasma (Phantom) series (2015-2018) continue Komatsu’s research that also led to his installation in the Brazilian Pavilion for the Venice Biennale in 2015. The artist works with the comfort felt by the individual in situations of domestic self-imprisonment, as in the security felt when we become hostages in our own homes surrounded by protection and elaborate devices to preserve our privacies. In these works, what we see is the celebration of these procedures transformed into objects of contemplation.
In the Rio series there is a displacement, takeing the stones out of their natural environment and placeing them on bases molded especially for each stone. They do not conform, it’s the bases that conform to them, just like bodies.*
*text from the ,ovo catalogue, 2023
In the Rio series there is a displacement, takeing the stones out of their natural environment and placeing them on bases molded especially for each stone. They do not conform, it’s the bases that conform to them, just like bodies.*
*text from the ,ovo catalogue, 2023
Power relations permeate the materials chosen by Komatsu. It is these relations that often constitute the true raw material used in his work. “Lusco-Fusco” brings together the precariousness of Drywall with the ephemerality of news from newspaper clippings. With cuts and punches, Komatsu breaks through the surfaces of his paintings into geometric or gestural abstractions, while fragments of news suggest representations of what could emerge there. While his titles suggest a place between day and night, his forms suggest something between figuration and abstraction.
Power relations permeate the materials chosen by Komatsu. It is these relations that often constitute the true raw material used in his work. “Lusco-Fusco” brings together the precariousness of Drywall with the ephemerality of news from newspaper clippings. With cuts and punches, Komatsu breaks through the surfaces of his paintings into geometric or gestural abstractions, while fragments of news suggest representations of what could emerge there. While his titles suggest a place between day and night, his forms suggest something between figuration and abstraction.
Series of photos made from reproductions of photographic negatives from The Penitentiary Museum of São Paulo.
Series of photos made from reproductions of photographic negatives from The Penitentiary Museum of São Paulo.
In the series, the guideline that supports the writing, structuring it in the typographic grid, is not a secure support. The supporting line of the text breaks, causing the sentence to plummet and decompose into falling letters. Without the security of structure, would the written world collapse? In the politics of verbal mediations, in addition to the current dispute over meanings and narratives, the breaking of the word ? which is the metaphor of the texts of De repente ? alludes to the fragility of pacts made via text: the Constitution, the law, the contracts. This is the case of the fragile Brazilian republican pact, always redefined by and according to who holds the real powers of the Republic.
In the series, the guideline that supports the writing, structuring it in the typographic grid, is not a secure support. The supporting line of the text breaks, causing the sentence to plummet and decompose into falling letters. Without the security of structure, would the written world collapse? In the politics of verbal mediations, in addition to the current dispute over meanings and narratives, the breaking of the word ? which is the metaphor of the texts of De repente ? alludes to the fragility of pacts made via text: the Constitution, the law, the contracts. This is the case of the fragile Brazilian republican pact, always redefined by and according to who holds the real powers of the Republic.
In the series Clouds (2022), Detanico Lain created a set of 15 images of white clouds on a blue background. From a distance, the observer can, as in a game, look for shapes in the clouds, but when getting closer, he sees that, in fact, the clouds are made of letters that form words. The letters scattered across the images also require some investigation to uncover the word that is there.
In the series Clouds (2022), Detanico Lain created a set of 15 images of white clouds on a blue background. From a distance, the observer can, as in a game, look for shapes in the clouds, but when getting closer, he sees that, in fact, the clouds are made of letters that form words. The letters scattered across the images also require some investigation to uncover the word that is there.
Rochelle Costi works with affective memory; the one that normally raises dust in our subconscious, triggered by a device: the image. Her research starts from her own imaginary repertoire, …
Rochelle Costi works with affective memory; the one that normally raises dust in our subconscious, triggered by a device: the image. Her research starts from her own imaginary repertoire, …
Ignition by Ana Dias Batista
On a trip to Italy, I collected lava rock from the country’s three active volcanoes, Etna, Stromboli and Vesuvius, in the trunk of a rental car.
They were obtained through unconventional means. In addition to geological time and the historical accounts of the eruptions, which I intended to summon when I planned the work, another dimension was added. The three volcanoes are in environmental protection areas.
At work, the age-old, tragic, and solemn truth of that material was challenged by up-to-the-minute, almost comical news of illegal mining, tourist arrests, and falsification of provenance.
In a marble factory in Catania I bought certified pietra lavica etnea paving stones, which I later abandoned on the side of the road, keeping the invoice for the other stones I brought.
In a second marble factory, in Napoli, I bought, without receipt or certification, a supposed Vesuvian stone. In 2008 an illegal quarry had been found inside the Vesuvio Park. The offenders extracted the prohibited Vesuvian basalt, selling it as a stone from Etna.
At the third marble shop, in Piedimone Matese, I cut two adjacent facets into each of the three trunk stones, at a 120-degree angle. The three came to fit together, but were kept apart.
The work was titled Cão de três cabeças [Dog with Three Heads], in reference to the beast that guarded the gates of hell in ancient mythology. In order for Aeneas to enter Hades, the Sibyl had to deceive Cerberus by offering him poisoned food.
The remaining material from the cuts was brought to Brazil. I had it polished, turning it into the three sets of marbles that now face each other on this board.
Ignition by Ana Dias Batista
On a trip to Italy, I collected lava rock from the country’s three active volcanoes, Etna, Stromboli and Vesuvius, in the trunk of a rental car.
They were obtained through unconventional means. In addition to geological time and the historical accounts of the eruptions, which I intended to summon when I planned the work, another dimension was added. The three volcanoes are in environmental protection areas.
At work, the age-old, tragic, and solemn truth of that material was challenged by up-to-the-minute, almost comical news of illegal mining, tourist arrests, and falsification of provenance.
In a marble factory in Catania I bought certified pietra lavica etnea paving stones, which I later abandoned on the side of the road, keeping the invoice for the other stones I brought.
In a second marble factory, in Napoli, I bought, without receipt or certification, a supposed Vesuvian stone. In 2008 an illegal quarry had been found inside the Vesuvio Park. The offenders extracted the prohibited Vesuvian basalt, selling it as a stone from Etna.
At the third marble shop, in Piedimone Matese, I cut two adjacent facets into each of the three trunk stones, at a 120-degree angle. The three came to fit together, but were kept apart.
The work was titled Cão de três cabeças [Dog with Three Heads], in reference to the beast that guarded the gates of hell in ancient mythology. In order for Aeneas to enter Hades, the Sibyl had to deceive Cerberus by offering him poisoned food.
The remaining material from the cuts was brought to Brazil. I had it polished, turning it into the three sets of marbles that now face each other on this board.
Hélice H 21 show the dynamics of color and shape relationships in space, including the viewer as a participant. The manual touch provides the dynamics of the work: the shape expands, and the color dematerializes and pulsates in the air.
Hélice H 21 show the dynamics of color and shape relationships in space, including the viewer as a participant. The manual touch provides the dynamics of the work: the shape expands, and the color dematerializes and pulsates in the air.
View from Sala 2 of the show Casa no céu with the work Pedra que repete [Rock that repeats] by João Loureiro moving in the center.
View from Sala 2 of the show Casa no céu with the work Pedra que repete [Rock that repeats] by João Loureiro moving in the center.
Esse trabalho foi realizado pela primeira vez em 1982 e é constituído por uma série de 19 páginas. Em cada uma das folhas de papel em branco se lê, no pé, uma escala que indica a correspondência entre as dimensões da página, medidas em centímetros, e as grandes extensões territoriais, medidas em quilômetros.
Nas cartas geográficas, essas escalas servem para relacionar a dimensão da imagem impressa com a dimensão real daquilo que está referido no mapa: zonas, regiões, cordilheiras, oceanos, mares, rios, fronteiras, países, cidades.
Neste caso, como a página está em branco, é o vazio que se distende e que, imaginariamente, vai constituir um espaço monumental.
O menor possível, palpável, combinado com larguras, distâncias, extensões impossíveis.
Esse trabalho foi realizado pela primeira vez em 1982 e é constituído por uma série de 19 páginas. Em cada uma das folhas de papel em branco se lê, no pé, uma escala que indica a correspondência entre as dimensões da página, medidas em centímetros, e as grandes extensões territoriais, medidas em quilômetros.
Nas cartas geográficas, essas escalas servem para relacionar a dimensão da imagem impressa com a dimensão real daquilo que está referido no mapa: zonas, regiões, cordilheiras, oceanos, mares, rios, fronteiras, países, cidades.
Neste caso, como a página está em branco, é o vazio que se distende e que, imaginariamente, vai constituir um espaço monumental.
O menor possível, palpável, combinado com larguras, distâncias, extensões impossíveis.
The drawings carimbo seta [stamp arrow] create continuous and multidirectional flows, as if they were in motion, indicating that the movement of the body and the city is incessant.
The drawings carimbo seta [stamp arrow] create continuous and multidirectional flows, as if they were in motion, indicating that the movement of the body and the city is incessant.
Torneira [Faucet] (2018) is a mundane object that surges with life. This piece is from a series of faucets of outsized proportions that de Souza has been working on since the 1990s. From the mouth of the gold-plated bronze faucet flows a large drop resembling human secretion.
Torneira [Faucet] (2018) is a mundane object that surges with life. This piece is from a series of faucets of outsized proportions that de Souza has been working on since the 1990s. From the mouth of the gold-plated bronze faucet flows a large drop resembling human secretion.
series of 10 unique numbered and signed books
series of 10 unique numbered and signed books
In the series Horizontes USA [Horizons USA], title and images that constitute the work were taken from the publication Horizons USA distributed by the US embassies in Latin America in the 1970s and 80s. In this series, Zaccagnini specifically used the issues numbers 6, 26 and 27, purposely employing only the images and leaving out the original texts that constituted the narratives chosen by the North American empire at the time.
In the series Horizontes USA [Horizons USA], title and images that constitute the work were taken from the publication Horizons USA distributed by the US embassies in Latin America in the 1970s and 80s. In this series, Zaccagnini specifically used the issues numbers 6, 26 and 27, purposely employing only the images and leaving out the original texts that constituted the narratives chosen by the North American empire at the time.
Correspondence to Juan Manuel Perdomo is a series based on a strategy that started as a bar game in 2007 and has been transformed into obsession. It is a growing body of beer labels folded, without cutting or mixing brands. Correspondence is an everyday attempt to make folds that allow other senses to enroll in a limited universe of known signs.
Correspondence to Juan Manuel Perdomo is a series based on a strategy that started as a bar game in 2007 and has been transformed into obsession. It is a growing body of beer labels folded, without cutting or mixing brands. Correspondence is an everyday attempt to make folds that allow other senses to enroll in a limited universe of known signs.
With the colaboration of Marina Sheetikoff
With the colaboration of Marina Sheetikoff
Espaço físico onde a matéria habita é representada pela camiseta, dobrada na altura dos ombros, onde o corpo carrega, transporta, ponto estratégico que equilibra o peso que suporta. O desenho apresenta outro movimento, linhas contínuas preenchem o espaço espelhado da camiseta rebatida para cima.
Matéria, carrega um emaranhado de linhas, caminhos, escolhas, novelo do território percorrido no corpo, energia escura do universo se torna visível deixando as estrelas ao acaso, e não se chocam pela linha intocável entre o sentir e o sentido. Metáfora do horizonte de um cálculo em curso.
Espaço físico onde a matéria habita é representada pela camiseta, dobrada na altura dos ombros, onde o corpo carrega, transporta, ponto estratégico que equilibra o peso que suporta. O desenho apresenta outro movimento, linhas contínuas preenchem o espaço espelhado da camiseta rebatida para cima.
Matéria, carrega um emaranhado de linhas, caminhos, escolhas, novelo do território percorrido no corpo, energia escura do universo se torna visível deixando as estrelas ao acaso, e não se chocam pela linha intocável entre o sentir e o sentido. Metáfora do horizonte de um cálculo em curso.
In Another World (2022) [Unknown Earth], the title of the work appears written in acrylic over linen canvas, using the Timezonetype system, developed by Detanico Lain.
Timezonetype is a typography created from the relationship between time zones and the letters of the alphabet. Portions of the map cut by the time zone are used to designate letters. By this way, words are written with pieces of maps, creating arrangements that break the cartographic order and propose new readings of the world based on the written word.
In Another World (2022) [Unknown Earth], the title of the work appears written in acrylic over linen canvas, using the Timezonetype system, developed by Detanico Lain.
Timezonetype is a typography created from the relationship between time zones and the letters of the alphabet. Portions of the map cut by the time zone are used to designate letters. By this way, words are written with pieces of maps, creating arrangements that break the cartographic order and propose new readings of the world based on the written word.
In Crib, de Souza rearticulates parts of a crib found by him in the house to which he moved. The swan-shaped piece featured a sophisticated carving work that appears here, celebrated by the artist.
In Crib, de Souza rearticulates parts of a crib found by him in the house to which he moved. The swan-shaped piece featured a sophisticated carving work that appears here, celebrated by the artist.
“The exhibition Quasars (1983) had an enigmatic name, which according to the artist, meant “sound vibration captured by sound sensors”. Once again we are faced with experiments of the previous decade: off set prints registered apparitional images of inexact immateriality; they are allusive, despite the fact that their inherent indefiniteness did not lead us to the sources form which the artist extracted these forms interfered with by processes up to the graphic printing.”
Excerpt from “Carmela Gross: A Loon in Perspective”, by Aracy Amaral.
Carmela Gross: Hélices. Rio de Janeiro: MAM, 1993. Exhibition catalogue.
“The exhibition Quasars (1983) had an enigmatic name, which according to the artist, meant “sound vibration captured by sound sensors”. Once again we are faced with experiments of the previous decade: off set prints registered apparitional images of inexact immateriality; they are allusive, despite the fact that their inherent indefiniteness did not lead us to the sources form which the artist extracted these forms interfered with by processes up to the graphic printing.”
Excerpt from “Carmela Gross: A Loon in Perspective”, by Aracy Amaral.
Carmela Gross: Hélices. Rio de Janeiro: MAM, 1993. Exhibition catalogue.
Galeria Vermelho presents the solo show O espaço entre eu e você [The space between me and you]*, by artist Marcelo Cidade. It is Cidade´s eight solo show at the Gallery.
Cidade presents new works that deal – visually and conceptually – with the delinquency of individuals and the powers that be. In his work, Cidade investigates the formation of the city, its flow of control, and the constant clash between the public and private spheres.
The five new series presented by Cidade bring social conflicts and street codes to the art space organized within the logic of the grid. As Rosalind Krauss wrote in Grids, 1979, “the grid announces, among other things, the will to silence modern art, its hostility to literature, to narrative, to discourse”. One of the keys to Cidade’s work is his revisiting of the formation of modern Brazil, its developmental promises and the subsequent scenario of misery and extreme social inequality that is still installed.
The revisiting of the modern ideal and its ruins, proposed by Cidade, characterizes the 2000 Generation, of which he is one of the protagonists. Cidade resorts to materials often linked to construction and its waste in the his works, reversing the value attached to them.
The works in exhibit take place in the dichotomy of inside and outside, included and excluded, above and below, which the title of one of the works present, O eterno jogo dos opostos [The eternal game of opposites], suggests.
* the title of the exhibition brings a deliberate grammatical error, reversing the use of the indirect object me, by the subject me, a decision that superimposes the personalist character to the detriment of grammatical correctness.
On the gallery’s façade, the visitor is faced with a single, standardized image. The work O grid e a grade [The grid and the fence] (2020) is an appropriation of an image that circulated in all newspapers in Brazil on the date of the impeachment trial of Dilma Rousseff, in 2016, when the Esplanada dos Ministérios was divided by a railing, separating the people for and against the process. In this gigantic grid of repetitions, Cidade dissolves the problem embedded in the image, creating an optical dilution, a visual discomfort.
On the gallery’s façade, the visitor is faced with a single, standardized image. The work O grid e a grade [The grid and the fence] (2020) is an appropriation of an image that circulated in all newspapers in Brazil on the date of the impeachment trial of Dilma Rousseff, in 2016, when the Esplanada dos Ministérios was divided by a railing, separating the people for and against the process. In this gigantic grid of repetitions, Cidade dissolves the problem embedded in the image, creating an optical dilution, a visual discomfort.
In Instante estante, Cidade plans two heavily used metal shelves, freezing time and solemnizing the accumulated marks on the object. Here, deterioration becomes the image to be preserved.
In Instante estante, Cidade plans two heavily used metal shelves, freezing time and solemnizing the accumulated marks on the object. Here, deterioration becomes the image to be preserved.
In Instante estante, Cidade plans two heavily used metal shelves, freezing time and solemnizing the accumulated marks on the object. Here, deterioration becomes the image to be preserved.
In Instante estante, Cidade plans two heavily used metal shelves, freezing time and solemnizing the accumulated marks on the object. Here, deterioration becomes the image to be preserved.
Made up of aluminum panels in different sizes, the works in the Ato Falho (2023) series organize a collection of adhesives – offering repair services for metal doors – in a grid.
According to Cidade: “These stickers have a particular history, because I collected them. I would walk through the steel doors of the city, peel off these stickers and then graffiti over the surfaces. Then, I asked myself, why not compose a work suggesting a decomposition? What I do is decompose the work done by someone out in the street who went there and pasted it. I rearrange the stickers so that they are visible, respecting a grid format. In this case, I don’t use rulers, but compose the grid with my eye, a human grid, an anthropometric grid in which there are errors, dirt, fingerprints. The measurements are not exactly perfect or symmetric. The stickers themselves, having been removed from the public space, are old, torn and overlapping. None are new.”
This procedure of gluing stickers on doors offering repairs is informal work. Usually, the service is done by kids who walk the streets in downtown São Paulo in the early mornings pasting stickers – a movement that imitates the practice of graffiti. Those who walk around the city do not necessarily notice this movement because it is mostly swallowed by the architecture. In the work, on the contrary, the stickers appear in the foreground.
Made up of aluminum panels in different sizes, the works in the Ato Falho (2023) series organize a collection of adhesives – offering repair services for metal doors – in a grid.
According to Cidade: “These stickers have a particular history, because I collected them. I would walk through the steel doors of the city, peel off these stickers and then graffiti over the surfaces. Then, I asked myself, why not compose a work suggesting a decomposition? What I do is decompose the work done by someone out in the street who went there and pasted it. I rearrange the stickers so that they are visible, respecting a grid format. In this case, I don’t use rulers, but compose the grid with my eye, a human grid, an anthropometric grid in which there are errors, dirt, fingerprints. The measurements are not exactly perfect or symmetric. The stickers themselves, having been removed from the public space, are old, torn and overlapping. None are new.”
This procedure of gluing stickers on doors offering repairs is informal work. Usually, the service is done by kids who walk the streets in downtown São Paulo in the early mornings pasting stickers – a movement that imitates the practice of graffiti. Those who walk around the city do not necessarily notice this movement because it is mostly swallowed by the architecture. In the work, on the contrary, the stickers appear in the foreground.
Made up of aluminum panels in different sizes, the works in the Ato Falho (2023) series organize a collection of adhesives – offering repair services for metal doors – in a grid.
According to Cidade: “These stickers have a particular history, because I collected them. I would walk through the steel doors of the city, peel off these stickers and then graffiti over the surfaces. Then, I asked myself, why not compose a work suggesting a decomposition? What I do is decompose the work done by someone out in the street who went there and pasted it. I rearrange the stickers so that they are visible, respecting a grid format. In this case, I don’t use rulers, but compose the grid with my eye, a human grid, an anthropometric grid in which there are errors, dirt, fingerprints. The measurements are not exactly perfect or symmetric. The stickers themselves, having been removed from the public space, are old, torn and overlapping. None are new.”
This procedure of gluing stickers on doors offering repairs is informal work. Usually, the service is done by kids who walk the streets in downtown São Paulo in the early mornings pasting stickers – a movement that imitates the practice of graffiti. Those who walk around the city do not necessarily notice this movement because it is mostly swallowed by the architecture. In the work, on the contrary, the stickers appear in the foreground.
Made up of aluminum panels in different sizes, the works in the Ato Falho (2023) series organize a collection of adhesives – offering repair services for metal doors – in a grid.
According to Cidade: “These stickers have a particular history, because I collected them. I would walk through the steel doors of the city, peel off these stickers and then graffiti over the surfaces. Then, I asked myself, why not compose a work suggesting a decomposition? What I do is decompose the work done by someone out in the street who went there and pasted it. I rearrange the stickers so that they are visible, respecting a grid format. In this case, I don’t use rulers, but compose the grid with my eye, a human grid, an anthropometric grid in which there are errors, dirt, fingerprints. The measurements are not exactly perfect or symmetric. The stickers themselves, having been removed from the public space, are old, torn and overlapping. None are new.”
This procedure of gluing stickers on doors offering repairs is informal work. Usually, the service is done by kids who walk the streets in downtown São Paulo in the early mornings pasting stickers – a movement that imitates the practice of graffiti. Those who walk around the city do not necessarily notice this movement because it is mostly swallowed by the architecture. In the work, on the contrary, the stickers appear in the foreground.
The sculptures in the Uma churrasqueira muito triste series appropriate pre-molded structures for the construction of barbecue grills. Cidade rearranged them in ways that allude to formalist sculptures and public monuments.
The sculptures in the Uma churrasqueira muito triste series appropriate pre-molded structures for the construction of barbecue grills. Cidade rearranged them in ways that allude to formalist sculptures and public monuments.
Made up of aluminum panels in different sizes, the works in the Ato Falho (2023) series organize a collection of adhesives – offering repair services for metal doors – in a grid.
According to Cidade: “These stickers have a particular history, because I collected them. I would walk through the steel doors of the city, peel off these stickers and then graffiti over the surfaces. Then, I asked myself, why not compose a work suggesting a decomposition? What I do is decompose the work done by someone out in the street who went there and pasted it. I rearrange the stickers so that they are visible, respecting a grid format. In this case, I don’t use rulers, but compose the grid with my eye, a human grid, an anthropometric grid in which there are errors, dirt, fingerprints. The measurements are not exactly perfect or symmetric. The stickers themselves, having been removed from the public space, are old, torn and overlapping. None are new.”
This procedure of gluing stickers on doors offering repairs is informal work. Usually, the service is done by kids who walk the streets in downtown São Paulo in the early mornings pasting stickers – a movement that imitates the practice of graffiti. Those who walk around the city do not necessarily notice this movement because it is mostly swallowed by the architecture. In the work, on the contrary, the stickers appear in the foreground.
Made up of aluminum panels in different sizes, the works in the Ato Falho (2023) series organize a collection of adhesives – offering repair services for metal doors – in a grid.
According to Cidade: “These stickers have a particular history, because I collected them. I would walk through the steel doors of the city, peel off these stickers and then graffiti over the surfaces. Then, I asked myself, why not compose a work suggesting a decomposition? What I do is decompose the work done by someone out in the street who went there and pasted it. I rearrange the stickers so that they are visible, respecting a grid format. In this case, I don’t use rulers, but compose the grid with my eye, a human grid, an anthropometric grid in which there are errors, dirt, fingerprints. The measurements are not exactly perfect or symmetric. The stickers themselves, having been removed from the public space, are old, torn and overlapping. None are new.”
This procedure of gluing stickers on doors offering repairs is informal work. Usually, the service is done by kids who walk the streets in downtown São Paulo in the early mornings pasting stickers – a movement that imitates the practice of graffiti. Those who walk around the city do not necessarily notice this movement because it is mostly swallowed by the architecture. In the work, on the contrary, the stickers appear in the foreground.
O eterno jogo dos opostos [The eternal game of opposites] was created based on the circulation of Cidade through the city.
On these walks, the artist collected pieces from traditional city buildings, left over from demolition processes. The pieces of rubble were mounted on pieces of aluminum sidings – which relate to the metal fence in the image on the gallery’s façade.
“I’m interested in taking the opposite route, that is, bringing the ruined object to the front of the work: what was destroyed is worth more than what is new”, says Cidade.
O eterno jogo dos opostos [The eternal game of opposites] was created based on the circulation of Cidade through the city.
On these walks, the artist collected pieces from traditional city buildings, left over from demolition processes. The pieces of rubble were mounted on pieces of aluminum sidings – which relate to the metal fence in the image on the gallery’s façade.
“I’m interested in taking the opposite route, that is, bringing the ruined object to the front of the work: what was destroyed is worth more than what is new”, says Cidade.
O eterno jogo dos opostos [The eternal game of opposites] was created based on the circulation of Cidade through the city.
On these walks, the artist collected pieces from traditional city buildings, left over from demolition processes. The pieces of rubble were mounted on pieces of aluminum sidings – which relate to the metal fence in the image on the gallery’s façade.
“I’m interested in taking the opposite route, that is, bringing the ruined object to the front of the work: what was destroyed is worth more than what is new”, says Cidade.
O eterno jogo dos opostos [The eternal game of opposites] was created based on the circulation of Cidade through the city.
On these walks, the artist collected pieces from traditional city buildings, left over from demolition processes. The pieces of rubble were mounted on pieces of aluminum sidings – which relate to the metal fence in the image on the gallery’s façade.
“I’m interested in taking the opposite route, that is, bringing the ruined object to the front of the work: what was destroyed is worth more than what is new”, says Cidade.
Cidade collected images of the dumpsters of apartment buildings irregularly occupying the sidewalks of Higienópolis, an upper-class neighborhood in São Paulo. The images were taken during the pandemic, on morning walks, at a time of the day when these bins are still empty. The images were taken with the artist´s back to the buildings. What is visible is the street organized through the grid of the dumpsters.
The images were mounted in sets of 30 photos on bulletin boards similar to those used in condominiums to disseminate information.
The Higienópolis series was built from the artist´s displacements around the city, a recurrent and important procedure in Cidade’s work.
Cidade collected images of the dumpsters of apartment buildings irregularly occupying the sidewalks of Higienópolis, an upper-class neighborhood in São Paulo. The images were taken during the pandemic, on morning walks, at a time of the day when these bins are still empty. The images were taken with the artist´s back to the buildings. What is visible is the street organized through the grid of the dumpsters.
The images were mounted in sets of 30 photos on bulletin boards similar to those used in condominiums to disseminate information.
The Higienópolis series was built from the artist´s displacements around the city, a recurrent and important procedure in Cidade’s work.
Cidade collected images of the dumpsters of apartment buildings irregularly occupying the sidewalks of Higienópolis, an upper-class neighborhood in São Paulo. The images were taken during the pandemic, on morning walks, at a time of the day when these bins are still empty. The images were taken with the artist´s back to the buildings. What is visible is the street organized through the grid of the dumpsters.
The images were mounted in sets of 30 photos on bulletin boards similar to those used in condominiums to disseminate information.
The Higienópolis series was built from the artist´s displacements around the city, a recurrent and important procedure in Cidade’s work.
Cidade collected images of the dumpsters of apartment buildings irregularly occupying the sidewalks of Higienópolis, an upper-class neighborhood in São Paulo. The images were taken during the pandemic, on morning walks, at a time of the day when these bins are still empty. The images were taken with the artist´s back to the buildings. What is visible is the street organized through the grid of the dumpsters.
The images were mounted in sets of 30 photos on bulletin boards similar to those used in condominiums to disseminate information.
The Higienópolis series was built from the artist´s displacements around the city, a recurrent and important procedure in Cidade’s work.
Cidade collected images of the dumpsters of apartment buildings irregularly occupying the sidewalks of Higienópolis, an upper-class neighborhood in São Paulo. The images were taken during the pandemic, on morning walks, at a time of the day when these bins are still empty. The images were taken with the artist´s back to the buildings. What is visible is the street organized through the grid of the dumpsters.
The images were mounted in sets of 30 photos on bulletin boards similar to those used in condominiums to disseminate information.
The Higienópolis series was built from the artist´s displacements around the city, a recurrent and important procedure in Cidade’s work.
Cidade collected images of the dumpsters of apartment buildings irregularly occupying the sidewalks of Higienópolis, an upper-class neighborhood in São Paulo. The images were taken during the pandemic, on morning walks, at a time of the day when these bins are still empty. The images were taken with the artist´s back to the buildings. What is visible is the street organized through the grid of the dumpsters.
The images were mounted in sets of 30 photos on bulletin boards similar to those used in condominiums to disseminate information.
The Higienópolis series was built from the artist´s displacements around the city, a recurrent and important procedure in Cidade’s work.
O eterno jogo dos opostos [The eternal game of opposites] was created based on the circulation of Cidade through the city.
On these walks, the artist collected pieces from traditional city buildings, left over from demolition processes. The pieces of rubble were mounted on pieces of aluminum sidings – which relate to the metal fence in the image on the gallery’s façade.
“I’m interested in taking the opposite route, that is, bringing the ruined object to the front of the work: what was destroyed is worth more than what is new”, says Cidade.
O eterno jogo dos opostos [The eternal game of opposites] was created based on the circulation of Cidade through the city.
On these walks, the artist collected pieces from traditional city buildings, left over from demolition processes. The pieces of rubble were mounted on pieces of aluminum sidings – which relate to the metal fence in the image on the gallery’s façade.
“I’m interested in taking the opposite route, that is, bringing the ruined object to the front of the work: what was destroyed is worth more than what is new”, says Cidade.
Set of 18 paintings created with acrylic paint, automotive spray paint and adhesive labels on canvas, Monocromos Cinzas [Grey Monochromes] constitutes an attempt to classify the experience of public space through different shades of gray, white and beige.
Created at the beginning of the artist’s career, in 2002, the concept impregnated in the work and laid the foundation for Cidade’s trajectory. This concept appears in works in which the artist uses cement as material in the construction of his critique of the Brazilian modernist project.
Set of 18 paintings created with acrylic paint, automotive spray paint and adhesive labels on canvas, Monocromos Cinzas [Grey Monochromes] constitutes an attempt to classify the experience of public space through different shades of gray, white and beige.
Created at the beginning of the artist’s career, in 2002, the concept impregnated in the work and laid the foundation for Cidade’s trajectory. This concept appears in works in which the artist uses cement as material in the construction of his critique of the Brazilian modernist project.
The sculptures in the Uma churrasqueira muito triste series appropriate pre-molded structures for the construction of barbecue grills. Cidade rearranged them in ways that allude to formalist sculptures and public monuments.
The sculptures in the Uma churrasqueira muito triste series appropriate pre-molded structures for the construction of barbecue grills. Cidade rearranged them in ways that allude to formalist sculptures and public monuments.
In this work, Cidade combines happening, performance and collaborative process, practices that defined the field of contemporary art at the beginning of the 21st century.
To make the work, the artist invited passersby who, on the date of the action, were walking along the Santa Ifigênia (São Paulo) and Santa Tereza (Belo Horizonte) pedestrian overpasses.
The protocol was the participation in the performance for the camera in exchange for a T-shirt. With the action, Cidade reconfigures the line of the horizon through the bodies in order to question issues of contemporary art – its relation with society, history, and culture.
In this work, Cidade combines happening, performance and collaborative process, practices that defined the field of contemporary art at the beginning of the 21st century.
To make the work, the artist invited passersby who, on the date of the action, were walking along the Santa Ifigênia (São Paulo) and Santa Tereza (Belo Horizonte) pedestrian overpasses.
The protocol was the participation in the performance for the camera in exchange for a T-shirt. With the action, Cidade reconfigures the line of the horizon through the bodies in order to question issues of contemporary art – its relation with society, history, and culture.
Depois da sedimentação da mente [After the sedimentation of the mind] (2019-2020) is a project by Marcelo Cidade built from elements from the rupture of the Vale S.A. dam, in Brumadinho, in 2019. The rupture of the Córrego do Feijão Mine Dam was the biggest labor accident this century in Brazil in terms of human lives lost.
Shortly after the breakup, Cidade went to Brumadinho with collaborators to donate supplies and register the tragedy. They returned with 60 liters of discarded mud – the same volume of potable water that they left with the volunteering rescue workers.
The installation includes iron boxes in the shape of the Vale logo, where Cidade deposited the mud waste, and references the American artist Robert Smithson´s concept of Non-site.
Curator Germano Dushá, one of Cidade’s collaborators who went to the location with the artist, signs the logbook for the trip, which is part of the installation.
Depois da sedimentação da mente creates an abstraction of the disaster through its residues.
“I understand this work and all the others in the exhibition as performances containing the movement of my body as a part of the gestures of registering, absorbing, transporting and moving. The body is part of it.”
Depois da sedimentação da mente [After the sedimentation of the mind] (2019-2020) is a project by Marcelo Cidade built from elements from the rupture of the Vale S.A. dam, in Brumadinho, in 2019. The rupture of the Córrego do Feijão Mine Dam was the biggest labor accident this century in Brazil in terms of human lives lost.
Shortly after the breakup, Cidade went to Brumadinho with collaborators to donate supplies and register the tragedy. They returned with 60 liters of discarded mud – the same volume of potable water that they left with the volunteering rescue workers.
The installation includes iron boxes in the shape of the Vale logo, where Cidade deposited the mud waste, and references the American artist Robert Smithson´s concept of Non-site.
Curator Germano Dushá, one of Cidade’s collaborators who went to the location with the artist, signs the logbook for the trip, which is part of the installation.
Depois da sedimentação da mente creates an abstraction of the disaster through its residues.
“I understand this work and all the others in the exhibition as performances containing the movement of my body as a part of the gestures of registering, absorbing, transporting and moving. The body is part of it.”
Depois da sedimentação da mente [After the sedimentation of the mind] (2019-2020) is a project by Marcelo Cidade built from elements from the rupture of the Vale S.A. dam, in Brumadinho, in 2019. The rupture of the Córrego do Feijão Mine Dam was the biggest labor accident this century in Brazil in terms of human lives lost.
Shortly after the breakup, Cidade went to Brumadinho with collaborators to donate supplies and register the tragedy. They returned with 60 liters of discarded mud – the same volume of potable water that they left with the volunteering rescue workers.
The installation includes iron boxes in the shape of the Vale logo, where Cidade deposited the mud waste, and references the American artist Robert Smithson´s concept of Non-site.
Curator Germano Dushá, one of Cidade’s collaborators who went to the location with the artist, signs the logbook for the trip, which is part of the installation.
Depois da sedimentação da mente creates an abstraction of the disaster through its residues.
“I understand this work and all the others in the exhibition as performances containing the movement of my body as a part of the gestures of registering, absorbing, transporting and moving. The body is part of it.”
Depois da sedimentação da mente [After the sedimentation of the mind] (2019-2020) is a project by Marcelo Cidade built from elements from the rupture of the Vale S.A. dam, in Brumadinho, in 2019. The rupture of the Córrego do Feijão Mine Dam was the biggest labor accident this century in Brazil in terms of human lives lost.
Shortly after the breakup, Cidade went to Brumadinho with collaborators to donate supplies and register the tragedy. They returned with 60 liters of discarded mud – the same volume of potable water that they left with the volunteering rescue workers.
The installation includes iron boxes in the shape of the Vale logo, where Cidade deposited the mud waste, and references the American artist Robert Smithson´s concept of Non-site.
Curator Germano Dushá, one of Cidade’s collaborators who went to the location with the artist, signs the logbook for the trip, which is part of the installation.
Depois da sedimentação da mente creates an abstraction of the disaster through its residues.
“I understand this work and all the others in the exhibition as performances containing the movement of my body as a part of the gestures of registering, absorbing, transporting and moving. The body is part of it.”
Depois da sedimentação da mente [After the sedimentation of the mind] (2019-2020) is a project by Marcelo Cidade built from elements from the rupture of the Vale S.A. dam, in Brumadinho, in 2019. The rupture of the Córrego do Feijão Mine Dam was the biggest labor accident this century in Brazil in terms of human lives lost.
Shortly after the breakup, Cidade went to Brumadinho with collaborators to donate supplies and register the tragedy. They returned with 60 liters of discarded mud – the same volume of potable water that they left with the volunteering rescue workers.
The installation includes iron boxes in the shape of the Vale logo, where Cidade deposited the mud waste, and references the American artist Robert Smithson´s concept of Non-site.
Curator Germano Dushá, one of Cidade’s collaborators who went to the location with the artist, signs the logbook for the trip, which is part of the installation.
Depois da sedimentação da mente creates an abstraction of the disaster through its residues.
“I understand this work and all the others in the exhibition as performances containing the movement of my body as a part of the gestures of registering, absorbing, transporting and moving. The body is part of it.”
Depois da sedimentação da mente [After the sedimentation of the mind] (2019-2020) is a project by Marcelo Cidade built from elements from the rupture of the Vale S.A. dam, in Brumadinho, in 2019. The rupture of the Córrego do Feijão Mine Dam was the biggest labor accident this century in Brazil in terms of human lives lost.
Shortly after the breakup, Cidade went to Brumadinho with collaborators to donate supplies and register the tragedy. They returned with 60 liters of discarded mud – the same volume of potable water that they left with the volunteering rescue workers.
The installation includes iron boxes in the shape of the Vale logo, where Cidade deposited the mud waste, and references the American artist Robert Smithson´s concept of Non-site.
Curator Germano Dushá, one of Cidade’s collaborators who went to the location with the artist, signs the logbook for the trip, which is part of the installation.
Depois da sedimentação da mente creates an abstraction of the disaster through its residues.
“I understand this work and all the others in the exhibition as performances containing the movement of my body as a part of the gestures of registering, absorbing, transporting and moving. The body is part of it.”
Garrido-Lecca employs a variety of materials and symbolic language to highlight tensions between ancestral knowledge and colonial structures. From her observation of historical references, Garrido-Lecca maps the cycles of cultural, social and economic transformation. Her work deals with the relationship between nature and culture, questioning the traditional hierarchies of knowledge.
Yacimientos [Deposits], 2013, was filmed in Peru, in Cerro de Pasco and its surroundings. The video shows the decay of a city that is consumed by the expansion of a copper mine. We see the contrast between the beauty of the natural environment, with rock formations and adobe ruins, and the physical consequences of extractive operations that slowly consume everything around them, causing irreversible damage to the environment.
Contornos, 2014, registers the variety of fences and barriers found in Cerro de Pasco. The video images examine these boundaries: some seem to be temporary and vulnerable, others impenetrable; they are visibly boundaries between mining operations and public space. The audio is a conversation with Alcibiades Cristobál, from the Huayllay National Sanctuary, a forest of stones on the outskirts of Cerro de Pasco which contrasts the images. Cristobál describes the region’s geological formations while alluding to a cultural past that is disappearing as the land itself and its layers of history are being removed by mining.
Garrido-Lecca’s observations on the effects of mining on the land and on the ways in which public space is constructed and occupied, call attention to the blind advances of extractivism and how it upsets the social and environmental balance.
Contornos, 2014, registers the variety of fences and barriers found in Cerro de Pasco. The video images examine these boundaries: some seem to be temporary and vulnerable, others impenetrable; they are visibly boundaries between mining operations and public space. The audio is a conversation with Alcibiades Cristobál, from the Huayllay National Sanctuary, a forest of stones on the outskirts of Cerro de Pasco which contrasts the images. Cristobál describes the region’s geological formations while alluding to a cultural past that is disappearing as the land itself and its layers of history are being removed by mining. The video was shown at the 20th Contemporary Art Festival Sesc Videobrasil, in 2017.
Contornos, 2014, registers the variety of fences and barriers found in Cerro de Pasco. The video images examine these boundaries: some seem to be temporary and vulnerable, others impenetrable; they are visibly boundaries between mining operations and public space. The audio is a conversation with Alcibiades Cristobál, from the Huayllay National Sanctuary, a forest of stones on the outskirts of Cerro de Pasco which contrasts the images. Cristobál describes the region’s geological formations while alluding to a cultural past that is disappearing as the land itself and its layers of history are being removed by mining. The video was shown at the 20th Contemporary Art Festival Sesc Videobrasil, in 2017.
Yacimientos [Deposits], 2013, was filmed in Peru, in Cerro de Pasco and its surroundings. The video shows the decay of a city that is consumed by the expansion of a copper mine. We see the contrast between the beauty of the natural environment, with rock formations and adobe ruins, and the physical consequences of extractive operations that slowly consume everything around them, causing irreversible damage to the environment. The work was shown during her solo show in the first part of the 34th Bienal de São Paulo in 2020.
Yacimientos [Deposits], 2013, was filmed in Peru, in Cerro de Pasco and its surroundings. The video shows the decay of a city that is consumed by the expansion of a copper mine. We see the contrast between the beauty of the natural environment, with rock formations and adobe ruins, and the physical consequences of extractive operations that slowly consume everything around them, causing irreversible damage to the environment. The work was shown during her solo show in the first part of the 34th Bienal de São Paulo in 2020.
Edgard de Souza is showing a selection of works made during the least three years, including two in pandemic seclusion, in his third solo show at Vermelho. In the exhibition, the artist presents a set of four new sculptures in bronze, one in carved mahogany, and a series of new embroideries.
Edgard de Souza’s sculptures subvert the elementary representation of the human body divided into head, body and limbs. In the bronze occupying room 1, two bodies appear joined at the torso in an ascending posture. The absence of specific particularities of the original model giving form to the work transforms this body into a model for the collective, a universal archetype characterized, according to the artist, by the distraction and impossibility of communication characteristic of our time.
Edgard de Souza’s embroideries, handcrafted by the artist, dissolve into clouds of fragments, like a large collision of particles around a magnetic field. In the embroidery, we can observe the artist’s body working, moving in a simultaneous movement of implosion and explosion, dissolution and evasion. The only figuration among the embroideries are cloud figures, in a comment on the search for images in gestural abstraction, which is similar to the game of looking for images in clouds.
“In times of intense denialism, rapid publications on the internet and fake news, we fail to communicate, we fail to listen. The dialogues turned into a violent ping-pong game, a dispute. In this context, the large bronze sculpture appears as a self-absorbed figure, a body reflected and enclosed in itself”. Edgard de Souza (March, 2023)
Edgard de Souza’s new bronze can be considered something between a self-portrait and a possible portrait of the viewer. Its shape is reminiscent of a hand mirror, whilst its surface is matte. Its shape is also related to Edgard’s renowned “Drops”, which evoke bodily fluids.
Edgard cites the mirror from references as diverse as Fritz Lang’s “Maschinenmensch” and Verner Panton’s designs. From Constantin Brancusi to the “Vacuum form” molding machine. Edgard evokes several concepts in this sculpture: craftsmanship and the industrial reproduction processes, the individual and the mass produced. His production goes through this dichotomy: his bronze pieces are meticulously hand carved in plaster before going through the reproducibility process of casting.
From early on in his production, in the late 1980s, de Souza has been investigating sculpture – its processes and histories – with the same vigor as his contemporaries were devoting to painting. His works are permanently installed at Instituto Inhotim, in Minas Gerais and served as a guiding light for the 24th Bienal de São Paulo (1998), known as the Anthopophagy Biennial, curated by Paulo Herkenhoff and Adriano Pedrosa (adjunct). Pedrosa also curated the panoramic exhibition by de Souza at the Pinacoteca do Estado de São Paulo (2004).
Edgard offers a recent statement about the piece: “An important aspect for me is the shape itself. When the vanity mirror takes on the dimension of a racket it becomes a weapon – especially when it weighs 11 pounds – you can crack someone’s head! Weapons are always a problem, and the suggestion of reflection puts the spectator as part of such problem. Today’s denialism has to do with people’s desire to escape responsibilities… I know I’m conjecturing, and all of this is not necessarily explicit in the work, but it was this idea that led me here. I don’t know, maybe the idea about this piece would come full circle if the work was titled ‘Problem’.
De Souza speaks once again about duality. About the beautiful and the ugly present in each one of us. Reflection, in the history of art, has often pointed out the duality of the individual: from Caravaggio’s “Narcissus” (1597-1599) to Oscar Wilde’s novel “The Picture of Dorian Gray” (1890).
Reflection always offers both seduction and danger
Edgard de Souza’s new bronze can be considered something between a self-portrait and a possible portrait of the viewer. Its shape is reminiscent of a hand mirror, whilst its surface is matte. Its shape is also related to Edgard’s renowned “Drops”, which evoke bodily fluids.
Edgard cites the mirror from references as diverse as Fritz Lang’s “Maschinenmensch” and Verner Panton’s designs. From Constantin Brancusi to the “Vacuum form” molding machine. Edgard evokes several concepts in this sculpture: craftsmanship and the industrial reproduction processes, the individual and the mass produced. His production goes through this dichotomy: his bronze pieces are meticulously hand carved in plaster before going through the reproducibility process of casting.
From early on in his production, in the late 1980s, de Souza has been investigating sculpture – its processes and histories – with the same vigor as his contemporaries were devoting to painting. His works are permanently installed at Instituto Inhotim, in Minas Gerais and served as a guiding light for the 24th Bienal de São Paulo (1998), known as the Anthopophagy Biennial, curated by Paulo Herkenhoff and Adriano Pedrosa (adjunct). Pedrosa also curated the panoramic exhibition by de Souza at the Pinacoteca do Estado de São Paulo (2004).
Edgard offers a recent statement about the piece: “An important aspect for me is the shape itself. When the vanity mirror takes on the dimension of a racket it becomes a weapon – especially when it weighs 11 pounds – you can crack someone’s head! Weapons are always a problem, and the suggestion of reflection puts the spectator as part of such problem. Today’s denialism has to do with people’s desire to escape responsibilities… I know I’m conjecturing, and all of this is not necessarily explicit in the work, but it was this idea that led me here. I don’t know, maybe the idea about this piece would come full circle if the work was titled ‘Problem’.
De Souza speaks once again about duality. About the beautiful and the ugly present in each one of us. Reflection, in the history of art, has often pointed out the duality of the individual: from Caravaggio’s “Narcissus” (1597-1599) to Oscar Wilde’s novel “The Picture of Dorian Gray” (1890).
Reflection always offers both seduction and danger
The surge of life drive embedded in everyday objects is a constant in Edgard de Souza’s oeuvre and becomes evident in the series of spoons the artist have been developing. The objects were meticulously sculpted from rare wood logs of mahogany. In Colher lambe colher / Spoon licks spoon the wood comes to life through human features, and as a couple, the two spoons serve each other voluptuously.
The surge of life drive embedded in everyday objects is a constant in Edgard de Souza’s oeuvre and becomes evident in the series of spoons the artist have been developing. The objects were meticulously sculpted from rare wood logs of mahogany. In Colher lambe colher / Spoon licks spoon the wood comes to life through human features, and as a couple, the two spoons serve each other voluptuously.
In the largest bronze piece produced by the artist to date, two bodies appear mirrored and joined at the torso, one on top of the other. The absence of specific particularities of the original model that shapes the work transforms this body into a representation of the collective.
The bronze pieces based on the human body, which de Souza has been producing since the 1990s, deal with existential themes such as loneliness, death, affection, sex, and with references to art history.
In the largest bronze piece produced by the artist to date, two bodies appear mirrored and joined at the torso, one on top of the other. The absence of specific particularities of the original model that shapes the work transforms this body into a representation of the collective.
The bronze pieces based on the human body, which de Souza has been producing since the 1990s, deal with existential themes such as loneliness, death, affection, sex, and with references to art history.
Restauração [Restoration], from 2011, was also presented at Edgard de Souza’s first solo show at Vermelho in 2015. The work is an old, used floor cloth which has been meticulously restored by the artist. Restauração joins several of the dualities with which de Souza works: the virtuous and the spontaneous; the private and the public; the high and the low cultures; moreover, the work connects divergent positions.
Restauração [Restoration], from 2011, was also presented at Edgard de Souza’s first solo show at Vermelho in 2015. The work is an old, used floor cloth which has been meticulously restored by the artist. Restauração joins several of the dualities with which de Souza works: the virtuous and the spontaneous; the private and the public; the high and the low cultures; moreover, the work connects divergent positions.
Restauração [Restoration], from 2011, was also presented at Edgard de Souza’s first solo show at Vermelho in 2015. The work is an old, used floor cloth which has been meticulously restored by the artist. Restauração joins several of the dualities with which de Souza works: the virtuous and the spontaneous; the private and the public; the high and the low cultures; moreover, the work connects divergent positions.
Restauração [Restoration], from 2011, was also presented at Edgard de Souza’s first solo show at Vermelho in 2015. The work is an old, used floor cloth which has been meticulously restored by the artist. Restauração joins several of the dualities with which de Souza works: the virtuous and the spontaneous; the private and the public; the high and the low cultures; moreover, the work connects divergent positions.
In the embroidered R series, by Edgard de Souza, one can see the artist’s body at work, moving in a continuous movement back and forth. The only figuration among the embroideries are clouds, in a comment on the search for images in gestural abstraction, which is similar to the game of looking for representations in clouds. The embroideries are produced on linen fabrics, with silk, cotton or linen threads.
The R series is related to the Rabiscos series, produced by de Souza between 2013 and 2015, and shown in the artist’s first solo show at Vermelho. In the series, large and small scribbles, little doodles, were produced from simple tasks imposed on himself by the artist, such as drawing while dancing, drawing with both hands at the same time, or drawing until the paper was torn. The doodles dealt with the movements of the artist’s body.
The R series and the Rabiscos follow Restoration, from 2011. In the work, presented at Edgard de Souza’s first solo show at Vermelho in 2015, and shown at the current solo show, an old, used floor cloth was meticulously restored by the artist. Restoration brings together the dualities with which de Souza works in the three series – and in all of his work: the virtuous and the spontaneous; the private and the public; high and low cultures; the diverging opinions.
In the embroidered R series, by Edgard de Souza, one can see the artist’s body at work, moving in a continuous movement back and forth. The only figuration among the embroideries are clouds, in a comment on the search for images in gestural abstraction, which is similar to the game of looking for representations in clouds. The embroideries are produced on linen fabrics, with silk, cotton or linen threads.
The R series is related to the Rabiscos series, produced by de Souza between 2013 and 2015, and shown in the artist’s first solo show at Vermelho. In the series, large and small scribbles, little doodles, were produced from simple tasks imposed on himself by the artist, such as drawing while dancing, drawing with both hands at the same time, or drawing until the paper was torn. The doodles dealt with the movements of the artist’s body.
The R series and the Rabiscos follow Restoration, from 2011. In the work, presented at Edgard de Souza’s first solo show at Vermelho in 2015, and shown at the current solo show, an old, used floor cloth was meticulously restored by the artist. Restoration brings together the dualities with which de Souza works in the three series – and in all of his work: the virtuous and the spontaneous; the private and the public; high and low cultures; the diverging opinions.
Galeria Vermelho and Galeria Leme present two individual, simultaneous and complementary exhibitions by Mônica Nador + JAMAC. Opening on the 18th of March at Leme and the 23rd at Vermelho, these exhibitions will show works from the 1990s until today.
O político na arte, de novo [Politics in art, again] and O espiritual na arte, de novo [Spirituality in art, again] take place in Vermelho and Leme, respectively. Both exhibitions will occupy the spaces designed by the architect Paulo Mendes da Rocha exploring spatially the installation of the works, including the mural paintings, known as Paredes Pinturas [Wall Paintings], developed by Mônica Nador + JAMAC since the early 2000’s.
The exhibitions will bring seminal works of Mônica Nador’s trajectory, such as the large-scale paintings Mamãe Natureza [Mother nature] (1990), Para ver [To See] (1988) and A arte [The Art] (1989), as well as recent works from the series Pano Parede [Fabric wall], elaborated together with JAMAC. Series of etchings and screen printings will contrast the scale of other works to show distinct strategies to systematically fill the space – trademark of Nador’s works.
In Dando Bandeira, Mônica Nador, bruno o. and JAMAC create flags that celebrate militant women in Latin America.
flag 1
Renata Carvalho
Claudia Celeste
flag 2
Débora Silva
Marielle Franco
flag 3
Carolina Maria de Jesus
Conceição Evaristo
flag 4
Maria da Penha
Nise da Silveira
flag 5
Nilce de Souza Magalhães
Joênia Wapichana
flag 6
Margarida Alves
Zuca Fonseca
In Dando Bandeira, Mônica Nador, bruno o. and JAMAC create flags that celebrate militant women in Latin America.
flag 1
Renata Carvalho
Claudia Celeste
flag 2
Débora Silva
Marielle Franco
flag 3
Carolina Maria de Jesus
Conceição Evaristo
flag 4
Maria da Penha
Nise da Silveira
flag 5
Nilce de Souza Magalhães
Joênia Wapichana
flag 6
Margarida Alves
Zuca Fonseca
silkscreen on wall
silkscreen on wall
silkscreen on wall
silkscreen on wall
silkscreen on wall
silkscreen on wall
silkscreen on wall
silkscreen on wall
Quando convidados a expor seu trabalho, Mônica Nador + JAMAC promovem oficinas com um grupo de pessoas da cidade ou instituição com a qual vão trabalhar. A partir dessas experiências, são gerados desenhos, que se tornam estênceis, utilizados nas pinturas produzidas para a exposição. Na série Estamparada, várias imagens geradas nas oficinas são sobrepostas a um acúmulo de 19 anos de atividades do JAMAC.
—
When invited to exhibit their work, Mônica Nador + JAMAC promote workshops with a group of people from around the city or institution with which they are going to work. From these experiences, drawings are generated, which become stencils, which will be used in the paintings produced for the exhibition. In the Estamparada series, several images generated by workshops are superimposed on an accumulation of 19 years of JAMAC’s activities.
Quando convidados a expor seu trabalho, Mônica Nador + JAMAC promovem oficinas com um grupo de pessoas da cidade ou instituição com a qual vão trabalhar. A partir dessas experiências, são gerados desenhos, que se tornam estênceis, utilizados nas pinturas produzidas para a exposição. Na série Estamparada, várias imagens geradas nas oficinas são sobrepostas a um acúmulo de 19 anos de atividades do JAMAC.
—
When invited to exhibit their work, Mônica Nador + JAMAC promote workshops with a group of people from around the city or institution with which they are going to work. From these experiences, drawings are generated, which become stencils, which will be used in the paintings produced for the exhibition. In the Estamparada series, several images generated by workshops are superimposed on an accumulation of 19 years of JAMAC’s activities.
With: Adriano Motta and Paulo Vivacqua (DFTO), Maneno Llinkarimachiq, Virgilio Bahde
According to Cadu, Bando ou Hic Sunt Leones represents an attempt to negotiate the exuberant and terrible changes we have been through in recent years. There is an overlapping of personal and collective cycles still unexplained, but if the mythical past offers no explanation, in its chimeras, at least it helps us in coexisting with tomorrow.
Cadu’s practice is marked by a transdisciplinary approach. Each project emerges according to conceptual characteristics, with no pre-selection of languages or techniques. His repertoire includes performances, installations, drawings, paintings, objects, sculptures and videos influenced by themes related to systems, repetition, games, time and circularity. His works celebrate the relationship between man and nature, between the rational and the instinctive, between chaos and rigor.
Bando ou Hic Sunt Leones counts on the participation of several of the partners with whom Cadu has carried out his research on a regular basis. Collaborations and partnerships that, from the beginning of his career, have shaped hybrid projects linked to climate and environmental issues, research on materials and the ways to use them. This practice, motivated by the constant search for previously unseen developments in the respective trajectories of the artists, results in the exchanging of skills and knowledge.
In Bando ou Hic Sunt Leones, Cadu shares the authorship of the works with artists Adriano Motta and Paulo Vivacqua (DFTO), Maneno Llinkarimachiq and Virgilio Bahde.
The pieces from this series take its name from the limestone structure that forms the shells of several species of bivalve mollusks. The crimson hue associated with the skin and mucous membranes when they are excited.
Mussel shells were engraved in laser, in one piece with drawings that illustrate a “fencing” of hands wielding scissors, in a direct allusion to romantic relationships; in another with marine motifs.
The pieces from this series take its name from the limestone structure that forms the shells of several species of bivalve mollusks. The crimson hue associated with the skin and mucous membranes when they are excited.
Mussel shells were engraved in laser, in one piece with drawings that illustrate a “fencing” of hands wielding scissors, in a direct allusion to romantic relationships; in another with marine motifs.
The pieces from this series take its name from the limestone structure that forms the shells of several species of bivalve mollusks. The crimson hue associated with the skin and mucous membranes when they are excited.
Mussel shells were engraved in laser, in one piece with drawings that illustrate a “fencing” of hands wielding scissors, in a direct allusion to romantic relationships; in another with marine motifs.
The pieces from this series take its name from the limestone structure that forms the shells of several species of bivalve mollusks. The crimson hue associated with the skin and mucous membranes when they are excited.
Mussel shells were engraved in laser, in one piece with drawings that illustrate a “fencing” of hands wielding scissors, in a direct allusion to romantic relationships; in another with marine motifs.
The pieces from this series take its name from the limestone structure that forms the shells of several species of bivalve mollusks. The crimson hue associated with the skin and mucous membranes when they are excited.
Mussel shells were engraved in laser, in one piece with drawings that illustrate a “fencing” of hands wielding scissors, in a direct allusion to romantic relationships; in another with marine motifs.
The pieces from this series take its name from the limestone structure that forms the shells of several species of bivalve mollusks. The crimson hue associated with the skin and mucous membranes when they are excited.
Mussel shells were engraved in laser, in one piece with drawings that illustrate a “fencing” of hands wielding scissors, in a direct allusion to romantic relationships; in another with marine motifs.
The pieces from this series take its name from the limestone structure that forms the shells of several species of bivalve mollusks. The crimson hue associated with the skin and mucous membranes when they are excited.
Mussel shells were engraved in laser, in one piece with drawings that illustrate a “fencing” of hands wielding scissors, in a direct allusion to romantic relationships; in another with marine motifs.
The pieces from this series take its name from the limestone structure that forms the shells of several species of bivalve mollusks. The crimson hue associated with the skin and mucous membranes when they are excited.
Mussel shells were engraved in laser, in one piece with drawings that illustrate a “fencing” of hands wielding scissors, in a direct allusion to romantic relationships; in another with marine motifs.
The saying that gives the piece its name expresses good fortune in German. The direct translation into Portuguese is “had a pig”, but Google Translate itself suggests, as an answer, “by luck”. Owning the animal is a sign of provisions for periods of scarcity. Even though pork is a taboo for Jews and Arabs, it is the most consumed meat in the world. It is the one offered to
Omolu, the Orisha who brings the plague, but also the cure. Bad politicians and policemen are besmirched with its name. In “Ceia Dominicana: Romance Neolatino”,
by the writer Reinaldo Santos Neves, from Espírito Santo, there is the “Trojan pig”, a dish served at dinner in the residence of one of the characters. It is filled with disgusting and appetizing delicacies. The perfect synthesis of the coexistence between opposites. It was at the end of the Year of the Pig, according to the Chinese calendar, that the Covid-19 pandemic began.
The saying that gives the piece its name expresses good fortune in German. The direct translation into Portuguese is “had a pig”, but Google Translate itself suggests, as an answer, “by luck”. Owning the animal is a sign of provisions for periods of scarcity. Even though pork is a taboo for Jews and Arabs, it is the most consumed meat in the world. It is the one offered to
Omolu, the Orisha who brings the plague, but also the cure. Bad politicians and policemen are besmirched with its name. In “Ceia Dominicana: Romance Neolatino”,
by the writer Reinaldo Santos Neves, from Espírito Santo, there is the “Trojan pig”, a dish served at dinner in the residence of one of the characters. It is filled with disgusting and appetizing delicacies. The perfect synthesis of the coexistence between opposites. It was at the end of the Year of the Pig, according to the Chinese calendar, that the Covid-19 pandemic began.
The saying that gives the piece its name expresses good fortune in German. The direct translation into Portuguese is “had a pig”, but Google Translate itself suggests, as an answer, “by luck”. Owning the animal is a sign of provisions for periods of scarcity. Even though pork is a taboo for Jews and Arabs, it is the most consumed meat in the world. It is the one offered to
Omolu, the Orisha who brings the plague, but also the cure. Bad politicians and policemen are besmirched with its name. In “Ceia Dominicana: Romance Neolatino”,
by the writer Reinaldo Santos Neves, from Espírito Santo, there is the “Trojan pig”, a dish served at dinner in the residence of one of the characters. It is filled with disgusting and appetizing delicacies. The perfect synthesis of the coexistence between opposites. It was at the end of the Year of the Pig, according to the Chinese calendar, that the Covid-19 pandemic began.
The saying that gives the piece its name expresses good fortune in German. The direct translation into Portuguese is “had a pig”, but Google Translate itself suggests, as an answer, “by luck”. Owning the animal is a sign of provisions for periods of scarcity. Even though pork is a taboo for Jews and Arabs, it is the most consumed meat in the world. It is the one offered to
Omolu, the Orisha who brings the plague, but also the cure. Bad politicians and policemen are besmirched with its name. In “Ceia Dominicana: Romance Neolatino”,
by the writer Reinaldo Santos Neves, from Espírito Santo, there is the “Trojan pig”, a dish served at dinner in the residence of one of the characters. It is filled with disgusting and appetizing delicacies. The perfect synthesis of the coexistence between opposites. It was at the end of the Year of the Pig, according to the Chinese calendar, that the Covid-19 pandemic began.
The space of Cadu’s studio is shared with a company that provides various services in the field of design and execution of artistic works, Artes e Ofícios, located in the neighborhood of São Cristóvão (RJ). There, many of the pieces produced are finished with painting in a specific chamber. The objects are propped on a structure that absorbs the preparatory foundations, paints and varnishes. After three years of accumulating these materials, the resulting circular solid shape was sawed off. The cut revealed countless layers of paint, an artificial topology that brings us closer to geological cycles. A new block has been in formation since the second half of 2020, constituting a system restarted periodically.
The space of Cadu’s studio is shared with a company that provides various services in the field of design and execution of artistic works, Artes e Ofícios, located in the neighborhood of São Cristóvão (RJ). There, many of the pieces produced are finished with painting in a specific chamber. The objects are propped on a structure that absorbs the preparatory foundations, paints and varnishes. After three years of accumulating these materials, the resulting circular solid shape was sawed off. The cut revealed countless layers of paint, an artificial topology that brings us closer to geological cycles. A new block has been in formation since the second half of 2020, constituting a system restarted periodically.
The space of Cadu’s studio is shared with a company that provides various services in the field of design and execution of artistic works, Artes e Ofícios, located in the neighborhood of São Cristóvão (RJ). There, many of the pieces produced are finished
with painting in a specific chamber. The objects are propped on a structure that absorbs the preparatory foundations, paints and varnishes. After three years
of accumulating these materials, the resulting circular solid shape was sawed off. The cut revealed countless layers of paint, an artificial topology that brings us closer to geological cycles. A new block has been in formation since the second half of 2020, constituting a system restarted periodically.
The space of Cadu’s studio is shared with a company that provides various services in the field of design and execution of artistic works, Artes e Ofícios, located in the neighborhood of São Cristóvão (RJ). There, many of the pieces produced are finished
with painting in a specific chamber. The objects are propped on a structure that absorbs the preparatory foundations, paints and varnishes. After three years
of accumulating these materials, the resulting circular solid shape was sawed off. The cut revealed countless layers of paint, an artificial topology that brings us closer to geological cycles. A new block has been in formation since the second half of 2020, constituting a system restarted periodically.
The space of Cadu’s studio is shared with a company that provides various services in the field of design and execution of artistic works, Artes e Ofícios, located in the neighborhood of São Cristóvão (RJ). There, many of the pieces produced are finished
with painting in a specific chamber. The objects are propped on a structure that absorbs the preparatory foundations, paints and varnishes. After three years
of accumulating these materials, the resulting circular solid shape was sawed off. The cut revealed countless layers of paint, an artificial topology that brings us closer to geological cycles. A new block has been in formation since the second half of 2020, constituting a system restarted periodically.
The space of Cadu’s studio is shared with a company that provides various services in the field of design and execution of artistic works, Artes e Ofícios, located in the neighborhood of São Cristóvão (RJ). There, many of the pieces produced are finished
with painting in a specific chamber. The objects are propped on a structure that absorbs the preparatory foundations, paints and varnishes. After three years
of accumulating these materials, the resulting circular solid shape was sawed off. The cut revealed countless layers of paint, an artificial topology that brings us closer to geological cycles. A new block has been in formation since the second half of 2020, constituting a system restarted periodically.
The space of Cadu’s studio is shared with a company that provides various services in the field of design and execution of artistic works, Artes e Ofícios, located in the neighborhood of São Cristóvão (RJ). There, many of the pieces produced are finished
with painting in a specific chamber. The objects are propped on a structure that absorbs the preparatory foundations, paints and varnishes. After three years
of accumulating these materials, the resulting circular solid shape was sawed off. The cut revealed countless layers of paint, an artificial topology that brings us closer to geological cycles. A new block has been in formation since the second half of 2020, constituting a system restarted periodically.
The space of Cadu’s studio is shared with a company that provides various services in the field of design and execution of artistic works, Artes e Ofícios, located in the neighborhood of São Cristóvão (RJ). There, many of the pieces produced are finished
with painting in a specific chamber. The objects are propped on a structure that absorbs the preparatory foundations, paints and varnishes. After three years
of accumulating these materials, the resulting circular solid shape was sawed off. The cut revealed countless layers of paint, an artificial topology that brings us closer to geological cycles. A new block has been in formation since the second half of 2020, constituting a system restarted periodically.
Zeus tem a águia, Hera a mim
Duas aves de ver
Um amor triste velo
Vulto de mulher
Prometido para coisas maiores
Incorporo Argos decapitado
Não desejo mais do que tenho
Apenas o que foi furtado
Zeus tem a águia, Hera a mim
Duas aves de ver
Um amor triste velo
Vulto de mulher
Prometido para coisas maiores
Incorporo Argos decapitado
Não desejo mais do que tenho
Apenas o que foi furtado
Zeus tem a águia, Hera a mim
Duas aves de ver
Um amor triste velo
Vulto de mulher
Prometido para coisas maiores
Incorporo Argos decapitado
Não desejo mais do que tenho
Apenas o que foi furtado
Zeus tem a águia, Hera a mim
Duas aves de ver
Um amor triste velo
Vulto de mulher
Prometido para coisas maiores
Incorporo Argos decapitado
Não desejo mais do que tenho
Apenas o que foi furtado
Meia noite
Os morcegos passeiam
Cegos videntes
Buscam néctar nos cachos
Como o toque entre
Meia noite
Os morcegos passeiam
Cegos videntes
Buscam néctar nos cachos
Como o toque entre
Meia noite
Os morcegos passeiam
Cegos videntes
Buscam néctar nos cachos
Como o toque entre
Meia noite
Os morcegos passeiam
Cegos videntes
Buscam néctar nos cachos
Como o toque entre
Abraxas composes the sculptural set made since 2019 in co-authorship with the jeweler and artist Virgilio Bahde. In the book “Demian”, an initiatory novel by the writer Herman Hesse, the deity Abraxas is worshiped by the young characters, who become aware of the fragility of morals, the family and the State. The entity stands out for having human characteristics, being capable of exercising good and evil. We are faced with the improbable cultivation, through carving and metallurgy, of animal, vegetable and mineral possibilities, which confuse the eye due to the coexistence of the kingdoms comprising it.
Abraxas composes the sculptural set made since 2019 in co-authorship with the jeweler and artist Virgilio Bahde. In the book “Demian”, an initiatory novel by the writer Herman Hesse, the deity Abraxas is worshiped by the young characters, who become aware of the fragility of morals, the family and the State. The entity stands out for having human characteristics, being capable of exercising good and evil. We are faced with the improbable cultivation, through carving and metallurgy, of animal, vegetable and mineral possibilities, which confuse the eye due to the coexistence of the kingdoms comprising it.
Abraxas composes the sculptural set made since 2019 in co-authorship with the jeweler and artist Virgilio Bahde. In the book “Demian”, an initiatory novel by the writer Herman Hesse, the deity Abraxas is worshiped by the young characters, who become aware of the fragility of morals, the family and the State. The entity stands out for having human characteristics, being capable of exercising good and evil. We are faced with the improbable cultivation, through carving and metallurgy, of animal, vegetable and mineral possibilities, which confuse the eye due to the coexistence of the kingdoms comprising it.
Abraxas composes the sculptural set made since 2019 in co-authorship with the jeweler and artist Virgilio Bahde. In the book “Demian”, an initiatory novel by the writer Herman Hesse, the deity Abraxas is worshiped by the young characters, who become aware of the fragility of morals, the family and the State. The entity stands out for having human characteristics, being capable of exercising good and evil. We are faced with the improbable cultivation, through carving and metallurgy, of animal, vegetable and mineral possibilities, which confuse the eye due to the coexistence of the kingdoms comprising it.
Abraxas composes the sculptural set made since 2019 in co-authorship with the jeweler and artist Virgilio Bahde. In the book “Demian”, an initiatory novel by the writer Herman Hesse, the deity Abraxas is worshiped by the young characters, who become aware of the fragility of morals, the family and the State. The entity stands out for having human characteristics, being capable of exercising good and evil. We are faced with the improbable cultivation, through carving and metallurgy, of animal, vegetable and mineral possibilities, which confuse the eye due to the coexistence of the kingdoms comprising it.
Abraxas composes the sculptural set made since 2019 in co-authorship with the jeweler and artist Virgilio Bahde. In the book “Demian”, an initiatory novel by the writer Herman Hesse, the deity Abraxas is worshiped by the young characters, who become aware of the fragility of morals, the family and the State. The entity stands out for having human characteristics, being capable of exercising good and evil. We are faced with the improbable cultivation, through carving and metallurgy, of animal, vegetable and mineral possibilities, which confuse the eye due to the coexistence of the kingdoms comprising it.
Quando o perigo ficar em duas patas
Meu canino em tua veia pintará estrelas
Quando o perigo ficar em duas patas
Meu canino em tua veia pintará estrelas
Quando o perigo ficar em duas patas
Meu canino em tua veia pintará estrelas
Quando o perigo ficar em duas patas
Meu canino em tua veia pintará estrelas
Bahamūt, o peixe, suporta em seu
lombo Kujata, o touro de quatrocentos
olhos, quatrocentos narizes,
quatrocentas bocas, quatrocentas
línguas, quatrocentos ouvidos e
quatrocentas patas. Entre cada uma
de suas partes há uma distância de
quinhentos anos de viagem.
O ruminante acolhe um rubi em suas
costas. Ali repousa um anjo. A deidade
sustenta os Sete Infernos, que sustenta
a Terra.
Acima dela, os Sete Céus.
Bahamūt, o peixe, suporta em seu
lombo Kujata, o touro de quatrocentos
olhos, quatrocentos narizes,
quatrocentas bocas, quatrocentas
línguas, quatrocentos ouvidos e
quatrocentas patas. Entre cada uma
de suas partes há uma distância de
quinhentos anos de viagem.
O ruminante acolhe um rubi em suas
costas. Ali repousa um anjo. A deidade
sustenta os Sete Infernos, que sustenta
a Terra.
Acima dela, os Sete Céus.
Bahamūt, o peixe, suporta em seu
lombo Kujata, o touro de quatrocentos
olhos, quatrocentos narizes,
quatrocentas bocas, quatrocentas
línguas, quatrocentos ouvidos e
quatrocentas patas. Entre cada uma
de suas partes há uma distância de
quinhentos anos de viagem.
O ruminante acolhe um rubi em suas
costas. Ali repousa um anjo. A deidade
sustenta os Sete Infernos, que sustenta
a Terra.
Acima dela, os Sete Céus.
Bahamūt, o peixe, suporta em seu
lombo Kujata, o touro de quatrocentos
olhos, quatrocentos narizes,
quatrocentas bocas, quatrocentas
línguas, quatrocentos ouvidos e
quatrocentas patas. Entre cada uma
de suas partes há uma distância de
quinhentos anos de viagem.
O ruminante acolhe um rubi em suas
costas. Ali repousa um anjo. A deidade
sustenta os Sete Infernos, que sustenta
a Terra.
Acima dela, os Sete Céus.
Seja amiga, noiva seja
Esposa, ninfa, santa ou deusa
Entre eles fole, tempo e areia
Uma questão de ampulheta
Contou que dera para dormir com
marinheiros agora
Assim velejava
Iemanjava
Vênus dá, Vênus tira
Salmouras de cais
Mas tudo pode mudar no malavrar
No danar
No nadar no nada mar
E ela… pode até a cortesia de voltar
Seja amiga, noiva seja
Esposa, ninfa, santa ou deusa
Entre eles fole, tempo e areia
Uma questão de ampulheta
Contou que dera para dormir com
marinheiros agora
Assim velejava
Iemanjava
Vênus dá, Vênus tira
Salmouras de cais
Mas tudo pode mudar no malavrar
No danar
No nadar no nada mar
E ela… pode até a cortesia de voltar
Seja amiga, noiva seja
Esposa, ninfa, santa ou deusa
Entre eles fole, tempo e areia
Uma questão de ampulheta
Contou que dera para dormir com
marinheiros agora
Assim velejava
Iemanjava
Vênus dá, Vênus tira
Salmouras de cais
Mas tudo pode mudar no malavrar
No danar
No nadar no nada mar
E ela… pode até a cortesia de voltar
Seja amiga, noiva seja
Esposa, ninfa, santa ou deusa
Entre eles fole, tempo e areia
Uma questão de ampulheta
Contou que dera para dormir com
marinheiros agora
Assim velejava
Iemanjava
Vênus dá, Vênus tira
Salmouras de cais
Mas tudo pode mudar no malavrar
No danar
No nadar no nada mar
E ela… pode até a cortesia de voltar
O coelho à Alice:
Você me pergunta como o relógio funciona
Por enquanto apenas observemos as horas
O dia está ainda pelo umbigo
O coelho à Alice:
Você me pergunta como o relógio funciona
Por enquanto apenas observemos as horas
O dia está ainda pelo umbigo
O coelho à Alice:
Você me pergunta como o relógio funciona
Por enquanto apenas observemos as horas
O dia está ainda pelo umbigo
O coelho à Alice:
Você me pergunta como o relógio funciona
Por enquanto apenas observemos as horas
O dia está ainda pelo umbigo
Sixteen whistles divided into two sets are positioned in the gallery at a relative distance from each other, serving as a vehicle for pneumatic dialogues. The sculptures produce musical notes, ranging from high to low, from scream to whisper. Clamors that can be orchestrated while we emulate the first gesture of the creator, who breathed life unto us by blowing the clay.
Sixteen whistles divided into two sets are positioned in the gallery at a relative distance from each other, serving as a vehicle for pneumatic dialogues. The sculptures produce musical notes, ranging from high to low, from scream to whisper. Clamors that can be orchestrated while we emulate the first gesture of the creator, who breathed life unto us by blowing the clay.
Sixteen whistles divided into two sets are positioned in the gallery at a relative distance from each other, serving as a vehicle for pneumatic dialogues. The sculptures produce musical notes, ranging from high to low, from scream to whisper. Clamors that can be orchestrated while we emulate the first gesture of the creator, who breathed life unto us by blowing the clay.
Sixteen whistles divided into two sets are positioned in the gallery at a relative distance from each other, serving as a vehicle for pneumatic dialogues. The sculptures produce musical notes, ranging from high to low, from scream to whisper. Clamors that can be orchestrated while we emulate the first gesture of the creator, who breathed life unto us by blowing the clay.
There is a traditional Peruvian clay modeling technique for building water-powered sounding vases. Maneno Llinkarimachiq, a renowned ceramist from the Chulicana community, has created, on an unprecedented scale, three pairs of these in different sizes. They are manually activated by a mechanism similar to a seesaw. The liquid in their interiors pushes the air out, which in turn blows the whistles located in the upper part of the structures. They are traditionally decorated with birds’ heads. This fact contributed to the title given to the work.
There is a traditional Peruvian clay modeling technique for building water-powered sounding vases. Maneno Llinkarimachiq, a renowned ceramist from the Chulicana community, has created, on an unprecedented scale, three pairs of these in different sizes. They are manually activated by a mechanism similar to a seesaw. The liquid in their interiors pushes the air out, which in turn blows the whistles located in the upper part of the structures. They are traditionally decorated with birds’ heads. This fact contributed to the title given to the work.
There is a traditional Peruvian clay modeling technique for building water-powered sounding vases. Maneno Llinkarimachiq, a renowned ceramist from the Chulicana community, has created, on an unprecedented scale, three pairs of these in different sizes. They are manually activated by a mechanism similar to a seesaw. The liquid in their interiors pushes the air out, which in turn blows the whistles located in the upper part of the structures. They are traditionally decorated with birds’ heads. This fact contributed to the title given to the work.
There is a traditional Peruvian clay modeling technique for building water-powered sounding vases. Maneno Llinkarimachiq, a renowned ceramist from the Chulicana community, has created, on an unprecedented scale, three pairs of these in different sizes. They are manually activated by a mechanism similar to a seesaw. The liquid in their interiors pushes the air out, which in turn blows the whistles located in the upper part of the structures. They are traditionally decorated with birds’ heads. This fact contributed to the title given to the work.
In the mining industry, Ganga is the name given to the impurities present in the metal to be refined. The etymological origin of its African matrix is derived from the term Nganga, which denominates the chief sorcerer of the old cabinda yards. For apparent and at first unrelated reasons, the word preserves its earthly meaning in both cases, maintaining a relationship with the matter extracted from the soil for the acquisition of power, or with the one who holds power by controlling a territory.
Perseus, when he cut off the Gorgon’s head and dragged it over the Ethiopian coast, precipitated the emergence of Pegasus, which he will ride in some versions of the myth, and corals, which will adorn the curls of the nymphs. By the presence of an aqueous fluid, she who transformed everything into stone transfers its terrible mineralogy from one point to another, resulting in the appearance of unexpected adornments.
This succession of magical images and narratives, alternating appearance and disappearance, horror and beauty, dilution and coagulation, serves as inspiration for this sculpture project. Using the electroplating technique, which consists of coating a piece with metal when both are immersed
in a chemical solution electrified by direct current, a series of hooks are transformed into new objects. Usually associated with violence, hunting and temptation, hooks have their structure modified by the addition of layers that, originating from an anode (a metallic piece that dissolves itself), transform them into controlled but unpredictable accumulations of material deposition.
In the mining industry, Ganga is the name given to the impurities present in the metal to be refined. The etymological origin of its African matrix is derived from the term Nganga, which denominates the chief sorcerer of the old cabinda yards. For apparent and at first unrelated reasons, the word preserves its earthly meaning in both cases, maintaining a relationship with the matter extracted from the soil for the acquisition of power, or with the one who holds power by controlling a territory.
Perseus, when he cut off the Gorgon’s head and dragged it over the Ethiopian coast, precipitated the emergence of Pegasus, which he will ride in some versions of the myth, and corals, which will adorn the curls of the nymphs. By the presence of an aqueous fluid, she who transformed everything into stone transfers its terrible mineralogy from one point to another, resulting in the appearance of unexpected adornments.
This succession of magical images and narratives, alternating appearance and disappearance, horror and beauty, dilution and coagulation, serves as inspiration for this sculpture project. Using the electroplating technique, which consists of coating a piece with metal when both are immersed
in a chemical solution electrified by direct current, a series of hooks are transformed into new objects. Usually associated with violence, hunting and temptation, hooks have their structure modified by the addition of layers that, originating from an anode (a metallic piece that dissolves itself), transform them into controlled but unpredictable accumulations of material deposition.
In the mining industry, Ganga is the name given to the impurities present in the metal to be refined. The etymological origin of its African matrix is derived from the term Nganga, which denominates the chief sorcerer of the old cabinda yards. For apparent and at first unrelated reasons, the word preserves its earthly meaning in both cases, maintaining a relationship with the matter extracted from the soil for the acquisition of power, or with the one who holds power by controlling a territory.
Perseus, when he cut off the Gorgon’s head and dragged it over the Ethiopian coast, precipitated the emergence of Pegasus, which he will ride in some versions of the myth, and corals, which will adorn the curls of the nymphs. By the presence of an aqueous fluid, she who transformed everything into stone transfers its terrible mineralogy from one point to another, resulting in the appearance of unexpected adornments.
This succession of magical images and narratives, alternating appearance and disappearance, horror and beauty, dilution and coagulation, serves as inspiration for this sculpture project. Using the electroplating technique, which consists of coating a piece with metal when both are immersed
in a chemical solution electrified by direct current, a series of hooks are transformed into new objects. Usually associated with violence, hunting and temptation, hooks have their structure modified by the addition of layers that, originating from an anode (a metallic piece that dissolves itself), transform them into controlled but unpredictable accumulations of material deposition.
In the mining industry, Ganga is the name given to the impurities present in the metal to be refined. The etymological origin of its African matrix is derived from the term Nganga, which denominates the chief sorcerer of the old cabinda yards. For apparent and at first unrelated reasons, the word preserves its earthly meaning in both cases, maintaining a relationship with the matter extracted from the soil for the acquisition of power, or with the one who holds power by controlling a territory.
Perseus, when he cut off the Gorgon’s head and dragged it over the Ethiopian coast, precipitated the emergence of Pegasus, which he will ride in some versions of the myth, and corals, which will adorn the curls of the nymphs. By the presence of an aqueous fluid, she who transformed everything into stone transfers its terrible mineralogy from one point to another, resulting in the appearance of unexpected adornments.
This succession of magical images and narratives, alternating appearance and disappearance, horror and beauty, dilution and coagulation, serves as inspiration for this sculpture project. Using the electroplating technique, which consists of coating a piece with metal when both are immersed
in a chemical solution electrified by direct current, a series of hooks are transformed into new objects. Usually associated with violence, hunting and temptation, hooks have their structure modified by the addition of layers that, originating from an anode (a metallic piece that dissolves itself), transform them into controlled but unpredictable accumulations of material deposition.
In the mining industry, Ganga is the name given to the impurities present in the metal to be refined. The etymological origin of its African matrix is derived from the term Nganga, which denominates the chief sorcerer of the old cabinda yards. For apparent and at first unrelated reasons, the word preserves its earthly meaning in both cases, maintaining a relationship with the matter extracted from the soil for the acquisition of power, or with the one who holds power by controlling a territory.
Perseus, when he cut off the Gorgon’s head and dragged it over the Ethiopian coast, precipitated the emergence of Pegasus, which he will ride in some versions of the myth, and corals, which will adorn the curls of the nymphs. By the presence of an aqueous fluid, she who transformed everything into stone transfers its terrible mineralogy from one point to another, resulting in the appearance of unexpected adornments.
This succession of magical images and narratives, alternating appearance and disappearance, horror and beauty, dilution and coagulation, serves as inspiration for this sculpture project. Using the electroplating technique, which consists of coating a piece with metal when both are immersed
in a chemical solution electrified by direct current, a series of hooks are transformed into new objects. Usually associated with violence, hunting and temptation, hooks have their structure modified by the addition of layers that, originating from an anode (a metallic piece that dissolves itself), transform them into controlled but unpredictable accumulations of material deposition.
In the mining industry, Ganga is the name given to the impurities present in the metal to be refined. The etymological origin of its African matrix is derived from the term Nganga, which denominates the chief sorcerer of the old cabinda yards. For apparent and at first unrelated reasons, the word preserves its earthly meaning in both cases, maintaining a relationship with the matter extracted from the soil for the acquisition of power, or with the one who holds power by controlling a territory.
Perseus, when he cut off the Gorgon’s head and dragged it over the Ethiopian coast, precipitated the emergence of Pegasus, which he will ride in some versions of the myth, and corals, which will adorn the curls of the nymphs. By the presence of an aqueous fluid, she who transformed everything into stone transfers its terrible mineralogy from one point to another, resulting in the appearance of unexpected adornments.
This succession of magical images and narratives, alternating appearance and disappearance, horror and beauty, dilution and coagulation, serves as inspiration for this sculpture project. Using the electroplating technique, which consists of coating a piece with metal when both are immersed
in a chemical solution electrified by direct current, a series of hooks are transformed into new objects. Usually associated with violence, hunting and temptation, hooks have their structure modified by the addition of layers that, originating from an anode (a metallic piece that dissolves itself), transform them into controlled but unpredictable accumulations of material deposition.
The Dada Fidget Toy Orchestra (DFTO) group explores digital modeling and animation technologies in order to create works of art. There is an irreversible bias of the information economy towards metaverses, and the three artists, who have been collaborating for years, got together to explore this recent condition. In a process of collage, the project combines digital models acquired from virtual stores, collections of scientific institutions or downloaded for free on the internet, overlapping references from mass- and high-culture.
The film’s narrative presents views of an archipelago formed by monuments and topography resulting from the hybridization of these collections.
Fidget is the English term for compulsive and repetitive movements in episodes of nervousness.
The Dada Fidget Toy Orchestra (DFTO) group explores digital modeling and animation technologies in order to create works of art. There is an irreversible bias of the information economy towards metaverses, and the three artists, who have been collaborating for years, got together to explore this recent condition. In a process of collage, the project combines digital models acquired from virtual stores, collections of scientific institutions or downloaded for free on the internet, overlapping references from mass- and high-culture.
The film’s narrative presents views of an archipelago formed by monuments and topography resulting from the hybridization of these collections.
Fidget is the English term for compulsive and repetitive movements in episodes of nervousness.
The Dada Fidget Toy Orchestra (DFTO) group explores digital modeling and animation technologies in order to create works of art. There is an irreversible bias of the information economy towards metaverses, and the three artists, who have been collaborating for years, got together to explore this recent condition. In a process of collage, the project combines digital models acquired from virtual stores, collections of scientific institutions or downloaded for free on the internet, overlapping references from mass- and high-culture.
The film’s narrative presents views of an archipelago formed by monuments and topography resulting from the hybridization of these collections.
Fidget is the English term for compulsive and repetitive movements in episodes of nervousness.
The Dada Fidget Toy Orchestra (DFTO) group explores digital modeling and animation technologies in order to create works of art. There is an irreversible bias of the information economy towards metaverses, and the three artists, who have been collaborating for years, got together to explore this recent condition. In a process of collage, the project combines digital models acquired from virtual stores, collections of scientific institutions or downloaded for free on the internet, overlapping references from mass- and high-culture.
The film’s narrative presents views of an archipelago formed by monuments and topography resulting from the hybridization of these collections.
Fidget is the English term for compulsive and repetitive movements in episodes of nervousness.
Gabriela Albergaria’s work involves a territory: nature. A nature catalogued, manipulated, planted, renamed and transported through the continuous research of forests and gardens. For Albergaria, these places constitute systems of representation and descriptive mechanisms that synthesize the set of beliefs that we use to represent the natural world.
The images of forests, gardens, plants and seeds employed by the artist are used as devices that reveal processes of cultural change through which visions on nature are produced. Mediated by systems of representation, they suggest different versions of what we perceive as a landscape – a complex system of material structures, visual hierarchies and cultural constructions that define the framework of our visual field.
In the form of a drawing cabinet, (…) a single species (…) presents works created by Albergaria after an expedition in the Amazon, coordinated by botanical researcher Lúcia Lohmann, of the University of São Paulo (USP), in 2016, which traveled the Negro and Branco rivers and their banks.
The solo exhibition also includes works created after visiting other Brazilian biomes, such as the one typical of the cerrado region in the state of Goiás, visited by the artist in 2019, during a trip that was part of the research process for the exhibition Oréades, presented later at Embassy of Portugal in Brasília in 2021.
Albergaria takes the title of the exhibition, (…) a single species (…), from the book “Paintings of Nature: an anthology”, by German geographer and naturalist Alexander von Humbolt (1769-1859). According to her, Humbolt’s phrase suggests the idea of the impoverishment of species that do not interbreed, something akin to monocultures. This concept was incorporated by Albergaria and is seen in the series Sementes (2021), consisting of 16 drawings. The regular pattern given to the organic forms of the seeds attributes a canonical character to the representation of the seeds that Albergaria observed in the cerrado in 2019.
“I used a thorn from a ceiba or silk floss tree (Ceiba speciosa) that I collected on one of my daily expedition trips in the Amazon and produced several replicas in bronze. The piece indicates the 13 places Where this species grows along the Equator.”
Gabriela Albergaria, in the catalog for the exhibition “Nature Abhors a Straight Line”, Culturgest, Lisbon, 2020.
“I used a thorn from a ceiba or silk floss tree (Ceiba speciosa) that I collected on one of my daily expedition trips in the Amazon and produced several replicas in bronze. The piece indicates the 13 places Where this species grows along the Equator.”
Gabriela Albergaria, in the catalog for the exhibition “Nature Abhors a Straight Line”, Culturgest, Lisbon, 2020.
In “Color Chart Brasília,” Gabriela Albergaria develops a color chart of the botanical elements in the Brazilian capital. The artwork employs scientific processes of observation and species cataloging. Mediated through systems of representation, Albergaria’s pieces generate varied interpretations of what we perceive as landscape—a complex system of material structures, visual hierarchies, and cultural constructs that shape the framing of our visual field
In “Color Chart Brasília,” Gabriela Albergaria develops a color chart of the botanical elements in the Brazilian capital. The artwork employs scientific processes of observation and species cataloging. Mediated through systems of representation, Albergaria’s pieces generate varied interpretations of what we perceive as landscape—a complex system of material structures, visual hierarchies, and cultural constructs that shape the framing of our visual field
The group show A Deusa Linguagem [The Goddess Language] brings together works by 14 artists who are part of the study group at Ateliê Fotô, coordinated by curator Eder Chiodetto and researcher Fabiana Bruno.
In the second half of 2022, the group was invited to watch the film Goodbye to Language (2014), by French filmmaker Jean Luc Godard, in order to discuss, in their individual artistic projects, issues that relate to the French artist’s film, such as: the collapse of communication, the exhaustion of images in the contemporary world, the dismantling of rational logic nad the possibility of restoring poetics via editing and non-linear narratives.
Starting from this proposition and based on these tenets, each artist created new images or reviewed their own production and photographic series to engender instances that problematize language. The reflections let to a surprising myriad of works with a considerable multiplicity of approaches.
Photography, the predominant language of the group, was investigated to exhaustion and taken to its limits. Thus, the group assessed status and semantic possibilities in the current dystopian moment in the world, in which political dealings and communication produce dissonant noises more than harmonies and agreements.
In the works that comprise the exhibition, there is an evocation going from the beginnings of photography in the 19th century, with the use of the cyanotype, to the tools of Artificial Intelligence. The investigations carried out by the artists also experimented with juxtaposition and collage, nimated images on video, texts that reorient the meaning of the photos, as well as soundscapes. Some artists break up the two-dimensional plane and others build from the ruins of the image a site to erect a new poetic force.
In the obsessive search for new parameters of expression, the result of these many actions, aiming to scrutinize and review beyond any dogma the possibilities of the photographic gesture, expands the world of language. Hence, we infer that the image is infinite when handled by minds and hearts eager to reflect on the nature of language as sensitive exchanges.
The many provocations made by Godard with Goodbye to Language are returned here anthropophagically by 14 artists from the group of the Ateliê Fotô. After elaborating the photographic expression in many ways, these works tell us about the crisis and the collapse of communication, debating the reconstruction of language as a state of reinvention. Goodbye to Language. To God, the Language. The Goddess Language.
O políptico Acasos Tecnológicos aborda as falhas de interlocução entre equipamentos dgitais, à revelia da vontade humana. Os cortes em alto relevo trazem o traço da criação humana de volta à obra, levando a um resultado final onde acaso, intenção, maquinário e o humano convivem (quase) em harmonia.
O políptico Acasos Tecnológicos aborda as falhas de interlocução entre equipamentos dgitais, à revelia da vontade humana. Os cortes em alto relevo trazem o traço da criação humana de volta à obra, levando a um resultado final onde acaso, intenção, maquinário e o humano convivem (quase) em harmonia.
A obra Sem Palavras aponta para a incomunicabilidade crescente no mundo atual ao mesmo tempo que oferece todas as letras para que a comunicação se restabeleça.
A obra Sem Palavras aponta para a incomunicabilidade crescente no mundo atual ao mesmo tempo que oferece todas as letras para que a comunicação se restabeleça.
A obra Sem Palavras aponta para a incomunicabilidade crescente no mundo atual ao mesmo tempo que oferece todas as letras para que a comunicação se restabeleça.
A obra Sem Palavras aponta para a incomunicabilidade crescente no mundo atual ao mesmo tempo que oferece todas as letras para que a comunicação se restabeleça.
A obra, construída por sobreposições de lâminas de imagens, nega o acesso aos seus conteúdos tornando-se tão somente um acúmulo que cita a forma como na contemporaneidade recalcamos memórias e experiências ao passo que privilegiamos a voracidade do consumo visual.
A obra, construída por sobreposições de lâminas de imagens, nega o acesso aos seus conteúdos tornando-se tão somente um acúmulo que cita a forma como na contemporaneidade recalcamos memórias e experiências ao passo que privilegiamos a voracidade do consumo visual.
Como podem ser os encontros entre a realidade e o imaginário? Na série “Constelações”, a artista borda a relação entre eles. A partir da desconstrução de paisagens fotografadas, novas possibilidades se formam. Areias que simulam astros em céus noturnos, unem pontos e formam linhas aludindo a constelações.
Como podem ser os encontros entre a realidade e o imaginário? Na série “Constelações”, a artista borda a relação entre eles. A partir da desconstrução de paisagens fotografadas, novas possibilidades se formam. Areias que simulam astros em céus noturnos, unem pontos e formam linhas aludindo a constelações.
As imagens que sobrevivem aos retratados, gerando um meta corpo que segue nesse mundo, impulsionam essa constelação de feições que se recombinam na tentativa de gerar novas aparências e vivências. Pontes investe nas ruínas das imagens na tentativa de criar monumentos à invisibilidade.
As imagens que sobrevivem aos retratados, gerando um meta corpo que segue nesse mundo, impulsionam essa constelação de feições que se recombinam na tentativa de gerar novas aparências e vivências. Pontes investe nas ruínas das imagens na tentativa de criar monumentos à invisibilidade.
Nessa série a forma é explorada por meio do uso de imagens que interagem com descartes de papéis oriundos da impressão do meu primeiro livro (Forma Reforma). Variações e redundâncias buscam tecer uma pauta coreográfica possível para um corpo frenéƟco afetado pelos excessos da contemporaneidade.
Nessa série a forma é explorada por meio do uso de imagens que interagem com descartes de papéis oriundos da impressão do meu primeiro livro (Forma Reforma). Variações e redundâncias buscam tecer uma pauta coreográfica possível para um corpo frenéƟco afetado pelos excessos da contemporaneidade.
Trípticos realizados com a apropriação de imagens do filme Adeus à Linguagem de Godard. As imagens foram converƟdas ao processo fotográfico de cianotopia, que remontam ao surgimento da linguagem fotográfica no século XIX.
Trípticos realizados com a apropriação de imagens do filme Adeus à Linguagem de Godard. As imagens foram converƟdas ao processo fotográfico de cianotopia, que remontam ao surgimento da linguagem fotográfica no século XIX.
Esse políptico se apropria de imagens de diversas origens que em seguida passam por processamentos quer incorporam o acaso no laboratório experimental da artista. Reciclar imagens voláteis da televisão e outros meios, que nos abordam diariamente para criar novos vetores simbólicos é a base da minha “ecologia das imagens”.
Esse políptico se apropria de imagens de diversas origens que em seguida passam por processamentos quer incorporam o acaso no laboratório experimental da artista. Reciclar imagens voláteis da televisão e outros meios, que nos abordam diariamente para criar novos vetores simbólicos é a base da minha “ecologia das imagens”.