33rd Bienal de São Paulo (2018) - Catalogue

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Ministry of Culture, Fundação Bienal and Itaú present

33bienal/sp [affective affinities]

affective affinities 33bienal /sp


founder Francisco Matarazzo Sobrinho · 1898–1977 · chairman emeritus management board

Luis Terepins Marcelo Eduardo Martins Marcelo Mattos Araújo (on leave) Marcelo Pereira Lopes de Medeiros

Tito Enrique da Silva Neto · president

Maria Ignez Corrêa da Costa Barbosa

Alfredo Egydio Setubal · vice president

Marisa Moreira Salles

lifetime members

Miguel Wady Chaia Neide Helena de Moraes

Adolpho Leirner

Paula Regina Depieri

Alex Periscinoto

Paulo Sérgio Coutinho Galvão

Álvaro Augusto Vidigal

Ronaldo Cezar Coelho

Beatriz Pimenta Camargo

Sérgio Spinelli Silva Jr.

Beno Suchodolski

Susana Leirner Steinbruch

Carlos Francisco Bandeira Lins

Victor Pardini

Cesar Giobbi Elizabeth Machado

audit board

Jens Olesen

Carlos Alberto Frederico

Julio Landmann

Carlos Francisco Bandeira Lins

Marcos Arbaitman

Claudio Thomas Lobo Sonder

Pedro Aranha Corrêa do Lago

Pedro Aranha Corrêa do Lago

Pedro Paulo de Sena Madureira Roberto Muylaert Rubens José Mattos Cunha Lima members

international advisory board José Olympio da Veiga Pereira · president Susana Leirner Steinbruch · vice president Barbara Sobel

Alberto Emmanuel Whitaker

Bill Ford

Ana Helena Godoy de Almeida Pires

Catherine Petitgas

Andrea Matarazzo

Debora Staley

Antonio Bias Bueno Guillon

Eduardo Costantini

Antonio Henrique Cunha Bueno

Frances Reynolds

Cacilda Teixeira da Costa

Kara Moore

Camila Appel

Lonti Ebers

Carlos Alberto Frederico

Mariana Clayton

Carlos Augusto Calil

Patricia Phelps de Cisneros

Carlos Jereissati

Paula e Daniel Weiss

Claudio Thomas Lobo Sonder

Sarina Tang

Danilo Santos de Miranda Daniela Villela


Eduardo Saron

João Carlos de Figueiredo Ferraz · president

Emanoel Alves de Araújo

Eduardo Saron

Evelyn Ioschpe

Flavia Buarque de Almeida

Fábio Magalhães

João Livi

Fersen Lamas Lambranho

Justo Werlang

Geyze Marchesi Diniz

Lidia Goldenstein

Heitor Martins

Renata Mei Hsu Guimarães

Horácio Lafer Piva

Ricardo Brito Santos Pereira

Jackson Schneider

Rodrigo Bresser Pereira

Jean-Marc Robert Nogueira Baptista Etlin João Carlos de Figueiredo Ferraz Joaquim de Arruda Falcão Neto José Olympio da Veiga Pereira Kelly Amorim Lorenzo Mammì Lucio Gomes Machado

In 1951, in a Brazil on the way to urbanization, when the nation’s first museums dedicated to modern art were still in their first five years of existence, the 1st Bienal de São Paulo attracted 100,000 people to the Trianon Esplanade. Featuring artworks that would directly and profoundly influence the direction of Brazilian art, the Bienal in its first edition established its connection to cutting-edge artistic thinking and production, and demonstrated its ability to bring art closer to the general public. Much has changed in the Bienal since then, as would be expected. The event has incorporated various subject matters, media and art languages. To remain pertinent, the structure of the show has stayed malleable, adapting to different formats and models to fit the times. In this 33rd edition, the Bienal continues to blaze a trail to the new. Once again, the event is experimenting with another configuration, this time as an alternative to the “operational system” widely used over the course of the last twenty years by the largest exhibitions of contemporary art, among which the Bienal itself is included. The Fundação Bienal, created in 1962, arose with the same aims of innovation and criticism as the biennial event that is its raison d’être. For almost sixty years, the foundation has likewise adopted various operational and management models, seeking constant improvement in the realization of its mission and in the processes used to achieve it. The scope of the foundation’s activity has grown, as well as its reach. Today, while the Bienal exhibition is undeniably the foundation’s main project, the show is only one of the many activities carried out by the Fundação Bienal. These other activities most notably include a successful program of traveling exhibitions, promoted through many cultural

partnerships, especially with Sesc São Paulo – an initiative that brings the Bienal’s innovative and transformative presence beyond the city of São Paulo and the country of Brazil. The 33rd Bienal de São Paulo – Afinidades afetivas [Affective Affinities] would not have been possible without the support of the Brazilian Ministry of Culture and the São Paulo State Secretariat of Culture through the cultural incentive laws; the State Secretariat of Education; the master sponsors Itaú and ISA CTEEP; and all our other partners, especially the São Paulo City Government, the Municipal Secretariat of Culture, the Secretariat of Greenery and the Natural Environment, and Ibirapuera Park. It is through collaboration with these agents, as well as with the art community and the public, that the Fundação Bienal aims to keep contributing to the development of a society increasingly more creative, tolerant and plural, open to dialogue and to the new. João Carlos de Figueiredo Ferraz President of the Fundação Bienal de São Paulo

A New Outlook

Created in 1951, for nearly seven decades the Bienal Internacional de São Paulo has played an essential role in the cultural and art scene in Brazil. It has brought together millions of people involved in the production of national and international contemporary art, connecting them to a normally little accessible world. Its performance has therefore set benchmarks in regard to the perennial goals of cultural policy. It has enlarged access, shared stimulating experiences, contributed to enlarging the repertoire of many people, energized the art world, jolted comfort zones, sparked debate, and opened the doors of perception. Now, in the middle of the second decade of the 21st century, the Bienal is proposing new challenges: to reinvent itself; re-signify itself. In a context ruled by acceleration and excess, in which people are bombarded daily by a whirlwind of images and information, the Bienal is going against the grain of this trend. In 2018, its thousands of visitors will have a new and potentially transformative experience. The artists are beginning to take on a more central role in relation to the space and general experience of this edition of the Bienal, in which the task of conceiving the exhibition will be shared by the curator with seven artists. The main priorities are focus and attention. Without scattering. Without fragmentation. But with the same intensity as always. Reinventing oneself is an act of courage. Abandoning traditional concepts that were once revolutionary, sailing against the tide, running opposite to the spirit of the time to valorize the territory of art… It is not easy. But it is necessary to dare to try. I congratulate the organization of the 33rd edition of the Bienal for, once again, investing in

difference. “Art is the experimental exercise of freedom,” as stated in an article by the great art critic Mário Pedrosa (1900–1981), whose work has inspired the title of this edition of the Bienal: Afinidades afetivas [Affective Affinities]. It is in art that we find the full space of freedom, in which constitutional principles of a vital character become objective, concrete, real. Art is also economy and development. We have intensely emphasized this dimension at the Ministry of Culture. It bears repeating, as not everyone is aware of this. The cultural and creative activities are vocations of this country and contribute much toward the generation of income, jobs, inclusion and happiness. And they are already responsible for 2.64% of the Brazilian gross domestic product (GDP), for about 1 million direct jobs, for 200,000 companies and institutions, and for the generation of more than R$10.5 billion in direct taxes. In this context, I invite everyone participating in this edition of the Bienal to reflect on a simple message: culture generates the future. This is the moment to give culture the place it deserves; to see cultural policy as a means for bringing about the development that we desire for our society. A development that not only generates and distributes wealth, but which also transforms, stimulates, reinvents and potentializes individuals and the country as a whole – which is precisely what art does, with its symbolic and economic dimensions. And the Bienal de São Paulo contributes much toward this. To everyone, an excellent Bienal. Sérgio Sá Leitão Minister of Culture

We believe that access to culture is essential for constructing the identity of a nation and leads to the advancement of active citizenship. For this reason we support and encourage a wide diversity of artistic and cultural manifestations, including the largest contemporary art exhibition in the southern hemisphere, the Bienal de São Paulo, which we are sponsoring for the fifth year in a row. People’s worlds change with more culture. The world of culture changes with more people. Itaú

By promoting connections, we bring distant elements closer together, enabling their contact and, often, creating something transformative. Establishing connections that contribute to the development of the nation and society is the aim of our work. Sixty percent of the electrical power consumed in Brazil’s Southeast and nearly 100% of the power consumed in the state of São Paulo flows through ISA CTEEP’s infrastructure. Our connections go beyond the interlinking of different points in Brazil through electrical power: our goal is to connect people. We are part of a whole, and this is why we want to leave a legacy to society and to future generations. This concern for human development is aligned to our successful partnership with the Fundação Bienal to promote access to art for an ever-growing number of people. The company is proud to support cultural projects of this significance, which stimulate reflection and the development of citizens. ISA CTEEP

Culture and education form an inseparable duo. This idea is present in the action of various institutions whose work is focused on the field of art. We recognize the irreducible character of art in relation to other forms of knowledge and action when we observe its capacity to bring about transformations in the day-to-day life of people and collectivities, putting its educational potential into use. Based on this premise, Sesc and Fundação Bienal de São Paulo maintain a productive partnership, an outgrowth of the compatibility of their missions for the spread and encouragement of contemporary art. In recent years, this partnership has been intensified and enlarged through constructive actions of curatorship, open meetings with the public, seminars and the coproduction of artworks, culminating in the traveling of selected works to units of the Sesc network in the interior and coastal regions of the state of São Paulo. The continuity of this cooperation is essential for Sesc’s work, linking actions with a potential that should be leveraged in various ways over time. By fostering ways of understanding and cross-sections of reality that put the dominant notions of the world into perspective, the goal is for this work to constitute permanent platforms for educational processes. Danilo Santos de Miranda Regional Director of Sesc São Paulo

For the 33rd edition of the Bienal de São Paulo, one of the central concerns was to question some of the automatisms that govern the process of putting together an international biennial. This involved a restructuring of the curatorial model, to bring artists actively into the process, to create an educational program focused on issues of attention rather than the specific content of the artworks being shown, and to dispense with the thematic model that has been prevalent around the world over the last few decades. This spirit of renovation should also naturally apply to the catalogue, and to the publication program in general. Any biennial catalogue faces a number of implicit challenges. First of all, given the extremely tight timeline on which biennials are typically organized, the catalogue is in the unenviable position of representing an event that is still being conceived as the publication deadlines speed by. This is made more severe by the fact that, more often than not, a biennial will include many commissioned works that will only be ready days before the opening. As a result, the institution often faces a cruel choice between making a catalogue that expresses, at best, a set of intentions and descriptions of works and concepts that are still in process, or the catalogue is delayed, in which case the visitors are not able to access the book, which is launched often after the exhibition itself has closed. Of course, there are multiple strategies to deal with this, from creating more autonomous publications that provide anthologies of critical texts, or fiction that relates to the overall theme, digital publications, or any number of variations. For this edition of the Bienal, in the spirit of involving artists in all aspects of the project, the traditional catalogue has been replaced by a

series of artist books: one for each artist-curated project, and one for each solo presentation. The artist-curators or artists were given a choice of a booklet or poster format and were free to use the format in whichever way they chose, with no obligation to register, record, or even make reference to the exhibition itself. The range of the publications brought together here testifies to the variety of approaches undertaken by each artist, but also to the vast possibilities of the artist-book format. Shortly after the opening of the Bienal, another book will be published that records the exhibition itself, including interviews with the participating artists, photographs of the actual exhibition design and the works in situ, as well as a commissioned visual essay by the artist Mauro Restiffe. Together with the educational publication Convite à atenção, the books included in this volume aspire to take the 33rd Bienal as a starting point and not a terminus, as an opportunity to create publications that explore the multiple ways that contemporary artists understand and interpret the world, through their affections and their affinities. Gabriel Pérez-Barreiro


group exhbitions

individual projects

to our parents

the appearances

Alejandro Cesarco [artist-curator] / Andrea Büttner / Cameron Rowland / Henrik Olesen / Jennifer Packer / John Miller / Louise Lawler / Matt Mullican / Oliver Laric / Peter Dreher / Sara Cwynar / Sturtevant

Anthony Caro / Antonio Calderara / Antonio Dias / Armando Reverón / Blaise Cendrars / Bruce Nauman / Cabelo / Friedrich VordembergeGildewart / Gego / Jorge Oteiza / José Resende / Miguel Rio Branco / Milton Dacosta / Oswaldo Goeldi / Richard Hamilton / Sergio Camargo / Tunga / Vicente do Rego Monteiro / Victor Hugo / Waltercio Caldas [artist-curator]


Alberto Sánchez / Andrea Büttner / Antonio Ballester Moreno [art­ ist-curator] / Benjamín Palencia / Friedrich Fröbel / José Moreno Cascales / Mark Dion / Matríztica (Humberto Maturana and Ximena Dávila) / Rafael Sánchez-Mateos Paniagua the slow bird

Ben Rivers / Claudia Fontes [artist-curator] / Daniel Bozhkov / Elba Bairon / Katrín Sigurdardóttir / Pablo Martín Ruiz / Paola Sferco / Roderick Hietbrink / Sebastián Castagna / Žilvinas Landzbergas stargazer ii

Åke Hodell / Bruno Knutman / Carl Fredrik Hill / Dick Bengtsson / Ernst Josephson / Gunvor Nelson / Henry Darger / Ladislas Starewitch / Lim-Johan / Mamma Andersson [artist-curator] / Miroslav Tichý / Russian icons the infinite history of things or the end of the tragedy of one

Adelina Gomes / Ana Prata / Antonio Malta Campos / Arthur Amora / Bruno Dunley / Carlos Ibraim / Jennifer Tee / José Alberto de Almeida / Lea M. Afonso Resende / Leda Catunda / Martín Gusinde / Rafael Carneiro / Sara Ramo / Sarah Lucas / Serafim Alvares / Sofia Borges [artist-curator] / Sônia Catarina Agostinho Nascimento / Tal Isaac Hadad / Thomas Dupal / Tunga / other artists will be included troughout the exhibition

always, never

Lhola Amira / Mame-Diarra Niang / Nicole Vlado / ruby onyinyechi amanze / Wura-Natasha Ogunji [artist-curator] / Youmna Chlala

Alejandro Corujeira Aníbal López (A-1 53167)  Bruno Moreschi Denise Milan  Feliciano Centurión Lucia Nogueira Luiza Crosman Maria Laet Nelson Felix Siron Franco  Tamar Guimarães Vânia Mignone


alejandro cesarco

antonio ballester moreno

Chantal Akerman. No Home Movie, 2016. Film, color. 115’. Courtesy of Chantal Akerman Foundation, Paradise Filmes & Liaisons cinématographiques © Chantal Akerman Foundation. Design: Scott Ponik.

Estrella #5 [Star #5], 2016. Paisaje Sol [Landscape Sun], 2016. Luna [Moon], 2016. Lluvia [Rain], 2016. Sol (negativo) [Sun (Negative)], 2016. Collage, color cardboard /  paper. 35 ≈ 25 cm. Courtesy: MaisterraValbuena, Christopher Grimes and Pedro Cera. Text editing: Rafael Sánchez‑Mateos Paniágua.

alejandro corujeira

Series Lo que no ven tus ojos [What Your Eyes Do Not See], 2018. Graphite, color pencil and watercolor on paper. 30 ≈ 22.5 cm. Artist's collection. Photo: Francisco Fernández / Unidad Móvil. Phrase: No es condición / de la luz / dejarte ver [Not a condition / of light / to let you see].

aníbal lópez

Guardias de seguridad [Security Guards], 2002. Action held at Fuori Uso Ferrotel, Pescara, Italy, for the opening of an exhibition. Curated by: Teresa Macrì, Prometeo Gallery, Milan. Photograph. Acumulação Cultural Collection. Photo: Aníbal López. Artist’s notebook, n.d. Pages of the artist's notebook. Ink on paper. Archive of A-1 Collection. Obras en sitio [Works on Site], 1998– 2000. Series of 10 actions carried out between 506 and 508 D.O. in partnership with artists Diego Britt and Sylvestre Gobart. Reference video of the work edited by Diego Britt available at www.youtube.com/ watch?v=e3OxhLh8iug. Accessed in 2018. A-1 531676 – Archivo

Fundación Yaxs Collection, Guatemala City. 500 cajas pasadas de contrabando de Paraguay a Brasil [500 Boxes Smuggled from Paraguay to Brazil], 2007. Action taken for the exhibition Três Fronteiras, part of the 6th Mercosul Biennial. Photograph / video. 5’11’’ (video). Archive of A-1 Collection, courtesy of the artist's family. Photos: Aníbal López. 30 de junio [June 30], 2000. Action taken on one of the main streets of Guatemala City before the Army Day parade. Photograph. Hugo Quinto and Juan Pablo Lojo Collection, Bogotá. Photo: Aníbal López. Una tonelada de libros tirada sobre la Avenida Reforma [A Ton of Books Dumped on Avenida Reforma], 2003. Photograph / video. 2’26’’ (video). Hugo Quinto and Juan Pablo Lojo Collection, Bogotá / Prometeo Gallery, Milan. The Beautiful People, 2003. Documentation of action taken at an exhibition opening at Contexto art space, City of Guatemala. Photograph. Archive of A-1 Collection, courtesy of the artist's family. Photos: Aníbal López. Testimonio (Sicario) [Testimony (Sicario)], 2012. Video. 43’39’’. Prometeo Gallery, Milan. La distancia entre dos puntos [The Distance Between Two Points], 2001. Documentation of action. Photograph. Victor Martinez Collection. Photo: Aníbal López. Punto en movimiento [A Point in Movement], 2002. Documentation of action. Hugo Quinto and Juan Pablo Lojo Collection, Bogotá. Photo: Aníbal López. El lacandón [The Lacandón], 2006. Documentation of action. Photograph. 187 ≈ 153 cm. Hugo Quinto and Juan Pablo Lojo Collection, Bogotá. Photo: Aníbal López.

bruno moreschi

Opening of the 1st Bienal de São Paulo (1951) with the presence of its founder Francisco Matarazzo Sobrinho. © Cav. Giov. Strazza / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo. Opening of the 1st Bienal de São Paulo (1951) with the presence of Jarbas Passarinho, Laudo Natel, Francisco Matarazzo Sobrinho and Roberto Costa de Abreu Sodré. Photo: Unknown author / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo. Visitor in the Special Room dedicated to the artist Alexander Calder in the 2nd Bienal de São Paulo (1953-54). International Award Jury for the 1st Bienal de São Paulo (1951): Jan van As (Holland), Eric Newton (United Kingdom), René D’Harnoncourt (USA), Marco Valsecchi (Italy), Jacques Lassaigne (France) and Sérgio Milliet (Brazil). © Peter Scheier / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo. Historical Nucleus section of the 24th Bienal de São Paulo (1998) with the paintings Mameluca [Mameluke Woman], Mulher africana [African Woman], Índia tupi [Tupi Indian] and Índia tarairiu [Tarairiu Indian], by Albert Eckhout. © Gal Oppido / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo. Unidade tripartida [Tripartite Unit], Max Bill's sculpture awarded the Prize of Sculpture for foreign artists, in the galleries dedicated to the Swiss Representation in the 1st Bienal de São Paulo (1951). Photo: Unknown author / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo. Special Room dedicated to the artist Edward Hopper in the 9th Bienal de São Paulo (1967). Photo: Unknown author / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo. Bienal Pavilion façade (São Paulo, 2014). © Pedro Ivo Trasferetti / Fundação

Bienal de São Paulo. Aerial view of the Bienal Pavilion (São Paulo, 2011). © Roman Iar Atamanczuk / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo. General view of the Special Room dedicated to the French artist Marcel Duchamp, in the 19th Bienal de São Paulo (1987). © Guimar Morelo / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo. Bienal Pavilion's great span during the 32nd Bienal de São Paulo (2016) with view to Lais Myrrha’s Dois pesos, duas medidas [Double Standard]. © Pedro Ivo Trasferetti / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo. General curator Walter Zanini during meeting with the International Committee for the organization of the 16th Bienal de São Paulo (1981). Photo: Unknown author / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo. Meeting of the Award Jury for the 14th Bienal de São Paulo (1977) with Vice President of the Bienal Foundation Luiz Fernando Rodrigues Alves. © Agência Estado / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo. Team: Gabriel Pereira, a research partner; Bernardo Fontes, programmer; Nina Bamberg, producer.

denise milan

Quartzotekário I [Quartzotekarian I], 2018. Quartzotekário II [Quartzotekarian II], 2018. Quartzotekário III [Quartzotekarian III], 2018. Quartzotekário IV [Quartzotekarian IV], 2018. Quartzotekário V [Quartzotekarian V], 2018. Quartzotekário VI [Quartzotekarian VII], 2018. Quartzotekário VII [Quartzotekarian VII], 2018. Quartzotekário VIII [Quartzotekarian VIII], 2018. Quartzotekário IX [Quartzotekarian IX], 2018. Quartzotekário X [Quartzotekarian X], 2018. Quartzotekário XI [Quartzotekarian XI], 2018. Quartzotekário XII [Quartzotekarian XII], 2018. Quartzotekário XIII [Quartzotekarian XIII], 2018. Quartzotekário XIV [Quartzotekarian XIV], 2018. From the series Quartzotekário [Quartzotekarian], 2018. Cotton paper print. 90 ≈ 70 cm. © Denise Milan / Photographer: Thomas Susemihl. Artist’s assistant: Marcus Vinícius Furtado.

claudia fontes

Nota al pie [Footnote], 2018. Detective story and porcelain ornaments broken by eight birds into 5500 fragments, covered in cotton fabric sewn by hand. 750 ≈ 120 cm. Courtesy of the artist. © 2018 Bernard G Mills. All rights reserved. Phrase by Clarice Lispector: Era uma vez um pássaro, meu Deus. [Once upon a time there was a bird, my God.]

feliciano centurión

Inmensamente azul [Immensely Blue], 1991. Enamel and ñandutí on blanket. 200 ≈ 150 cm. Colección Patricia Phelps de Cisneros.

Promised gift to Museo Reina Sofía, Madrid. Untitled, 1990. Enamel, oil and fabric on blanket. 190 ≈ 135 cm. Andres Brun & Juan Jose Cattaneo Collection, Buenos Aires. Photo: Ignacio Iasparra. Untitled, 1993. Acrylic on synthetic blanket. 239 ≈ 192 cm. Malba, Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires Collection. Photo: Oscar Balducci. Ciervo [Deer], 1994. Acrylic on blanket. 232 ≈ 191 cm. Courtesy: Cecilia Brunson Projects, London. Descansa tu cabeza en mis brazos. [Rest your Head in My Arms], 1995. Embroidery on fabric. 54 ≈ 47 cm. Centurión Family Collection, Asunción. Photo: Javier Medina Verdolini. Ensueño [Dream], 1995. Embroidery on fabric. 50 ≈ 50 cm. Centurión Family Collection, Asunción. Photo: Javier Medina Verdolini. Untitled, 1990. Acrylic on fabric. 50 ≈ 70 ≈ cm. Donald R. Mullins Jr. Collection, Austin. Untitled, 1995. Embroidery on fabric. 44 ≈ 46 cm. Centurión Family Collection, Asunción. Photo: Javier Medina Verdolini. Gansos [Geese], 1991. Acrylic on blanket. 50 ≈ 61 cm. Courtesy: Cecilia Brunson Projects, London. Te quiero [I Love You], 1993. Embroidery on waste canvas. 50 ≈ 52 cm. Eduardo F. Costantini Collection, Buenos Aires. Series Flores del mal de amor [Flowers of Love Sickness], 1996. Embroidery on blanket. 37 ≈ 53 cm each; 6 pieces. Eduardo F. Costantini Collection, Buenos Aires. Photo: Oscar Balducci. Cordero sacrificado [Sacrificed Lamb], c. 1996. Acrylic on polyester blanket. 236.2 ≈ 130.8 cm approx. Blanton Museum of Art Collection, The University of Texas at Austin (Purchased with funds provided by Donald R. Mullins, Jr., 2004 – 2004.173). Photo: Rick Hall. Mi casa es mi templo [My House is My Temple], 1996. Embroidery on waste canvas. 33 ≈ 66 ≈ 53 cm. Centurión Family Collection, Asunción. Photo: Javier Medina Verdolini. Añoranza [Yearning], n.d. Embroidery on pillowcase. 49 ≈ 42 cm. Centurión Family

Collection, Asunción. Photo: Javier Medina Verdolini. Vivir es todo sacrificio [Living is All Sacrifice], 1996. Embroidery on canvas. 55 ≈ 43 cm. Centurión Family Collection, Asunción. Photo: Javier Medina Verdolini. Luz divina del alma [Divine Light of the Soul], c. 1996. Embroidery on pillow. 2.2 ≈ 38 ≈ 7.3 cm. Blanton Museum of Art Collection, The University of Texas at Austin (Purchased with funds provided by Donald R. Mullins, Jr., 2004 – 2004.174). Photo: Rick Hall. Soledad [Solitude], c. 1996. Embroidery on pillow. 26 ≈ 43 cm approx. Blanton Museum of Art Collection, The University of Texas at Austin (Purchased with funds provided by Donald R. Mullins, Jr., 2004 – 2004.178). Photo: Rick Hall. Reposa [Rest], c. 1996. Embroidery on pillow. 22 ≈ 38 cm approx. Blanton Museum of Art Collection, The University of Texas at Austin (Purchased with funds provided by Donald R. Mullins, Jr., 2004 – 2004.177). Photo: Rick Hall. Sueña [Dream], c. 1996. Embroidery on pillow. 22 ≈ 31 cm approx. Blanton Museum of Art Collection, The University of Texas at Austin (Purchased with funds provided by Donald R. Mullins, Jr., 2004 – 2004.180). Photo: Rick Hall.

lucia nogueira

Mischief, 1995. Wooden chair, plastic bin-liners. Dimensions variable. The Estate of Lucia Nogueira. ..., 1992. Silk, sand, zinc, steel, hessian. Dimensions variable. Collection Museum of Contemporary Art, Barcelona. Needle, 1995. Glass,

silicone cord. 213 ≈ 53 ≈ 900 cm (length variable). The Estate of Lucia Nogueira. Full Stop, 1993. Steel post, wooden cable drum. 102 ≈ 57 ≈ 73 cm. The Estate of Lucia Nogueira. Untitled, 1997. Chalk on slate. 45 ≈ 66 cm. Private collection, London. Blink, 1996. Sliding door, steel cable, pulley, ladder, magnet. Dimensions variable. Installation view at Galerie Andreas Lendl, Graz. The Estate of Lucia Nogueira. Swing, 1995. Wood, metal, dust, grease. 245 ≈ 186 ≈ 9 cm. The Estate of Lucia Nogueira. Untitled, 1995. Glass, plastic tweezers, painted wood, metal bracket. 25 ≈ 15 ≈ 15 cm. Private collection, France. Photo: Dave Morgan. Pause, 1992. Aluminium, steel, wire, wax earplug, petrol. 28 ≈ 20 ≈ 12 cm. Photo: Dave Morgan. The Estate of Lucia Nogueira. Hiato [Hiatus], 1990. Frosted glass, plastic tube, glass bottles. 31 ≈ 34 ≈ 25.5 cm. Photo: Dave Morgan. The Estate of Lucia Nogueira. Anchor, 1992. Metal, artificial fur. 91 ≈ 46 ≈ 35 cm. Private collection, Belgium. Monosyllable, 1993. Hair, wig, wood. 56 ≈ 80 ≈ 23 cm. Annely Juda Fine Art Collection, London. Without This, Without That, 1993. Wooden cabinet, plaster, rubber plug, metal chain. 69 ≈ 40 ≈ 45 cm. Photo: Dave Morgan. Annely Juda Fine Art Collection, London. Dilemma, 1992. Wood, metal, latex. 21 ≈ 33 ≈ 24 cm. Photo: Dave Morgan. Private collection. Innocent, 1993. Wood, clockwork toys, glass, metal. 20 ≈ 226 ≈ 86 cm. The Estate of Lucia Nogueira. Refrain, 19911998. Wood, plaster, polished soda can. 17 ≈ 122 ≈ 122 cm. The Estate of Lucia Nogueira. Untitled, 1989. Glass, black beans, organza, graphite. Dimensions variable. Installation view at Mario Flecha Gallery, London (1989). The Estate of Lucia Nogueira. Untitled, 1995. Black wax, metal. 58 ≈ 67 ≈ 68 cm. Estrellita B. Brodsky Collection, New York. Photo: Dave Morgan. Smoke, 1996. 16 mm film transferred to DVD. 5’. The Estate of Lucia Nogueira. No Time for

Commas, 1993. Battery operated toy, paper bag, wood. 61 ≈ 91 ≈ 68 cm. The Estate of Lucia Nogueira. Step, 1995. Oriental carpet, broken glass. Dimensions variable. Museu Calouste Gulbenkian – Moderna Collection, Lisbon. Store, 1992. Wood, metal, gesso, jute. 19 ≈ 78 ≈ 38 cm. The Estate of Lucia Nogueira. At Will and the Other, 1989. Steel, organza, black beans, polystyrene balls, cotton, feather pillows. 42 ≈ 135 ≈ 165 cm. David Juda Collection, London. Ends Without End, 1993. Ceramic, metal, glass, tricycle, silicone cord, pliers. Dimensions variable. The Estate of Lucia Nogueira. Photo: Dave Morgan. Courtesy: Anthony Reynolds Gallery, London © The Estate of Lucia Nogueira

luiza crosman

Design: Pedro Moraes. Diagrammes: Luiza Crosman. Translation: Gabriela Baptista.

mamma andersson

COVER: (top) Henry Darger.

Untitled, c. 1940-1960. Printed paper, carbon tracing, watercolor and pencil on paper. 48 ≈ 119 cm. Courtesy: Museum of Everything.

© 2018 Kiyoko Lerner / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. (center left) Unknown artist. Christ entering Jerusalem, c. 1550. Oil on panel. 71 ≈ 55 cm. National Museum Collection, Stockholm. (center) Mamma Andersson. Stargazer, 2012. Oil on panel. 160 ≈ 100 cm. Courtesy of the artist and Stephen Friedman Gallery, London. © Mamma Andersson / Photo: Stephen White. (center right) Lukas Cranach. Venus, 1532. Oil on panel. 37.7 ≈ 24.5 cm. Städel Museum Collection, Frankfurt. (bottom left) Bruno Knutman. Ringa Gud [Call God], 1967. Oil on canvas. 120 ≈ 95.5 cm. Courtesy: Moderna Museet, Stockholm. © The Estate of Bruno Knutman / Photo: Moderna Museet. (bottom right) Dick Bengtsson. Badhuset [The Public Baths], 1977. Oil on panel. 109 ≈ 73 cm. Courtesy: Moderna Museet, Stockholm. FIRST IMAGE SPREAD: (top left) Lim-Johan. Älg och gråhund [Moose and elkhound], 1899-1901. Oil on cardboard. 66 ≈ 94 cm. Courtesy: Moderna Museet, Stockholm. (top center) Vincent van Gogh. The Swamp, 1881. Pen and black ink over graphite on cream laid paper. 46.8 ≈ 59.3 cm. (top right) Ernst Josephson. Untitled, n.d. (center left) Philip Guston. Courtroom, 1970. Oil on canvas. 170.2 ≈ 327.7 cm. Courtesy: Hauser & Wirth. © The Estate of Philip Guston. (center) Miroslav Tichý. Untitled, n.d. Gelatin silver print. 27.2 ≈ 19.6 cm. Courtesy: Zeno ≈ Gallery, Antwerp. (center right) Unknown korean artist. Insects, Flowers and Vegetables, 18th-19th century. Ink and watercolor on paper. 70 ≈ 121.5 cm. (bottom left) Giorgio de Chirico. Natura morta, Torino a primavera [Still Life, Turin Spring], 1914. Oil on canvas. 125 ≈ 102 cm. © De Chirico, Giorgio / Autvis, Brasil, 2018. (bottom left center) Bruno Knutman. Hemkomsten [Homecoming], 1987. Marker on paper. 27 ≈ 25.5 cm. © The Estate of Bruno Knutman. (bottom right

center) Francisco de Goya. El coloso [The Colossus], 1818-1825. Oil on canvas. 116 ≈ 105 cm. Museo Nacional del Prado Collection, Madrid. (bottom right) James Castle. Untitled (Turkeys), c. 1963. Found carton paper, colored pigment. 22.9 ≈ 17.8 cm. INSIDE: Mamma Andersson. Underthings, 2015. Oil on panel. 83 ≈ 122 cm. Collection of Nion McEvoy. Gunvor Nelson. My Name is Oona, 1969. Video still. 10’. Courtesy: Moderna Museet, Stockholm. Dick Bengtsson. Venus och Cupido med sko [Venus and Cupido with Shoe], 1970. Oil on panel. 125 ≈ 113 cm. Ståhl Collection, Sweden. Mamma Andersson. You and the Night, 2012. Oil on panel. 160 ≈ 100 cm. Mamma Andersson. Humdrum day, 2013. Oil on panel. 112.5 ≈ 108.5 cm. Anna Yang & Joe Schull Collection. Mamma Andersson. Hangman, 2014. Oil on panel. 125 ≈ 125 ≈ 2.2 cm. Private col­lection. Bruno Knutman. Den sista timmen [The Last Hour], 2014. Oil on canvas. 74 ≈ 60 cm. Private collection. Courtesy: Galleri Magnus Karlsson, Stockholm. Photo: Galleri Magnus Karlsson / © The Estate of Bruno Knutman. All rights reserved. Henry Darger. Untitled, c.19401960. Printed paper, carbon tracing, watercolor, pencil on paper. 48 ≈ 180.4 cm, each side of the object. Courtesy: Museum of Everything. © 2018 Kiyoko Lerner / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Unknown artist. Archangel Michael with the Saints Flor and Lavr, c. 1575-1625. Oil on panel. 105 ≈ 80 cm. Collection: National Museum Stockholm. Ladislas Starewitch. La Revanche du Ciné-opérateur [The Cameraman's Revenge], 1912. Stop-motion animation. 2'35''. Martin Starewitch Collection. Photo: Ladislas Starewitch. Mamma Andersson. Dog Days, 2011. Mixed media on panel. 99 ≈ 184.5 cm. Lena & Per Josefsson Collection, Stockholm. Ernst Josephson. Porträtt av herr Jones

[Portrait of Mister Jones], 18891893. Oil and pastel on canvas. 201 ≈ 53 cm. Thielska Galleriet Collection, Stockholm. Mamma Andersson. Lovelorn, 2014. Oil on panel. 93 ≈ 61 cm. Carl Fredrik Hill. Utan Titel (Gran vid Vattenfall) [Untitled (Pinetree and Waterfall)], 1883-1911. Crayon on paper. 36.5 ≈ 22.7 cm. Malmö Konstmuseum Collection. Mamma Andersson. Crib, 2014. Oil on panel. 104 ≈ 122 cm. Miroslav Tichý. Untitled, n.d. Gelatin silver print glued to paper. 25.5 ≈ 17.7 cm. Courtesy: Zeno X Gallery, Antwerp. Mamma Andersson. Glömd [Forgotten], 2016. Oil and acrylic on panel. 103 ≈ 126 cm. Courtesy: Galleri Magnus Karlsson, Stockholm. LAST IMAGE SPREAD: (top left) Vilhelm Hammershøi. Interiør med Punchbolle. Strandgade 30 [Interior with Punchbowl, Strandgade 30], 1904. Oil on canvas. 74.5 ≈ 55.3 cm. (top center) Carl Fredrik Hill. Hedlandskap Med Vagn [Moorland with Carriage], 1878. Oil on canvas. 60 ≈ 73 cm. (top right) Hercules Segers. The Mossy Tree, c. 1615-1630. Etching on prepared paper. 16.8 ≈ 9.8 cm. Rijksmuseum Collection, Amsterdam. (center left) Vera Nilsson. Öland Village, 1932. Oil on canvas. 68.5 ≈ 88 cm. Göteborgs Konstmuseum Collection. (center) Paul Gauguin. Reproduction published in Noa Noa – Voyage de Tahiti (1901), by Paul Gauguin. (center right) Piero della Francesca. Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta, c. 1450-1451? Oil and tempera on panel. 44 ≈ 34 cm. Musée du Louvre Collection, Paris. (bottom left) Sidney Nolan. Ned Kelly, 1946. Enamel paint on composition board. 90.8 ≈ 121.5 cm. (bottom center) Edvard Munch. To kvinder på stranden [Two Women on the Beach], 1898. Woodcut. 44.8 ≈ 51 cm. Munchmuseet Collection, Oslo. (bottom right) Pierre Bonnard. Le Bain [The Bath], 1925. Oil on canvas. 86 ≈ 120 cm. Tate Gallery Collection, London. BACK COVER: (top left) Gunvor Nelson. Take

Off, 1972. Video still. 10'. Courtesy: Moderna Museet, Stockholm. (top right) Ernst Josephson. Kvinna med spets i håret [Woman with Lace in Her Hair], n.d. Pen and black ink on paper. 55 ≈ 42 cm. National Museum Collection, Stockholm. (center left) Carl Fredrik Hill. Utan Titel (Två Rytande Lejon) [Untitled (Two Roaring Lions)], c. 1883-1911. Crayon on paper. 22.7 ≈ 36.5 cm. Malmö Konstmuseum Collection. (bottom left) Mamma Andersson. Konfirmand / Student, 2016. Oil and acrylic on panel. 88 ≈ 76 cm. Private collection (bottom right) Lim-Johan. Untitled, n.d. Wood and mirror. 84 ≈ 56 ≈ 26 cm. Edsbyns Museum Collection, Sweden. Unidentified photographer. Design: Valentin Nordström. Final art: Eric Moretti.

nelson felix

Series Esquizofrenia [Schizophrenia], 2017-2018. Needle, watercolor, gold leaf, vegetable element, China ink and oil stick on paper. 77 ≈ 128 cm (cover and back cover); 140 ≈ 170 cm (map and gold figure); 86 ≈ 112 cm (black cross); 76 ≈ 115 cm (circles); 85 ≈ 116 cm (2 brains); 77 ≈ 112 cm (text); 71 ≈ 112 cm (gold cross); 76 ≈ 115 cm (black rectangle and map). Photo: Gabi Carreira.

maria laet

Sopro [Blow], 2017. From the series Diálogo [Dialogue], 2008-ongoing. China ink on Japanese paper. 68 × 45.5 cm. Artist’s collection. Courtesy of the artist. Photo: Eduardo Ortega.

siron franco

Rua 57 [57 Street], 1987. Ink on Fabriano paper. 48.9 ≈ 69.5 cm. Photo: Daniel Malva / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo. Goiânia rua 57 Outubro de 1987 [Goiânia 57 Street October of 1987], 1987. Ink on Fabriano paper. 49.9 ≈ 70.2 cm. Photo: Daniel Malva / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo. Goiânia rua 57 Outubro de 1987 [Goiânia 57 Street October of 1987], 1987. Ink on Fabriano paper. 70.2 ≈ 50 cm. Photo: Daniel Malva / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo. Goiânia rua 57 Outubro de 1987 [Goiânia 57 Street October of 1987], 1987. Ink on Fabriano paper. 70.2 ≈ 50 cm. Photo: Daniel Malva / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo. Mapa de Goiás [Map of Goiás], 1987. From

the series Césio [Cesium]. Mixed media on canvas. 100 ≈ 100 cm. Private collection. Photo: Eduardo Ortega. Primeira vítima [First Victim], 1987. From the series Césio [Cesium]. Mixed media on canvas. 155 ≈ 135 cm. Private collection. Photo: Paolo Giorlando Ribeiro. Segunda vítima [Second Victim], 1987. From the series Césio [Cesium]. Mixed media on canvas. 155 ≈ 135 cm. Private collection. Photo: Paolo Giorlando Ribeiro. Terceira vítima [Third Victim], 1987. From the series Césio [Cesium]. Mixed media on canvas. 155 ≈ 135 cm. Private collection. Photo: Paolo Giorlando Ribeiro. Quarta vítima [Fourth Victim], 1987. From the series Césio [Cesium]. Mixed media on canvas. 155 ≈ 135 cm. Private collection. Photo: Paolo Giorlando Ribeiro.

Giacometti, the Table, 1998. Photo: Wilton Montenegro. Fontana, 2016. Photo: Jaime Acioli. Nature of Morandi, 2006. Photo: Vicente de Mello. Design: Sula Danowski.

tamar guimarães

O ensaio [The Rehearsal], 2018. Film poster. Courtesy of the artist, Fortes D'Aloia & Gabriel, São Paulo and Dan Gunn Gallery, London. Photo: Mauro Restiffe.

wura-natasha ogunji

vânia mignone

Untitled, 2018. Acrylic on paper. 27.5 ≈ 34 cm. Artist's collection. Courtesy of the artist. Photo: Eduardo Ortega. sofia borges

The Blind Fire, 2018. Courtesy of the artist. O dourado cego brilhante deus sorridente [The Shining Golden Smiling Blind God], 2017. Mineral ink on cotton paper print. 230 ≈ 150 cm. Artist assistant: Daniel Jabra.

waltercio caldas

Rodin, 1995. Photo: Wilton Montenegro. With Morandi, 2005. Photo: Vicente de Mello. Object for Mira Schendel, 1985. Photo: Wilton Montenegro. Rodtchenko, 2004. Photo: Vicente de Mello. Zurbaran’s Eyes, 2017. Photo: Jaime Acioli. The Mondrian Experience (TV), 1978. Photo: Miguel Rio Branco.

Lhola Amira. LAGOM: Breaking Bread with The Self-Righteous II, 2017. From the series LAGOM: Breaking Bread with The SelfRighteous. Giclée print on Hahnemühle PhotoRag Baryta Diasec. 91 ≈ 145 cm. Collection: The Skövde Art Museum, The Tiroche DeLeon Collection, The Robert Devereux Collection, The Bob & Reneé Drake Collection. Courtesy of the artist. Photo: Annie Hyrefeldt. eNgxingxolo kwaSilatsha, 2017. From the series 29°06’S 26°13’E. Research documentation: Nongqawuse: The Cattle Killing of 1857. Courtesy of the artist. Photo: Andiswa “Andy” Mkosi. Series Philisa : Hlala Ngikombamthise [To Be Healed : Sit Let Me Cover You], 2018. Sketch drawn by Bulumko Mbete, the artist’s studio assistant. Wooden chairs, brass candle holders, candles, beads, music, plinths, wooden footrest. Courtesy of the artist. Photo: Lhola Amira. iYahluma I [To Blossom / A New Dawn I], 2018. SINKING:Xa Sinqamla Unxubo [SINKING: When We Are Curbing the Flow of Agony], 2018. Giclée print on Hahnemühle PhotoRag Baryta Diasec. 88 ≈ 144 cm. The Bob & Reneé Drake Collection. Courtesy of the artist. Photo: Noncedo Gxekwa. Mame-Diarra Niang. Preliminary drawing for

video-installation Since Time Is Distance in Space for the 33rd Bienal de São Paulo (2018). © Mame-Diarra Niang. MameDiarra Niang performance in the video-installation Since Time Is Distance in Space, Johannesburg (September, 2017). Photo: Nina Lieska | REPRO. Since Time Is Distance in Space, 2016-ongoing. Video. Variable duration. Courtesy of the artist and Stevenson, Cape Town and Johannesburg. © MameDiarra Niang. Since Time Is Distance in Space, 2016-ongoing. Video. Variable duration. Courtesy of the artist and Stevenson, Cape Town and Johannesburg. © Mame-Diarra Niang. Nicole Vlado. sprint, 2006. Performance, plaster. Courtesy of the artist. Photo: Nicole Vlado. Series “here” (i gaze at stars to heal wounds), 2018. Research documentation (2018). Plaster. Courtesy of the artist. Photo: Nicole Vlado. shed, 2009. Performance, plaster. Courtesy of the artist. Photo: Wura-Natasha Ogunji. Series “here” (i gaze at stars to heal wounds), 2018. Research documentation (2018). Plaster. Courtesy of the artist. Photo: Nicole Vlado. ruby onyinyechi amanze. Starfish, 2016. Ink, graphite, fluorescent acrylic, photo transfers; mounted on a wooden box. 96.5 ≈ 125.7 ≈ 5.6 cm. Courtesy of the artist and Goodman Gallery, Cape Town. Photo: Etienne Frossard. ruby onyinyechi amanze in her studio at Crane Arts, Philadelphia (2018). Courtesy of the artist. Photo: ruby onyinyechi amanze. ada and Audre, 2015. Graphite, ink, photo transfers, metallic enamel. 96.5 ≈ 127 cm. Courtesy of the artist and Goodman Gallery, Cape Town. Photo: Goodman Gallery. bird dance #1, 2018. Inkjet print on semi matte paper. 185.4 ≈ 97.8 cm. Courtesy of the artist. Wura-Natasha Ogunji. The sea, and it's raining. I missed you so much, 2018. Project's drawing. Ink on paper. 21 ≈ 13 cm. Courtesy of the artist. But I am breathing under water, 2017. Thread, ink, graphite on tracing paper. 30 ≈ 61 cm. ruby

onyinyechi amanze Collection. Courtesy of the artist. Computer Blue, 2017. Performance. 60'. Performance documentation, Lagos, Nigeria. Courtesy of the artist. Photo: Ayo Akinwande. Generators, 2014. Thread, ink, graphite on tracing paper. 61 ≈ 61 cm. Courtesy of the artist. Youmna Chlala. LoveSeat Process 11, 2018. Mixed paper collage. 30 ≈ 45 cm. Courtesy of the artist. Photo: Youmna Chlala. Youmna Chlala in her studio. Photo: Youmna Chlala. Imagined City, 2010. Ink, graphite, eraser on vellum. 40 ≈ 60 cm. Courtesy of the artist. Photo: Youmna Chlala. LoveSeat Process 2, 2018. Ink and watercolor on paper. 35 ≈ 43 cm. Courtesy of the artist. Photo: Youmna Chlala. LoveSeat Process 10, 2018. Ink on vellum paper. 45 ≈ 30 cm. Courtesy: the artist. Photo: Youmna Chlala.

33rd bienal poster

Hans (Jean) Arp. Formas expressivas [Expressive Shapes], 1932. Painted wood (relief). 84.9 ≈ 70 ≈ 3 cm. Museu de Arte Contemporânea da Universidade de São Paulo Collection. Gift of Francisco Matarazzo Sobrinho. Photo: Eduardo Ortega / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo. © ARP, JEAN /  AUTVIS, BRASIL, 2017. Design: Raul Loureiro.



Luciana Guimarães ·

chief executive officer


Dora Silveira Corrêa ·

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Abrahão, Amanda Preisig, Amanda Navarro, Ana Beatriz Silva Domingues, Ana Gabriela Leirias, Ana Maria Krein, Ana Lívia Castro, Anderson Barreto Pereira, André Luiz de Jesus Leitão, André Rosa, Anne Magalhães, Bianca Leite, Bruno Ramos, Carolina Rosa, Célia Barros, Daiana Ferreira de Lima, Daniel Manzione, Darlan Gonçalves Teles, Denise Rodrigues, Dione Pozzebon, Diran Castro, Émerson Prata, Erica da Costa Santos, Fabio Moreira Caiana, Isis Andreatta, Isis Gasparini, Janaína Grasso, Josiane Cavalcanti, Julia Monteiro Viana, Juliana Biscalquin, Juliana Melhado, Kim Cavalcante, Laura da Silva Monteiro Chagas, Leandro de Souza, Leila Rangel da Silva, Leo Lin, Luana Robles Vieira, Lucas Itacarambi, Lucas Oliveira, Luciano Wagner Favaro, Lucimara Amorim, Ludmila Costa Cayres, Luiza Gianesella, Luna Borges Berruezo, Marcia Falsetti, Maurício Perussi, Monika Jun Honma, Natalia Homero, Nina Clarice Montoto, Paula Berbert, Paula Nogueira Ramos, Pedro Ermel, Priscila Nascimento Pires, Rafael Gatuzzo Barbieri, Renato Ferreira Lopes, Roberta Browne, Rogério Da Col Luiz Pereira, Rômulo dos Santos Paulino, Sansorai de Oliveira, Suzy da Silva Santos, Tailicie Paloma, Thiago Franco, Vinebaldo de Souza Filho. interns: Laura Frare, Jailson Xavier, Camélia Paiva, Gabriel Santos



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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS individual Albano Afonso Alejandro Paz Alexander Singh Alexandre Franco Dacosta Alexandre Martins Fontes Alice O'Connor Alexandre Alves Schneider Amanda Dandeneau Ana Elisa Estrela Ana Paula Cohen Ana Vázquez Conejo André Millan André Sturm Andrea & José Olympio Pereira Andrea Tchalian Conde Andres Brun Andrés Gómez Andrés Jorge Bosso Ane Uggla (Galleri Bo Bjerggaard) Anis Chacur Ann Hodell Smith Anna Yang & Joe Schull Anthony Reynolds Antonio La Pastina Arch. Andrés Gómez Beatriz Bracher Ben Russell Beverly Adams Bibi Satoré Manavi Camille Bloomfield Carl Johan Olsson Carlos Cordón Carmen Martinez Moreno Carole Billy (Galerie Marian Goodman) Catarina Duncan Célia Catunda Celso Scaramuzza Charles Cosac Charlotte Burns Chloé Athanasopoulou Chris Clarke Christopher Müller (Galerie Buchholz) Clarice O. Tavares Claudemir Quilici Claudia Ramos Claudio Govêa Cláudio Libeskind Cooper Cole David Jiménez David Juda Deborah Maria de Almeida Valverde Delia Vigil Delphine Presles Dolores Moreno Poveda Donald R. Mullins Jr Dorota Kwinta Eduardo de Castro Eduardo Vassimon Effie Vourakis Elena Wolay Elisio Yamada

Emiliano Valdés Esteban Sferco Esther Urlus Fabio de Alencar Iorio Família Lopez Paíz Fernanda Laguna Flor Di Castro Gabriel Beçak Gareth Evans Georgia Fleury Reynolds Gilberto Chateaubriand Gladys Schincariol Guga Szabzon Guilherme Nafalski Guillermo Romero Parra (Parra & Romero) Hermes Salceda Hugo Quinto & Juan Pablo Lojo Iaci Lomonaco Iara Maria Brasil Rodrigues Irène Gayraud Isabel Moreno Poveda Isabel Ródenas Blanco Isadora Brant Ita Perla Wilde Jacques Leenhardt Jaime Acioli Javier Cuevas Jay Levenson Jean-Jacques Poucel Jenniffer Paíz Jeremy Planchon João Luiz Borges João Octaviano de Machado Neto Johan Pousette John Thomson (Foxy Productions) José Laloni José Luiz Penna José Luiz Sá de Castro e Lima Josefina Moreno Poveda José Renato Nalini Josy Panaõ Juan Bordes Juan Giménez Zapiola Juan Ignacio Parra Juan Pablo Culasso Juan Ybarra Mendaro Juliana Sá Juliet Kinchin Kathy Halbreich Katie Rashid (Peter Freeman Gallery) Kenneth Pietrobono (Louise Lawler Studio) Lars Nittve Laurent Leksell Lena & Per Josefsson Lena Malm Léona Martin-Starewitch Lola Rozandal Loren Muzzey Loretta Würtenberger Louis Logodin

Loukia Minetou Lucas Pessoa Luciana & Pedro Gasparini Lucy Cooke Luis Celso Vieira Sobral Luis Pérez-Oramas Luiz Carlos Mello Luna & André Perosa Luz García Carrillo Magdalena Cámpora Manuel Fontan del Junco Marcel van Limbeek Marcelino Seras Marcelo Saraceno Margaret Clinton & Lindsay Jarvis (Koenig & Clinton Gallery) Margot & George Greig Maria Antonia Dellatorre Borges Maria Gloria Centurión Maria Lúcia & Joaquim de Alcantara Machado Maria Yolanda Centurión Marília e Eduardo Pecoraro Marta Ludueña Marta Rincón Maxwell Graham (Essex Street) Mayke Jongsma Miguel Chaia Miguel Palencia Olavarrieta Miguel Rio Branco Moritz Stipsicz Nancy & Fred Poses Natalie Musteata Nicla Calegari (Galleria Raffaella Cortese) Nicolás Guagnini Nicolas Rey Nion McEvoy Norman Brosterman Olga Guerra Pablo León de la Barra Padre Bartolomeu Melià Paulo Antonio Spencer Uebel Patricia Vasconcellos Patrick Armstrong & Simon Gowing (Tanya Leighton Gallery) Pedro Barbosa (Coleção MoraesBarbosa) Pedro Testa Pedro Westerdahl Peter Freeman Priscilla Moret Rachel Galvin Rafael Moraes Rafael Romero Rafael Visconti Raffaella Cortese Rámon Palencía Ramón Palencia del Burgo Ramón Serrate Aguilera Regina José Galindo Regina Monteiro Ricard Akagawa

Ricardo Villela Marino Rodrigo Monteiro de Castro Rodrigo Naves Romildo Campello Rosina Cazali Sabrina Candido Sally Golding Sandra Cinto Santiago Artozqui Sérgio Jacob Séverine Waelchli (Thaddaeus Ropac) Silvia Chiarelli Simone Wicha Suely Rolnik Sylvie Winckler Tania Pardo Tanya Leighton Telma Resende Ticio Escobar Tom Brewer (Gavin Brown Enterprise) Ula Tornau Ulla von Brandenburg Vicente de Mello Vivian Gandelsman Wendy Tronrud Wilton Montenegro Wladimir Araujo Yonatan Gat institutions A Gentil Carioca Administração do Parque Ibirapuera Annely Juda Fine Art Blanton Museum of Art - The University of Texas at Austin Carla Amorim Jóias Contemporâneas Casa do Povo Casa Triângulo Catherine Petitgas Collection CAV - Museo del Barro Cecilia Brunson Projects Centro de Arte 2 de Mayo (CA2M) CEU Aricanduva CEU Butantã CEU Capão Redondo CEU Pêra Marmelo CEU Vila Curuçá CFA Berlin Christopher Grimes Gallery City of Stockholm - City Museum of Stockholm COCEU Coleção Moraes-Barbosa Colección Eduardo Costantini Colección INELCOM Arte Contemporáneo Colección Patricia Phelps de Cisneros Comissão de Fiscalização de Subvenções Culturais - Secretaria Municipal de Cultura Companhia de Engenharia de Tráfego de São Paulo Comunidad Autónoma de la Región de Murcia (CARM)

Conselho Gestor do Parque Ibirapuera Consulado Geral da Argentina em São Paulo Consulado Geral da Espanha em São Paulo Consulado Geral do Reino dos Países Baixos Contemporary Art Centre (CAC) David Kordansky Gallery David Zwirner Gallery Departamento de Parques e Áreas Verdes (SVMA) Éditions Xavier Barral - Anthropos Institute Edsbyns Museum Embaixada da Espanha Embaixada do Brasil em Londres Embratur Escola Alecrim Essex Street Estate Sturtevant Everything LTD Fondazione Calderara Fortes D'Aloia & Gabriel Foxy Production Froehlich Foundation Fundação para o Desenvolvimento da Educação (FDE) Fundação de Serralves Fundació MACBA Fundación Yaxs Galeria Leme Galeria Luciana Brito Galería Maisterravalbuena Galeria Millan Galeria Nara Roesler Galeria Paulo Darzé Galería Pedro Cera Galeria Raquel Arnaud Galerie Buchholz Galerie Marian Goodman Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac Galerie Tschudi Galleri Magnus Karlsson Gavin Brown's Enterprise Goethe-Institut Guarda Civil Metropolitana - Parque Ibirapuera Heraldo Guiaro - Depave 6 - Secretaria do Verde) Hollybush Gardens Icelandic Art Center Instituto Tomie Ohtake Instituto Tunga Koenig & Clinton Gallery La Casa Encendida Louise Lawler Studio Maison de Victor Hugo Malmö Konstmuseum Metro Pictures Gallery Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores de Argentina Moderna Museet Montblanc Foundation Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de

Buenos Aires (MALBA) Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía Museu Afro Brasil Museu Calouste Gulbenkian Museu de Arte Contemporânea da USP (MAC-USP) Museu de Arte Moderna de São Paulo (MAM-SP) Museu de Arte Moderna do Rio de Janeiro (MAM-RJ) Museu de Geociências do Instituto de Geociências da USP Museu de Imagens do Inconsciente Museu Lasar Segall Nationalmuseum, Stockholm Pinacoteca di Brera Polícia Militar do Estado de São Paulo Prometeo Gallery di Ida Pisani Robert J. Fisher 2004 Family Trust Sadie Coles HQ São Paulo Transporte Secretaria da Cultura do Estado de São Paulo Secretaria da Educação do Estado de São Paulo Secretaria Municipal de Cultura de São Paulo Secretaria Municipal de Educação de São Paulo Secretaria Municipal de Gestão de São Paulo Secretaria Municipal de Mobilidade e Transportes de São Paulo Secretaria Municipal do Verde e do Meio Ambiente de São Paulo Sim Galeria SME Sperone Westwater Gallery Ståhl Collection AB Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam Tanya Leighton Gallery The Chantal Akerman Estate The Estate of Lucia Nogueira The Office for Contemporary Art Norway (OCA) Thielska Galleriet Zeno X Gallery

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PUBLICATION CREDITS edited by Gabriel Pérez-Barreiro, curator Fabiana Werneck, consultant editorial coordination Cristina Fino Diana de Abreu Dobránszky assistant editor

Rafael Falasco translations

Alexandre Barbosa Janaína Marcoantonio John Norman copyediting and proofreading

John Norman Richard Sanches Teté Martinho audio transcriptions

Janaína Marcoantonio graphic design and layout Aninha de Carvalho Price Adriano Campos Manu Vasconcelos

© Publication Copyright: Fundação Bienal de São Paulo. All rights reserved.

Images and texts reproduced in this publication were granted by permission from the artists, photographers, writers or their legal representatives, and are protected by law and licence agreements. Any use is prohibited without the permission of the Bienal de São Paulo, the artist and the photographers. All efforts were made to find the copyright owners, although this was not always successful. We will be happy to correct any omission in case it comes to our knowledge. The texts and images included in the booklet by artist Luiza Crosman are published under a copyleft license, which allows their reproduction by third parties. This catalogue was published on the occasion of the 33rd Bienal de São Paulo – Affective Affinities, held from 7 September through 9 December 2018 at the Ciccillo Matarazzo Pavilion, Ibirapuera Park, São Paulo. COVER

Feliciano Centurión. Inmensamente azul [Immensely Blue], 1991. (detail)

graphic production Signorini Produção Gráfica Eduardo Lirani prepress and printing


Dados Internacionais de Catalogação na Publicação (cip) 33rd Bienal de São Paulo : Affective Affinities : catalogue São Paulo : Fundação Bienal de São Paulo, 2018. Curador: Gabriel Pérez-Barreiro. Artistas-curadores: Alejandro Cesarco, Antonio Ballester-Moreno, Claudia Fontes, Mamma Andersson, Sofia Borges, Waltercio Caldas, Wura-Natasha Ogunji. Vários autores. ISBN 978-85-85298-63-0 1. Arte – Exposições – Catálogos. I. Pérez-Barreiro, Gabriel. II. Fundação Bienal de São Paulo. CDD-700.74 Índice para catálogo sistemático: 1. Arte : Exposições : Catálogos

alejandro corujeira


anĂ­bal lĂłpez [A-1 53167]


To Andreas, Daniela, Amadeo and Alicia

aníbal juarez lópez [A-1 53167] 472 D.O. – 522 D.O. gabriela silva

LONDON, 526 D.O. Obras en sitio [Works on Site], 1998-2000. Supporting text for the actions carried out between 506 and 508 D.O., in partnership with Diego Britt and Sylvestre Gobart.

cover: Guardias de seguridad [Security Guards], 2002. A private security firm was hired to register and search the visitors at an exhibition opening. inside cover, p.1: Artist’s notebook, n.d. back cover: El lacandón [The Lacandón], 2006. A man of indigenous descent who worked as a tourist photographer and guide was paid to pose as a representative of the Lacandon people in a museum for several hours. The Lacandon are a Mayan people found in northwest Guatemala and southern Mexico.

Aníbal López was for me – as he was for many people – not only a great friend, but also a mentor. Perhaps the promise I made on the last time we saw each other, “to never stop creating,” is one of the reasons I have not taken a vacation for nearly five years. Maybe he is a ghost that accompanies us, preventing us from doubting ourselves. Coming from a poor Mormon family from a violent area in the outskirts of a city in Guatemala, he surprised many people by having become such an eloquent artist, so intense in his aims and themes. Always concise and perfectionist in the way he presented his works, he was a true philosopher (as stated by Regina José Galindo).1 During my stint of research on his work, begun some years ago, when Aníbal was still alive, our conversations were always philosophic trips. “I am not a criminal,” he said in our last conversation, in defense to my question about why his work was always breaking standards and rules. I knew that the question was a provocation, however, and that the theme of his work was always morality. Or how we invent morality and how, to re-establish its meaning, we should play with it. Aníbal also had a mathematical streak, and was fond of using numbers to create his own symbols. He used his ID number (A-1 53167) to sign artworks and to show us that there is an illusion in relation to identity, since for certain systems we are nothing more than a sequence of numbers. Re-creating the year numbering system – based on the discovery of the West (D.O., descubrimiento del Occidente, or 1492 in the Gregorian calendar), the moment at which the Europeans arrived at the new lands – he would attribute a weight to his works, as a mark of the colonizing process and of the trauma and violence that Guatemala (or what we understand today as Guatemala) has gone through.


Regina José Galindo, in a text for the exhibition Archivo Abierto de Aníbal López, at Fundação Yaxs, Guatemala, 2016. 3

pp.5, 20, 22-23, 28, 30-31: 500 cajas pasadas de contrabando de Paraguay a Brasil [500 Boxes Smuggled from Paraguay to Brazil], 2007. Smugglers were hired to clandestinely transport 500 empty boxes, wrapped up in black garbage bags, from Ciudad del Leste, in Paraguay, to Foz do Iguaรงu, in Brazil. The border between the two countries was crossed using boats that took advantage of the current in the Paranรก River. After this leg of their journey, the boxes continued by truck to Porto Alegre, where they formed a sculpture shown at the 6th Bienal do Mercosul.


Aníbal is walking a few steps ahead of me, which helps me to better understand the narrow trail. We begin our descent near a village, which looks a little like all the villages in the outskirts of cities in Brazil. It was there that we left Jordan, our Paraguayan driver, waiting in a corner bar. The narrow lane we came through was bordered on one side by a high-walled gated condominium, and on the other by a large forest, a great deal of mud and very little visibility. Little by little the narrow lane turned into the trail on which we are now walking, leading through the forest along the river, which is beautiful but tall, dark and teeming with insects. From where we are, one cannot see the city of Foz do Iguaçu, the bridge or the Itaipu hydroelectric plant. Nothing, except forest. On the descent, I gradually start regretting having convinced Aníbal to bring me. Much taller than I, and corpulent, he treads the path with heavy footsteps, with no great difficulty, singing a tune, stumbling here and there, and laughing at that. Hours of conversation in recent days had brought us here. “It’s dangerous,” said Aníbal. After a few beers in the hotel bar, and a discussion about the apparatuses of power, which, I think, referenced Foucault, I managed to convince him that in this undertaking, I was more responsible for him than he was for me. But the trails are tough for me, and I need to go slow. So my mood soon turns bleaker. At times, I try to stop to admire the landscape a little. But we mustn’t arrive late at the rendezvous point. At the end of the trail, we come upon a beach of sand and stones, along the riverbank. “A little further up,” he says, after drying the sweat from his face, pointing to a stretch of beach further north, with a raised bank of stones. We do not see anything or anyone around, which tells me that this lonely spot is an excellent one for a rendezvous with smugglers.


GUATE, 508 D.O.

Aníbal buys ten bags of charcoal and, with the car of his friend Regina José Galindo, picks up two friends and heads for Sexta Avenida. Upon arriving there, he begins to dump out the charcoal along a line running perpendicular to the direction of the avenue. Although it is night and there is little light, he begins making the photographic record of 30 de junio [June 30], one of the main works in his career. The next day, the traditional Army Day Parade will pass there. The idea is not to block the avenue, but to make the soldiers step on the charcoal as they go by and then to observe the reaction of the people (including the soldiers themselves). It is a reference to the work of Isabel Ruiz (including História sitiada, 1991) and to the thousands of people who were carbonized by the Army during the Guatemalan Civil War. Before the parade, a cleaning team removes the charcoal from the street, but does not manage to remove the dark stains from the pavement. Aníbal records in images the mounting of the work and the Army passing on the blackened ground. His 27 photos are produced with the help of Belia de Vico’s Contexto gallery. The sequence of photographs is a significant part of the set of actions produced by the generation of artists from the late 1990s, and which ended and broke up the long period of passivity in regard to the military forces in Guatemala City. The work is shown in its totality for the first time at the Venice Biennale and garners Aníbal the prize for Best Young Artist that year. Awestruck by the recognition, he says that the first thing he did was to ignore the journalists. In his acknowledgments, he asks for a moment of silence, “for all of that which we don’t do,” before the photographs are taken of him holding the certificate. At the first showing of the photographs of Guatemala, curator Rosina Cazali comments that the action may have initially been the spontaneous act of an artist, but wound up becoming “a monument to the desperation and the vanquished.”2


Rosina Cazali at http://s21.gt/2016/06/30/la-erre-inaugura-exposicion-ineditaanibal-lopez. 6

30 de junio [June 30], 2000. Ten bags of charcoal were spread on the pavement of 6ª Avenida, one of the main thoroughfares of Guatemala City, before the traditional military parade on Army Day. When there was the genocide of peasants and indigenous people, their bodies were carbonized and buried in mass graves. The operation was called Tierra Arrasada [Scorched Earth]. These carbon “deposits” exist until today in the country.

GUATE, 526 D.O.

I wake up early and go out into the city to buy some clothes, since I wasn’t expecting it to be so cold. Egberto, my current driver, says that he was a truck driver for nearly all his life and now works as a taxi driver in order to stay close to his home and children. I think that it was Aníbal who taught me to talk with the taxi drivers, as they always have good stories to tell. We drive along the avenues that provide access to Zona 10, the rich part of Guatemala City. On the way, I tell Egberto more about Aníbal’s works. He is more interested in listening to me talk about my research, as he thinks it’s good that someone has come from the outside to show the Guatemalans the importance of their artists. I tell him that this feeling, that whatever comes from the outside is better, is very common among us Latin Americans.


Una tonelada de libros tirada sobre la Avenida Reforma [A Ton of Books Dumped on Avenida Reforma], 2003. The artist acquired a ton of books, which were placed into the bed of a dump truck and then dumped at a spot on avenida Reforma, one of the main accesses to downtown Guatemala City, on a Friday, during rush hour.


I then tell him about Una tonelada de livros tirada sobre la avenida Reforma [A Ton of Books Dumped on Avenida Reforma] because I want him to show me the avenue when we drive along it. “We are already on it. But at what spot did he do that?” I tell him that I don’t know the exact place where the action took place. With the help of Ida Pisani, of Prometeo gallery, he bought or gathered from around the city a ton of books and rented a dump truck. At the end of an ordinary day, during the rush hour, the truck drove along Avenida Reforma, stopped at a certain place and dumped the ton of books, blocking two of the three lanes. Some of the cars honked, others simply backed up and switched over to the left lane to escape from the blocked lanes. The action was recorded in photos and video. Little by little, the people went up to the pile and began to choose and take books. “Were any left?” Egberto asks.



GUATE, 513 D.O.

Belia’s gallery is in a commercial complex in Zona 10, next to a cinema. The place is strategic, because it allows the gallery to attract a different sort of public than the customary one. With large glass display windows that give a view of the white cube space inside, the gallery also displays a sign that reads The Beautiful People, in reference to a song by Marilyn Manson. The public arrives for the opening. The artist has given a clear instruction to the security guards: only people they consider really good looking can enter. Little by little the number of people inside the gallery becomes inferior to that of those outside. The people gradually begin to perceive that they are at an opening-performance and that the guests who entered did not know that they would be part of the work. Even though he is the artist responsible for the work, Aníbal cannot enter.


The work is another of the tricks that Aníbal sets up between ethics and aesthetics: what is beauty, after all, and to what extent is it simple to define it, so that the security guards can choose good-looking people, on the spot, to participate in the event? Furthermore, what idea of beauty is this that leaves most of the invitees on the outside? Perhaps Manson’s words, in the chorus of the cited song, will help us to understand the structure of the performance: “Hey you, what do you see? Something beautiful or something free?”

The Beautiful People, 2003. At an opening at the Contexto art space, in Guatemala City, the artist instructed the security guards to only let in the people they considered good looking. A sign on the gallery’s white wall bore the phrase: The Beautiful People.



“Do you want to meet the killer?” Jorge de León asks me. I say that this time I won’t be able to. But I wonder about this possibility while we are searching the computer for images of the last session that Aníbal made in Antigua, trying to create a river of blood. I don’t know if I would manage to get along with the hit man, or what questions I would ask a professional assassin who, at a certain point in life, was approached by an artist who invited him to go to Germany to be interviewed. I think about the times I watched the video Testimonio (Sicario) [Testimony (Sicario)], from 2013, and I don’t think I would be able to stomach such a meeting. If the assassin had not made it so clear that his feeling could be very cynical, given the nature of his work, perhaps I would be less uneasy about it. But the possibility of the meeting makes me think about how to establish a connection between the killer’s experience and his impressions of the art world. Or about how Aníbal managed to convince someone to finance a work that brought the relation with death and violence to such a banal place. Unlike the audience, I would not have a fourth wall for my defense. The action-work was carried out in an auditorium, in the middle of dOCUMENTA (13). The invitee, a successful hit man, was interviewed by the exhibition-goers, who couldn’t believe his responses throughout the more than 40 minutes of conversation. The people could only see the shadow of the man projected on a screen; the idea was that the screen and play of light would protect his identity. On the other hand, the protection of identity was good for both sides. The image of the shadow and the situation in the auditorium were somewhat reminiscent of television programs I had watched on Sundays with my family. The thing was thus readily associable to our set of possible images. Jorge said that it was a serious problem to find someone that would be at the same time both trustworthy and a hit man. In the first attempt, Aníbal negotiated with a guy who began to follow him and his family. He noticed this for the first time one day when his kids were leaving school. Then, the guy be16

gan to appear at the door of his house demanding payment in advance. By that time, the entire trip preparation process was fully underway – airline tickets, visas, passports. The family had to move and the deal was canceled. “Sometime later, the guy disappeared.”

Testimonio (Sicario) [Testimony (Sicario)], 2012. At the international art event dOCUMENTA (13), a hitman is interviewed by the public.



I came from Porto Alegre with a lot of money hidden in a money belt. Part of it would be used now to pay the box smugglers. Aníbal’s concern was not that I would be part of the process, but that he would not be free to pay the people he owed. Actually, I was afraid that he would spend part of the money on other things. Aníbal explained that he had met a taxi driver who brought him to a show house where a friend could pass the boxes. What he wanted to tell me was that he needed to “grease the palm” of the people who helped along the way. I saw no problem in this and understood that part of the money would go to the smugglers, for the boxes, to the people who sealed the boxes. The money had destinations. I insisted that I would like to be the one who would pay these people. The smuggler bosses arrived in two large, nearly silent 4 ≈ 4 pickup trucks. They came from the south, by a road that we hadn’t seen on our hike and which, apparently, we would not have managed to drive along in Jordan’s taxi. “Get more behind me” Aníbal advises, still nervously regretting that he had allowed me to be there. Two men emerge from the back doors of one of the trucks, one of them armed with a machine gun and the other in a posture straight out of a Wild West movie, with one hand poised over his holstered pistol, ready for the quick draw if needed. A lanky guy jumps out of the car in the front wearing a broad smile and heads in our direction to greet us. “Hi there, artist, how are you? You brought company, then?” he says, walking up to us. Extending his arm for a handshake, he examines me to see what I am carrying. I have only a small bag slung across my torso. Aníbal explains that I am his producer, that I am helping with the project and that I have brought the money to pay them. “I thought that X (name of his contact) had told you that she was coming.” For two seconds a tension arises that just as quickly melts. The guy smiles and nods his head: “Yes, yes… And also, if she’s the one who takes care of the money, it’s good that she’s here, right, artist?” With this, he turns and makes a brief gesture to the group behind him. The armed men get into the car and leave us alone to talk, without weapons. 19

GUATE, 526 D. O.

After some days researching Aníbal’s notebooks, I perceive a series of works and ideas that were never actually carried out. Some were ready to be put into action, others were still mere possibilities. My conversation with Alejandro Paz began soon after this reflection about the unfinished aspects of his work, which were in gestation but never brought to term. One of them aimed to organize and publish, with journalists in Guatemala, texts written on the basis of ideas proposed by Aníbal. Even though they were improbable and incredible, they were to publish and sign them. Some journalists began to talk about the project, but did not go forward with it. Others attended project meetings. The idea was to understand how the process of capital arrived on the pages of newspapers. Another work consisted in making a series of walks through the city, between his house and his studio, always wearing a T-shirt with a dot, a point, on the back. It was a human-scale version of the works involving the movement of points that he had already carried out with cars and buses and with newspapers and other printed matter. He would make a point that was then moved around the city, creating a series of lines that would later be visually translated in some way onto the urban map. A drawing of Aníbal shown from behind, wearing a T-shirt with a point on the back, is on the wall of the house of one of his friends.


La distancia entre dos puntos [The Distance between Two Points], 2001. On the back of each of two automobiles of the same size, color and model a canvas was placed bearing a black spot in the center and below it the phrase: “La distancia entre dos puntos” [The Distance between Two Points]. Leaving together from the same place, the vehicles traveled along an avenue, came back in the other direction and got together again at the point of departure. In the traffic, between stop lights, they continuously moved closer and farther apart from one another. “The distance between two points” is one of the definitions of a line.


Punto en movimiento [A Point in Movement], 2002. A white canvas was placed on the back of an urban bus with the longest and most varied route in Guatemala City. The canvas bore the phrase “Punto en movimiento” [A Point in Movement]. The journey was recorded in video and photographs. “A point in movement” is one of the definitions of a line.



Aníbal says that he has the money and asks if they are going to unload the boxes right there. “I think a bit further ahead. Do you have a car? I met you with another guy.” By the way the conversation is going, I see that this is about Aníbal’s contact; he says that I and the driver are helping with the work. The cheerful guy explains how the process will be. The boxes will be sealed empty (“Do you want them totally empty? Don’t you want to put paper or plastic inside to add some weight?”) and covered with black garbage bags. Then, they will be smuggled, together with their cargo, through the south zone of Ciudad del Este, near Presidente Franco, and will arrive in small boats at Foz do Iguaçu. “With this amount that you are paying, we will leave them a few days in the warehouse, which I’m going to show you on the first day of the transport. Then, we will leave them there until we bring them all up.” Aníbal asks if it is still all right for us to film and photograph the process. “As long as my face doesn’t appear, OK.” We laugh together, but I complete the conversation explaining that, for this sort of thing, we normally make a contract for everyone to sign and to state that they are aware they are being filmed. “I think that this is a different situation, I think that it’s not needed, but we need to ask everyone.” “The people are going to be happy to become famous, even if it’s for smuggling boxes along the Paraná River.”


antonio ballester moreno


The Origin of Life and the Origin of Living MatrĂ­ztica humberto maturana and ximena dĂĄvila

The question about the origin of life and the question about the origin of the living beings lead us to different angles of response. We cannot talk about what we are, we can only talk about what we do. In other words, we can only talk about the present. The question to be answered is, therefore, what is the living that dies? Because living beings die. They are discrete existences that occur, and their occurrence can end. And when a living being dies, a cadaver appears, which is something completely different.

In 1960, there was already talk about nucleic acids, but the thinking of that time was very different from that of today. In that era, the living was something very difficult to understand, something very complex, and perhaps ultimately incomprehensible. On the walls of university biochemical laboratories there normally are posters, pictures and illustrations that depict metabolic processes, such as the synthesis of glucose, the synthesis of amino acids, and others. These are all cyclic processes: molecules enter on the one hand, products leave on the other, but the dynamics is always cyclical. As living beings we must be cyclical systems, yet we are individuals, discrete entities.

And, in this reflexive orientation, we can learn something through a game which is a very famous experiment by Langmuir: if we put water in a frying pan, sprinkle talcum powder on the water’s surface, touch with our finger a drop of oil and then the floating talcum, this will produce a wave of expansion in the powder. Langmuir shows that the molecules of fatty acids arrange themselves with the hydrophilic part on the bottom and the hydrophobic part at the top of the monomolecular layer. And this occurs spontaneously, because the natural processes are spontaneous. As living systems, we are therefore wonderfully spontaneous. We were not manufactured, we are not robots, we were not designed. The question is, therefore: how did we arise in this way? We arose as networks of cyclic metabolic processes whose result is ourselves. What is at play is always molecules.

We are molecular systems that self-produce within a network of cyclic processes. We are the result of an operation, of a way of doing, that results in a living being. An autopoietic molecular system that spontaneously produces itself. Deep down, we all know this. — Mom, why do I have to eat vegetables? — Because they nourish you. — What happens to the vegetables, mom? — They go into you, they dissolve in your little body and construct your bones, your muscles... — Oh, mom, so I produce myself? — Yes, of course. — Am I autopoietic? — Yes. You are autopoietic. You produce yourself.

The question that we ask ourselves at Matríztica is: what is the living being that dies? How does it originate? And we answer that the living being arose as a minimal autopoietic molecular system, in the form of a primordial bacterium, most likely about 3.8 billion years ago. This had to occur spontaneously. Because, since we are molecular systems, the outer world that has effects on us does not prescribe what happens to us. We know – by our understanding of how the living beings operate as systems determined by their structure – that we cannot talk about a reality as some outer thing that affects us; only the interactions that we experience can bring about specific changes in our structure.

For example, today we know that the outer world does not precisely determine what happens in the eye. It triggers structural changes in the cells of the retina, in the photosensitive membrane of the photoreceptors, resulting in a series of structural changes throughout the organism. Nevertheless, how is it that when we see what there is outside, as for example a flower, I say that there is a flower there? How does this happen if the outer world does not tell us what that is? When we receive documents and they say “here you have all the information you need,� how many times do we read it and not understand anything? These sorts of situations arise all the time.

And what must take place in such circumstances for us to understand? We must converse and, as a result of this conversation, the document takes on a meaning. This is to say that, for example, when a salamander flicks out its tongue to capture a dragonfly or a worm, this phenomenon is the result of a sensorial, relational and operational history. A history that has to do with the origin of the living being. If we want to go to the moon, what do we need to consider? That we need transportation, a ship. And what do we want to bring in the ship? Food, oxygen and pressure! Ideally, a radio system that allows us to stay connected with the Earth.

In other words, what we need to bring with us is our ecological niche – which is the relational environment in which the living being lives. In this reflection we can therefore add here that when the primordial bacteria originated, their ecological niche originated along with them within the same space-time. We talk about the ecological niches – just as we talk about everything we see in our surroundings – as though they were there beforehand, and the organisms simply occupied them. But that is not how it happens. In their process of living, the organisms slide along the tangent of the preservation of their coherence with an environment that arises together with their living and gradually changes along with them. If we go out with a friend and stop to appreciate a landscape, we each see something different.

And what is related to what each person sees? The fact that each person moves together with his or her ecological niche. Because this environment arises with each being. We thus see that when living beings arise, an ecological organism-niche unity is established. What arises on the Earth at some moment is not a living being, not an isolated organism, but rather an organism and simultaneously the environment that makes it possible, and they arise together in a dynamic ecological organism-niche unity. The ecological niche is not static. It changes. Right now, all of you are part of my current environment, as I am part of yours. The cell is a discrete unit in the production of itself. But this ecological organism-niche unity is also continuously formed during the course of its process of living, and the living being will live as long as there arises along with it an environment that makes it possible.

To further understand what takes place in this process, we need to believe in what we, at MatrĂ­ztica, call the fundamental inertia, meaning that what occurs will continue occurring unless some other event interferes with it. And this takes place due to the nature of the physical phenomena. Because, fundamentally, nothing occurs in just any way. We speak of probabilistic, quantic, molecular and submolecular processes and we make calculations of probabilities, but, to calculate the probabilities, we rely on our confidence in the existence of a fundamental structural determinism that is unknown and unexplained, though by means of some experiment, we could perhaps describe it in a context of spontaneously conserved structural coherencies.

All of us living beings belong, at this instant, to the same history of a changing organismniche unity in the formation of lineages of systemic reproduction, since 3.8 billion years ago, in a harmonious way. It could not have been otherwise. We living beings are conservative. What do we conserve? Our living, our ways of life. In different ways. Our ecological concern lies in the fact that we know that if we take a particular organism out of the environment of the biosphere, everything will change. Because everything is interconnected. In our shared existence, we are interrelated and we transform in a coherent way.

The organisms slide not in the preservation of adaptation, but rather in the preservation of living, and the ecological niche changes along with them. We are not adapting ourselves to x, but rather sliding, like skiers. Preserving what? Harmony. When we ski, our form and our posture are constantly changing, just as our ecological niche is continuously changing – because what we see, and what we do, changes along with it. And we slide along preserving, according to our sensoriality, the harmony with the environment that is continuously arising with our process of living. We, the living beings, slide in our living while preserving our living, our well-being. And when we do not preserve our well-being, we get sick, and if we do not recover our well-being, we die. When the physician treats us for a wound, is it the physician who cures us? We cure ourselves by ourselves! The physician helps us to cure ourselves. Alone. In the continuing process of our molecular autopoiesis.

And what does the physician do, then? He or she disturbs our structure, triggering transformations in it. That is, the physician modifies the environment in which we exist, in such a way that we can slide in the preservation of our ecological niche. How do we know how a given organism lives? By letting it live. Observing it. That way, we can see how it lives, and explain its way of life with the things and circumstances we distinguish, and we see that they also change. We see, for example, that as my wound heals, everything gradually changes: the way I move around, what I say‌ And that what happens is that the physician helps the patient to have the possibility of realizing his or her ecological niche in terms of the corporeal, physiological, or psychic relationships.

We living beings, moreover, transform together. We form communities. And in doing so, we currently transform what is happening in this space of relationships in which we are interacting. And it is in this mutual transformation that we arise as human beings in history, within an ancestral family in which language arises as a means of living together. Not as a symbolic way of referring to a reality about which we cannot speak, but as a way of coordinating our feelings, our actions and emotions.

We came up as a fundamental means of preserving love and tenderness, the emotions that guide our living and our living-together in the coherencies and harmonies that arise and remain preserved in the natural drift of the living beings in general, and of the human beings who preceded us in particular. At the present historical moment in which we live, however, many human communities are now inhabiting unforeseen and undesired contexts that are both incoherent and nonharmonic, which arise from the intrusion of ideas, notions or theories arriving from an outside context‌ or arising from themselves as a desire that hopefully was to lead to a continuous well-being that did not occur.

This is what happens with us when we imagine the coherence and harmony in the well-being of living and livingtogether as a success that is only possible if we adapt or control our surrounding world in accordance with what we wish to obtain, and we do not see that the history of the natural drift of the human beings shows us that the coherence and harmony of any process of living and living-together are the result of the preservation of well-being in this living and living-together in the harmony of love and tenderness. All this, in the history of the living beings, in our natural drift or in the coherent transformation of the biosphere, occurs spontaneously, without requiring any notion of meaning, information or purpose.

But when we human beings arise, we appear together with language, conversation and reflection. And in this reflection we take a look at ourselves and at what we do, and the possibility of choice arises. And what do we choose? We choose something according to what we want to preserve. This is why our real question in regard to the future is how we want to live now as beings who reflect, and who can choose what we choose, or not choose what we say we want to choose in the fundamental act of the human, which is reflexive conversation. What do we want to preserve now, in order for the future to be how we want it to be?

your eyes. One of the pages was laid out with closed eyes. Or change the eyes: instead of the curator and his team of specialists, blind people, amateurs photographing Ibirapuera Park and workers in the sectors of security, setup and cleaning are some of our main guides / our fundamental counselors for the actions. A security worker from the Museu do Prado taught me to look down. She showed me that shoes with plastic soles not only cause noises on the floor of the exhibition space, but also scratch it, creating abstract shapes / conceptual shapes / unique shapes soon erased by squeegees. The eye trackers are devices that allow us to know what a person tends to look at, but their system ignores the fact that the person doing the looking knows that he or she is being monitored. A little art and an actor are needed to lend complexity to the process / It takes a touch of handicraft and a character on the screen to confuse the procedure. During the time of the Bienal, in the evenings, the pollution and noise increase and interfere with the flora and fauna in the park. Bats get more frenzied than usual. Insects (including Aedes aegypti), attracted / seduced by the new situation, approach the institution, bringing small predatory reptiles with them. Even before it opened, the Bienal already began to produce what is to stay / to create what is to remain. That is why this project is also an alternative archive to that of the institution: it investigates the stages of recording the official discourse of the Bienal, and makes available to future researchers a material that stimulates research that is more experimental / that strengthens more information about the judgment. Official texts written by the curators prompt us to identify how they will be roughly parodied by the press. Photographers specialized in photographing artworks will also be recorded while they are making their records, opening a space for discussing the game / the plane of the scenography / the show / the design of an art exhibition and of a catalog. It is also a project in the public domain, without any sort of copyright restriction / an undertaking with an open area, without any copyright confinement: the different source codes used in the researches, the detailed practices for arriving at revealing incoherencies / notable irregularities of the practice of machine learning, the investigation of what will be published on the Internet about the exhibition, the reports of those who are not usually heard in the formation of an artistic discourse / the reports of honesty of individuals who are not generally heard in the arrangement of a formally authentic conversation. And, when the proposal is formalized and the atypical becomes an official appendix of the Bienal, it will be necessary to disadjust the machines again, so that new alternatives of understanding arise / to denaturalize the understanding. COVER: Opening of the 1st Bienal de São Paulo (1951) with the presence of its founder Francisco Matarazzo Sobrinho. INSIDE FRONT COVER: Opening of the 1st Bienal de São Paulo (1951) with the presence of Jarbas Passarinho, Laudo Natel, Francisco Matarazzo Sobrinho and Roberto Costa de Abreu Sodré. P.1: Visitor in the Special Room dedicated to the artist Alexander Calder in the 2nd Bienal de São Paulo (1953-54). P.2: International Award Jury for the 1st Bienal de São Paulo (1951): Jan van As (Holland), Eric Newton (United Kingdom), René d’Harnoncourt (USA), Marco Valsecchi (Italy), Jacques Lassaigne (France) and Sérgio Milliet (Brazil). / Still from film Circles (1966), directed by Ricardo Bofill. P.3: Historical Nucleus section of the 24th Bienal de São Paulo (1998) with the paintings Mameluca [Mameluke Woman], Mulher africana [African Woman], Índia tupi [Tupi Indian] and Índia tarairiu [Tarairiu Indian], by Albert Eckhout. / Image collected from the Internet. P.4: Unidade tripartida [Tripartite Unit], Max Bill’s sculpture awarded the Prize of Sculpture for foreign artists, in the galleries dedicated to the Swiss Representation in the 1st Bienal de São Paulo (1951). P.5: Special Room dedicated to the artist Edward Hopper in the 9th Bienal de São Paulo (1967). P.6: Bienal Pavilion façade (São Paulo, 2014). P.7: Aerial view of the Bienal Pavilion (São Paulo, 2011). P.8: General view of the Special Room dedicated to the French artist Marcel Duchamp, in the 19th Bienal de São Paulo (1987). P.9: Bienal Pavilion’s great span during the 32nd Bienal de São Paulo (2016) with view to Lais Myrrha’s Dois pesos, duas medidas [Double Standard]. P.10: General curator Walter Zanini during meeting with the International Committee for the organization of the 16th Bienal de São Paulo (1981). P.11: Meeting of the Award Jury for the 14th Bienal de São Paulo (1977) with Vice President of the Bienal Foundation Luiz Fernando Rodrigues Alves. The problematization of the images was carried out by Gabriel Pereira and Bruno Moreschi using different AI programs.

bruno moreschi


person 0.79

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person 0.70

person 0.71

person 0.70

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person 0.76

person 0.75

person 0.73

person 0.87 person 0.99

tie 0.83 person 0.89

person 0.98 person 0.96

tie a group of people standing in a field

militar 1.00

tie 0.99

tie 1.00


tie 0.99

tie 0.99

tie 0.99



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tie 1.00

White Male, 65-99 White Male, 65-99

Latino Male, 32-47

White Male, 65-99 White Male, 48-64

a group of men (1 latino) standing next to each other

Homo sapiens






Latina Female, 48-64


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■ ■





■ ■ ■ ■


Very Unlikely

Very Unlikely

Very Unlikely


a woman (1 latina) holding an umbrella in the rain

a group of men standing next to each other

person 1.00

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person 1.00

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person 1.00

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Art museum Artist Cannibalism

0.69075 0.6813 0.6622


1.00 person person 0.98 person person 0.94 0.84 0.76 person0.72 0.88 person person person 1.00


a man standing in front of a window in a store

1.00 person person 0.98 person person 0.94 0.84 0.76 person0.72 0.88 person person person 1.00

a stove with a pot on top of it a metal bar. a silver metal toilet. the wheel is black. the handle of a spoon. lights on the ceiling. a white box on the wall. a white and black bird. the black handle of the bike. microwave. a car in the street. a metal bowl on the counter. a black plastic bag.










Very Unlikely

Very Unlikely

Very Unlikely

refrigerator 0.26

refrigerator 0.32



Art gallery


Interior design


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person 0.11

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Product Photograph





a view of a building with a window in the background


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car 0.13 car 0.23 car 0.69 car 0.83 car car0.16 0.58 car 0.20

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Real estate


Metropolitan area


High-rise building




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car 0.16

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ônibus 0.53 ônibus0.15 0.13 truck car 0.17 car 0.12 car 0.95

car 0.82 truck 0.20 car 0.64

a street sign beside the road


car car



hidden text: “they were built�

a room with a large window and a window








Interior design services






Shopping mall


Outlet store


a large room with a lot of people in it

person 0.84 person 0.89 person 0.79 person person 0.880.83 person person 0.71 0.80 person 0.73 person 0.76


person 0.91

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person 0.85

person 0.92 person 0.82 person 0.74 person 0.72 person 0.87 person 0.79 person 0.80 person 0.81 person 0.75

person person 0.75 0.79

person 0.80 person 0.78 person 0.85 person 0.98 person 0.94 person 0.82 person 0.96 person 0.98

person 0.91

person 0.84 person 0.89

person 0.99 person 0.93

person 0.96 person 0.91 person 0.91

person 0.93


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Indian Male, 65-99


person 1.00



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a group of people sitting at a table with laptops

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person 1.00 person


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person chair


dining table chair laptop




chair chair

laptop house cup

laptop laptop laptop, book

bottl book

cellphone, book cellphone, book cellphone laptop, book cellphone cellphone



laptop book

clock book




Perion Amnon Wolman


- Noam Rotem


- System Ali -

VocaTikva Ensemble Ron Amir Artist


Institute for Public Presence

Experimental Israel

Print Screen Festival

Effi & Amir


The Israeli Center for Digital Art The Translation Project

Deutsch-Israelisches Zukunftsforum (DIZF) | GrimmHeimat NordHessen Musrara Experimental Music Program

Extra Tip Kassel


Творческое объединение кураторов ТОК | Creative Association of Curators TOK



Design Museum Holon

Kurhessen Therme, Kassel - Bad Wilhelmshöhe

Meir Tati

Art Factory Bat-Yam


Freies Radio Kassel

UNORD - Unternehmerinnen Forum Nordhessen e.V. 60 Jahre documenta

Dan Perjovschi

Mind_Netz HIT RADIO FFH der Freitag Kunsthochschule Kassel

Nadine Dinter PR FLAX Foreign Local Artistic Xchange

documenta forum

Staatstheater Kassel

Roofvogel runners -

Goethe-Institut Israel

Kulturförderpunkt Berlin

Fritz Haeg

Kasseler Atelierrundgang

Duncan Dance Center Gennadius Library YOU FM Museo Riso

Studio 14

Comune di Monfalcone

Deutsche Kultur International - ifa Bibliothek - Petach Tikva Museum of Art

Μέγαρο Μουσικής Αθηνών / Megaron - The Athens Concert Hall Goldhahn & Sampson Musée d'art moderne et d'art contemporain Κρατικό Μουσείο Σύγχρονης Τέχνης / State Museum of Contemporary Art

Museo Arte Contemporanea Sicilia

Freunde der Hamburger Kunsthalle

Goethe-Institut Berlin

Kulturni center Tobačna 001

Circuits and Currents

Klasse Film und bewegtes Bild Kassel

Perjovschi Dan

Slovenia in Israel Freie Universität Berlin

Mayor McCA

Tensta Konsthall Galleri Maria Veie

Stavros Niarchos Foundation

SaLon Gallery

Textile is More

CCA Tel-Aviv

Maca MuseoArte ContemporaneaAcri Santa Barbara Contemporary Arts Forum Walden Soup Mala Galerija Save Lewisham Hospital

ArtReview Asia

Nick Waplington ARTEM IF A THEN B GALLERIA SKIN Arte Contemporanea Galerija Goethe-Institut/Max Mueller Bhavan Mumbai

Freunde des Kunstmuseum Liechtenstein Mediamatic Travel Crowdspotting

Miki Kratsman: People I Met | :

Galeria Kombëtare e Kosovës / The National Gallery of Kosovo

La Biennale de Lyon / Art


Institut für Auslandsbeziehungen (ifa)

Rosenfeld Contemporary Art

art.ifa China Miéville Books

China Mieville

Noa Eshkol Foundation for Movement Notation

Neue Galerie Kassel

EMST National Museum of Contemporary Art, Athens KULTURAUSTAUSCH


Wallonie-Bruxelles International

Tamworth Regional Art Gallery

Deutscher Pavillon

Centre régional d'art contemporain Languedoc-Roussillon H GALLERY CHIANG MAI

Barossa Regional Art Gallery Kaeser Compressors Australia Pty Ltd Aes+f


Art Concept Galerie

C.A. Smith



BC Arts Council Rodel Tapaya Official The Feed SBS VICELAND

Association of Independent Schools of NSW Loves Data

Moby Bat Yam ;

Atelier Hui-Kan


Biennale de Lyon 2009 Galleri Fjordheim


Katrien Vermeire

Port Pirie Regional Art Gallery

Craft Scotland


Athens Biennale


stadtmagazin.com Fiona Margaret Hall Panasonic Australia Art Proper

Kunstraum Kreuzberg/Bethanien

Astrup Fearnley Museet

Burra Regional Art Gallery Postcommodity


CAC Brétigny

Murray Bridge Regional Gallery Andrew Myers Art SBS (Australian TV channel)

Seraphine Cafe @ Maitland Regional Art Gallery

The Center for Sustainable Practice in the Arts


Metropolis M

The Common Guild

Kunstmuseum Aan Zee

Staatliche Museen zu Berlin

Godot Galéria / Gallery Godot

The DH Gallery

Lofoten International Art Festival

The Alternative Artists Awards

Charlesworth, Lewandowski & Mann Arika Art Media Jim McElvaney

documenta 14

LAUTOM contemporary

Smile Arts

Mummery & Schnelle plataformacuratorial Lucong Blood, Sweat & Fears Oxygen Art Centre

Wasps Artists' Studios

Bergen Kunsthall

Art AsiaPacific

Orange Regional Gallery

AC Galerie

cell project space Galleri Sol Nodeland Wysing Arts Centre

Glasgow International


The Wilton Way Cafe

Hazelhurst Regional Gallery and Arts Centre Art & Design Education Resource Guide


Broken Hill Regional Art Gallery KALEID editions

Gympie Regional Gallery ArtCalendr

Griffith Regional Art Gallery


The Modern Institute

Witte de With Center for Contemporary Art

Geraldton Regional Art Gallery


İstanbul Kültür Sanat Vakfı

Barossa Regional Gallery

Goulburn Regional Art Gallery

MAMA - Murray Art Museum Albury This is No Fantasy + dianne tanzer gallery


Kunstmuseum Liechtenstein

Smart Works Galleri Christoffer Egelund

Smack Mellon

Creative Scotland

LabforCulture.org Galerie Nordenhake

Chiharu Shiota

Hawkesbury Regional Gallery

Berlin Biennale

Neue Nationalgalerie

Museumslandschaft Hessen Kassel (MHK)

Creative New Zealand

Blue Mountains Cultural Centre

Tamworth Regional Gallery

Tohu Magazine


PwC Australia Cessnock Regional Art Gallery

Kunsthalle Bern Febrik ACAVA CultureIL

Greusslich Contemporary



Axisweb Grazer Kunstverein

Ikon Gallery

Horsham Regional Art Gallery

Zachęta Narodowa Galeria Sztuki / Zachęta National Gallery of Art

Nafas Art Magazine


AES+F Art Sheffield Bundaberg Regional Galleries


Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art


SCEMFA - Slade Centre for Electronic Media in Fine Art Gosford Regional Gallery & Arts Centre

Moderna Museet

Georges River Art Prize


A Prior Magazine

KW Institute for Contemporary Art

Sommer Contemporary Art

Van Abbemuseum

MadeIn Company


Maitland Regional Art Gallery

Xu Zhen

National Portrait Gallery

European Cultural Foundation

Biennale of Sydney

Destination NSW The Ian Potter Foundation

Art Monthly

Hydar Dewachi

Gray Area Art + Technology


Movember Foundation UK

The Showroom

Spiro Arts Dumbo Arts Center

Stefanie Herr

ACCA - Australian Centre for Contemporary Art

Paint My Picture

De Appel

ERSTE Foundation

MAC VAL Musée d'Art Contemporain du Val-de-Marne

Campbelltown Arts Centre

The Nest

Galerie Baronian Francey Brussels

Koppe Astner

Wannieck Gallery

The Distillery Sydney Chamber Opera

les Abattoirs Deichtorhallen Hamburg

Galleria Tiziana Di Caro

The Fruitmarket Gallery

Galerie Fons Welters

Penrith Regional Gallery & The Lewers Bequest

Manifesta Biennial

Ontario Arts Council - Conseil des arts de l'Ontario

Nite Fleit Perc Tucker Regional Gallery, Townsville

Jacques Villeglé


this is tomorrow


Liverpool Biennial

LUMINOUS BOOKS Artquest hunt kastner

Kunsthal Charlottenborg Sofitel Sydney Wentworth

Adelaide Fringe


Feather and Bone Providore

Gladstone Regional Art Gallery & Museum

Japan Foundation, Sydney

Nottingham Contemporary

Institute of Modern Art

Monash University Museum of Art

Neuer Berliner Kunstverein

Kunsthalle Zürich

Galerie zone B

Portland Institute for Contemporary Art

UNSW Art & Design

Australia-Japan Foundation

LUX Moving Image

Ran Dian Magazine

Nordiska museet / Nordic Museum

ArtTerritories Kunstmuseum Bonn

National Art School Felix Gonzalez-Torres


Galeri NON Connersmith

Culture Ireland

SMK - Statens Museum for Kunst

A.R.P Projects

Iniva - Institute of International Visual Arts


Muriel Hasbun

Art Almanac Design Institute of Australia

Kunst Meran Merano Arte

Mornington Peninsula Regional Gallery

UGM l Umetnostna galerija Maribor

Res Artis, Worldwide Network of Artist Residencies

PERFORMA IMMA - Irish Museum of Modern Art

International Sculpture Center

Kunsten Museum of Modern Art Aalborg

Centre for Possible Studies

Sadie Coles HQ

Sprengel Museum Hannover Hazelhurst Regional Gallery & Arts Centre


Tai Chi Lewisham

Museo Villa Croce Lee Mingwei

Australian Design Centre

The State Library of New South Wales


Air de Paris


Tate Film

Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen Canvas: Art & Ideas on FBi Radio

Devonport Regional Gallery

AGO - Art Gallery of Ontario

Les Laboratoires d'Aubervilliers

Yorkshire Sculpture Park

Frac Grand Large

Canada Council for the Arts | Conseil des Arts du Canada

Museum of Contemporary Art Australia

Art Gallery of New South Wales

UNSW Arts and Social Sciences

Australia-Korea Foundation

Artupdate The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts

Cairns Art Gallery

ABC ARTS Accessible Arts

BALTIC Centre For Contemporary Art


Contemporary Art Society

Triangle Network

MMK Museum für Moderne Kunst Frankfurt am Main

Latrobe Regional Gallery

Australia at the Venice Biennale

Book Works

SALT Online MOCAK Muzeum Sztuki Współczesnej w Krakowie / Museum of Contemporary Art

Biennial Foundation

ARTStap Publication, Network & Resource for Contemporary Visual & Sonic Art

Kunstraum Richard Sorge


The MIT Press

Rademakers Gallery Texte zur Kunst

Marcelle Alix

Sydney Theatre Company

Brentwood Art Center

4A Centre for Contemporary Asian Art



Moravská galerie v Brně

Art News Blog

James Turrell


Edinburgh Art Festival

Time Out Sydney

Australian Writers' Guild


The Drawing Center MAN_Museo d'Arte Provincia di Nuoro Bathurst Regional Art Gallery

Creative Victoria

Darlinghurst Theatre Company

Valiant Styling

LaM - Lille Métropole Musée d'art moderne, d'art contemporain et d'art brut

Sydney Harbour Foreshore Authority

Artist Profile

Ludwig Múzeum

National Gallery of Australia, Canberra

Future Generation Art Prize

Camden Arts Centre




Secret Cinema


Vienna Contemporary

Art World Magazine: Venice Biennale Guide 2009

Galerie AKINCI

Mademoiselle Pea

Diaz Contemporary


Musée des Beaux-Arts de Lyon

Sydney Living Museums


Creative Time

sculpture network


Powerhouse Museum ABC


Le Journal des Arts

La Criée centre d'art contemporain

Art Gallery of South Australia

Malthouse Theatre


Sydney Writers' Festival

Hamburger Bahnhofe-flux – Museum für Gegenwart – Berlin

Kunstmuseum Basel

The Art Institutes

SBS Australia


steirischer herbst

Faurschou Vancouver Art Gallery

Roslyn Oxley9 Gallery


Sydney Dance Company Studios

Belvoir St Theatre


Jerwood Visual Arts

Bienále Brno | Brno Biennial

Queensland Art Gallery/Gallery of Modern Art MONA - Museum of Old and New Art

CHUNKY MOVE Sydney Symphony Orchestra

Department of Visual Cultures, Goldsmiths


Electronic Arts Intermix (EAI)

DCKT Contemporary Pont-Aven School of Contemporary Art

carlier | gebauer

Lismore Regional Gallery

Musée d'art moderne et contemporain Saint-Etienne Métropole

Auckland Art Gallery

Sydney Opera House

Ron Arad


Chisenhale Gallery Pilar Corrias Gallery

Barbara Cleveland

Frankie Magazine

Australian Museum

Haunch of Venison London

Kaldor Public Art Projects

Busan Biennale

Carnegie Museum of Art

Istanbul Biennial

City of Sydney

Serpentine Galleries

Castello di Rivoli Museo d'Arte Contemporanea

Absolut Art Bureau

Galleria Rubin

Liverpool MoMATate PS1 Hyperallergic

Australia Council for the Arts

Musica Viva Australia

Shubbak Festival

Annet Gelink Gallery

Art & About Sydney

Pro Helvetia

West Kowloon Cultural District


Cockatoo Island, Sydney Harbour

Printed Matter, Inc.

Art Viewer

Alexander Gray Associates

La Galleria Nazionale

Creative Partnerships Australia

Walker Art Center

aeroplastics contemporary

British Council

Henry Moore Studios & Gardens The Arts Centre Gold Coast

South London Gallery



Art Agenda Vilma Gold

Detroit Institute of Arts

FBi Radio

Dia Art Foundation

EMMA – Espoo Museum of Modern Art

Tim Van Laere Gallery


Transition Gallery

Contemporary Europe Art Guide Alliance Française French Film Festival

Guardian Australia

University of the Arts London Alumni

Contemporary Art Gallery, Vancouver

Berkeley Art Museum & Pacific Film Archive White Rabbit Gallery


Moderna galerija


Sydney Dance Company Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras

Anna Schwartz Gallery

Pippy Houldsworth Gallery

Museum of Contemporary Art Cleveland MOCA

MAMbo - Museo d'Arte Moderna di Bologna Corcoran School of the Arts and Design at the George Washington University

Turner Contemporary


Fischli and Weiss

OzAsia Festival


New York Foundation for the Arts


Sydney Film Festival

Centro per l'Arte Contemporanea Luigi Pecci

Hammer Museum

Observer Arts & Entertainment

Artand Foundation Kuvva Gallery

Art Institute of Chicago SFMOMATheSan Francisco Museum of Modern Art

Australian Centre for Photography

Australian National Maritime Museum The newDemocracy Foundation

Seattle Art Museum Contemporary Performance

The Association of Art Museum Curators

Mattress Factory - Museum of Contemporary Art

The Designers Accord

Madison Museum of Contemporary Art Fundación de Arte Contemporáneo

South London Art Map

Contemporary And


Timothy Taylor

Whitechapel Gallery

Grieder Contemporary

The Art Center - Chula

Fondazione Marconi - Arte Moderna e Contemporanea

Zabludowicz Collection

Art Dubai

NERO Editions

WIRES Vintage Collection

More Art

Toynbee Studios (Artsadmin)

Galleria Francesco Pantaleone Arte Contemporanea

Tate Modern

Serpentine Galleries

Frieze Art Fair

Sfeir-Semler GalleryBeirut & Hamburg

Blouin Artinfo

Paradise Row Gallery



The Art Newspaper Art in America

CAPC musée d'art contemporain de Bordeaux The Andy Warhol Museum

Brooklyn Museum

British Council Australia

Visual Studies Workshop

MAGA - Museo Arte Gallarate

L.A. Louver

Tate Members

Feast Festival


Getty Research Institute

Newark Museum


Performance Space

Yering Station


Museion Bozen-Bolzano

Marian Goodman Gallery

Hauser & Wirth

Prince Claus Fund

The Cinema Museum

Migros Museum für Gegenwartskunst

Mart - Museo di arte moderna e contemporanea di Trento e Rovereto GAM Torino

John Jones

Garage Museum of Contemporary Art Museo di Arte Contemporanea e del Novecento - Monsummano Terme

MOCA | The Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles


Moon Holiday

Scott Listfield

Berkeley Editions Fine Art Waterfront Toronto


The Yes Men

Palazzo Grassi - Punta della Dogana

Dulwich Picture Gallery


E-studio Luanda . Rita GT

CoolTan Arts

Arts Management & Technology Laboratory

Victoria and AlbertArtMuseum Whitney Museum of American Getty Foundation


Musée d'Art moderne de la Ville de Paris MAC Musée d'art contemporain de Montréal

Erub Arts - Darnley Island

The Jealous Curator

Galleria d'Arte Moderna di Roma Capitale

Royal Academy of Arts

La Triennale di Milano

Pirelli HangarBicocca

New Museum

Centro Arti Visive Pescheria Pesaro

Galeria SAC- Sequeiros Arte Contemporaneo

Instituto Cervantes in Sydney

Xavier Veilhan

MACRO - Museo d'Arte Contemporanea Roma

Sydney Latin American Film Festival

Guerrilla Girls



Europa Creativa Cultura-España

Philadelphia Museum of Art

La Biennale di Venezia


The Photographers' Gallery

Art World Magazine Sociedade Internacional de Abissologia

Crossroads Art Fair

Museum of Contemporary Photography

Martha Rosler

Visual AIDS

iCI (Independent Curators International)

The Rooster Gallery

Francesca Minini

Sedition Luis Buñuel

GalleriesNow.net RCA Secret

Independent Collectors

Winzavod ArtReview

White Cubicle Toilet Gallery


Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago

Fundació Tàpies

Art Plus Magazine AAM Media & Technology

Universitat Oberta de Catalunya (UOC)

Design Museum

MARCO, Museo de Arte Contemporánea de Vigo

Palais de Tokyo

Museum of Fine Arts, Boston


MACBA Museu d'Art Contemporani de Barcelona

Hermitage Museum

Korea Foundation-

Cindy Sherman

Armory Center for the Arts

Gagosian Gallery

Art Basel

Bronx Museum of the Arts

Cooper Hewitt



PULSE Contemporary Art Fair

Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum National Gallery

ARTIUM, Centro Museo Vasco de Arte Contemporáneo

Artissima Fair

VOLTA Art Fair


Frieze Art Fair

Art Threat Minus Space

Barbican Centre

Sean Kelly Gallery

David Zwirner David Zwirner Gallery

Contemporary Arts Center

Acción!MAD - Encuentros Internacionales de Arte de Acción Absolut

Musée du quai Branly - Jacques Chirac Embajada de Dinamarca en España

PAN Palazzo delle Arti Napoli

The Courtauld Gallery Pan Intercultural Arts

The Armory Show

Southbank Centre



Dallas Contemporary Thyssen-Bornemisza Art Contemporary

Lisson Gallery

Roundhouse Deutsches Hygiene-Museum

National Library of Scotland MUSAC

HuffPost Arts & Culture

Centre Pompidou

CA2M Centro de Arte Dos de Mayo

Fundació Suñol


Pace Gallery

ARTnews Magazine

MAO. Museo d'Arte Orientale

MAXXI - Museo nazionale delle arti del XXI secolo Fundació Joan Miró


Art Super

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Galería Múltiple Ediciones

Centro Andaluz de Arte Contemporáneo



Nasher Sculpture Center

Arts Santa Mònica


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ContemporaryArt Torino Piemonte

El Museo del Barrio


Casa Asia

Zavaleta Lab Arte Contemporáneo

White Cube

Saatchi Art


Off Limits


Tinney Contemporary

Rubell Family Collection

Gabriel Orozco

Homemade Parachutes Collective

La Central del Museo Reina Sofía

Museu Picasso Barcelona

Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya

Revista masdearte.com

Palazzo Strozzi


Fundación NMAC

Saatchi Gallery

Museu de la Ciència i de la Tècnica de Catalunya Guerrilla Gardening Madrid




Museo de Arte Contemporáneo de Puerto Rico - MACPR

Lydia Lunch

Pierre Bourdieu Museo de Almería

Pérez Art Museum Miami

Untitled, ART

MUAC Museo Universitario Arte Contemporáneo Royal College of Art


Pickles PR

SCOPE Art Show

British Film Institute


Esther Ferrer DA2. Domus Artium 2002

National Library Board, Singapore

Isaac Julien

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London Design Festival

CIFO - The Cisneros Fontanals Art Foundation Nacionalinė Dailės Galerija Vienna Secession



Subtramas, Pedagogías y Prácticas Colaborativas de la imagen


Llyfrgell Genedlaethol Cymru | The National Library of Wales

Gagosian Gallery

Michael Hoppen Gallery

Ideological Guide

Galería Magda Bellotti

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The Peggy Guggenheim Collection

Museo Nacional del Prado


La Casa Encendida


Studio Olafur Eliasson

Museo Tamayo

Agrega contenidos y recursos digitales educativos

ARS MAGAZINE Musée égyptien du Caire ""Egyptian museum""

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Galerie Le Figaro

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Wallpaper* magazine

Creative Review

Museo Nacional Thyssen-Bornemisza

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The Big Issue


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Acción Cultural Española, AC/E

Paula Rego

The British Journal of Photography

The Wall Street Journal

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Etihad Airways

Bronx Museum of the Arts


Museo de Arte Contemporáneo

Deutsche Bank AG

Museo Arqueológico Nacional de España

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Biblioteca Nacional de Chile

Colección de Arte Africano Arellano Alonso de la UVa

Ch.ACO Chile Arte Contemporáneo

Red de Bibliotecas de Museos (BIMUS)

Matadero Madrid La tienda del Reina Biblioteca de Ciencias Políticas y Sociología, Universidad Complutense

Festa del Cinema di Roma

Feria ARCO

Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes - Santiago de Chile


Anish Kapoor

Prince Claus Fund Marcelo Silveira Histórias das Exposições Strand Bookstore

Venice Biennale

Oscar Oiwa Studio, NY MAC - Museu de Arte Contemporânea.

Galeria Vera Cortês


Musée des beaux-arts de Montréal Atención obras

Design Milk

Colors Magazine Triangle Arts Trust

Kiran Nadar Museum of Art

Marina Abramovic

La Noche en 24 Horas 24 horas Radio Nacional

LEXUS. Hybrid Art

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TASCHEN Etapes Biblioteca de Geografía e Historia de la Universidad Complutense de Madrid La Luna de Metrópoli Cultura Fetén

larazon.es AHORA


Galeria Oscar Cruz

Senda de Cuidados

Galeria Nara Roesler

Revista de Arte - Logopress CIDESPU

Terremoto Muntref, Museo de la Universidad Nacional de Tres de Febrero

Instituto de México en España - IMEX

Biblioteca Nacional de España

Pere Portabella - Films 59


The British Library

Equipo Escuela de Música Reina Sofía Fundación

A Tale of a Tub

Slavoj Žižek

Needles And Pens

Descubrir el Arte

Centre for the Aesthetic Revolution

Museo del Traje Madrid

Museo de la Solidaridad Salvador Allende


International Museum Day - ICOM

The New York Times

Par B.L.eux

Grec Festival de Barcelona

Niko B Organic Chocolates

Fantastic Man


Museo De Artes Decorativas El Mundo

Ifema- Feria de Madrid



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Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian

Itsliquid Group

Triangulation BLOG

provoke art


Museo Nacional de Colombia

Babelia - El País

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Banco Espírito Santo hket.com Asia Art Archive Arco Feria De Madrid

Arte contemporaneo

Van Gogh Museum



The T Guardian G

mão direita

PortikusVenice Biennial

Brazil-Lebanon Cultural Center / Centro Cultural Brasil-Líbano

The Avant/Garde Diaries

Yoko Ono

Musée National d'Art Moderne

Arte al Día Perú

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Latitude - Platform for Brazilian Art Galleries Abroad

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Interview Magazine

Arte Al Limite

Directora Biblioteca Nacional de España

Valeska Soares

Central Galeria

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Time Out Miami


Mendes Wood DM

ArtNexus Ticketac

Strelka Institute for Media, Architecture and Design

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Studio Roosegaarde

Galerias de Arte em Portugal


Julio Le Parc


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Figaro Nautisme

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so vast is art Celma Albuquerque Galeria de Arte

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International Talent Support Baró Galeria

Le Figaro

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University of Amsterdam / Universiteit van Amsterdam


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Election présidentielle 2017

Les séries de Roxy

Le Figaro in English

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casa triângulo

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Creative Commons

• Aurora

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1973 - 2013

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Fotos Contam Fatos

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Museu de Arte do Rio

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Galeria de Babel Ana Maria Tavares: Art Works and Projects

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New York Stock Exchange


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COMO Clube

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Observatório de Favelas

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Instituto Brincante

Secretaria da Cultura

Aqui bate um coração

Iguatemi Ribeirão Preto

CineMaterna ReverbNation Relações com Investidores


Billie Holiday


Shopping Iguatemi Campinas

Baked Potato

São Paulo Companhia de Dança

Gaby Amarantos


Expand Vinhos


Sergio K. Flavia Rocco - Flores

Sapataria Cometa

Edições Sesc SP


Restaurante America


TeeGschwendner Raul's cozinha

Editora Blucher

MITsp - Mostra Internacional de Teatro

A Bela do Dia Kiehl's

Baby Cottons Doc Dog Brasil

Mc Cafè

Selections Viagens Cine Garimpo

Editora Garamond

Bienal do Livro Rio


Ela - O Globo




Julio Okubo

Breast Cancer Awareness Brasil


Olea Italian Food Truck

Bellagio Las Vegas

Ancelmo Gois



Poesia - Flá Perez

Cine Olido

Revista E

Instituto Pensarte

Frestas - Trienal de Artes

Casa das Rosas

King Cap Sp

Just Lia

Danilo Santos de Miranda

CAP-Coletivos Culturais De Cidade Ademar e Pedreira

São Paulo Antiga

Reserva Babycottons USA Loja Princess


Katia B Häagen-Dazs

Any Any

Raí 10 Oficial

Galleria Shopping

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Bella Editora

Cielo Visa


São Paulo


Casa do Pão de Queijo


Guia Fora da Casinha


VR Collezioni

Le Lis Blanc

Restaurantes Viena Victor Hugo - Leather Goods

Sesc Pompeia

Ibá - Indústria Brasileira de Árvores


Chata de Galocha AREZZO


Livre Opinião - Ideias em Debate


Rituals Cosmetics

Começando o Dia com Alexandre Machado







Agência Africa


Cia Mungunzá de Teatro

Itaú Social

Virada Sustentável - São Paulo


Uma Gota no Oceano


Sesc Consolação Planeta de Livros Brasil

Iguatemi Alphaville

Deca Tyrol - Oficial

World Tennis

Instituto Ressoar

Tulipa Ruiz


O Boticário

John John Denim


Festival de Curitiba

Al Janiah


Valor Econômico Buzinasp

Brincante - O Filme



Revista Superinteressante

Cinemark Brasil



Mandi Oficial


Instituto Mara Gabrilli

Jazz Sinfônica

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Iguatemi Florianópolis

BMW Jazz Festival Jorge Mautner

A Loja do Chá

Ong Recode



Canal Brasil

Trip Transformadores


Shopping Praia de Belas

Sesc São Caetano

Centro de Pesquisa e Formação - Sesc em São Paulo

Duratex S.A.

TV Cultura

Catraca Livre

Terno Rei Manu Chao


Iguatemi Porto Alegre Iguatemi São Carlos

Festival Tarrafa Literária

Xingu O Filme

Marcelo Tas

Amor aos Pedaços


Sesc Vila Mariana

Zélia Duncan

Os Mulheres Negras OTTO

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Nina Simone

Sustainable Brands São Paulo Faculdade Cásper Líbero

Vida Simples

SESC Bertioga

Consuelo de Paula

Festival de Cinema Latino-Americano de São Paulo Cidade Democrática Educar para Crescer

Coletivo 132


Miles Davis

Auditório Ibirapuera - Oscar Niemeyer


Sesc Birigui

Café Aprendiz

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Revista RAIZ

Fundação Dorina

Bayard Esportes

Cuidado Que Mancha

Fazenda Serrinha

Selo Sesc


Vou de Marisa Trend Tips SUPOLOLO

Planeta Sustentável

Lirinha - José Paes de Lira

Rock in Rio

Playing For Change Day Rio

Móveis Coloniais de Acaju Thiago Pethit

Índio é nós 2x2=5 - O Homem do Subsolo

Ashoka Brasil

Cine Joia



Yoga pela Paz

Sesc Belenzinho

Portal Aprendiz

Grupo Cultural AfroReggae

Campus Party

Cidades para Pessoas

Mundo Gloob


Sesc Sorocaba

Sesc Santo André Sesc Ribeirão Preto

Existe Rio Em SP

Anelis Assumpção

Caio, o pardal pensativo.


Sesc Pinheiros

Radiola Urbana

Mostra Ecofalante de Cinema Ambiental

Pedra Branca

Rádio Eldorado

Pimp My Carroça


Instituto Vladimir Herzog

Instituto Akatu

Bruna Lombardi

Sesc Interlagos

Arte de Educar




Sesc Taubaté

Globo Teatro

Fundação Nacional da Qualidade

SESC Catanduva


Cultura Brasil

Associação Águas Claras do Rio Pinheiros

Bike Anjo

Trupe DuNavô

Duratex Madeira

Diário do Grande ABC

Sesc Santos

Thiago e os Quase Quinze

Atados - Juntando gente boa Marcelo


Move Brasil

Garotas Suecas

Marina de la Riva

Não lave seu carro

Sesc Bauru

Sesc São Carlos

Projeto #Colabora

Clarice Falcão Cansei de ser gato

Don L

Sesc Campinas

Instituto Trata Brasil

CCJ - Centro Cultural da Juventude

Programa Rebento

Sesc Carmo

Patricia Peck Pinheiro Advogados Academia Juvenil da Orquestra Petrobras Sinfônica

Sesc Osasco

CCMI / Jazz Nos Fundos Pense de novo


Sete8 Comunicação

Sesc Thermas

Sesc São José dos Campos


Rafael Silveira Art

Bixiga 70

Pense Rosa

Stevie Wonder


Sesc Rio Preto

Revelando São Paulo Fundação Tide Setubal


Jerry Batista

Parada pela Vida

E aí, beleza?

Sesc Santana

RIOS e RUAS Eletropaulo

Rolê Gourmet

Instituto Ayrton Senna

Achados da Thais

Lee Fields & The Expressions


Conversa Ribeira

Instituto Socioambiental - ISA


Silvia Machete

Sesc Araraquara


Ideia Sustentável

Razões Para Acreditar


Bibi Ferreira

15.O WorldrEvolution

Carlinhos Antunes e Orquestra Mundana

APAS - Associação Paulista de Supermercados

Fundação SOS Mata Atlântica

BNegão & Seletores de Frequência

Sesc Santo Amaro

Pallas Editora

Rita Lisauskas

Marku Ribas


tás a ver?

Ray Charles


Tablemac Duratex

Sesc Jundiaí


Viver em Santos e região

Sesc Campo Limpo

Bike é Legal


Tratamento de Água

James Lino

Dia do Desafio/ Challenge Day/ Día del Desafío

Portal da Band

Vá de Bike


Marcia Rosa Sarau A Plenos Pulmões

Imagina Coletivo

Toque de Neon

Teatro Do Kaos

Heródoto Barbeiro

Há bares que vem para o bem

Taciele Alcolea Borboletas na Carteira

Instituto Pinho-Bravo

Centro de Memória do Circo

Veia Social

Pitanga em pé de Amora

Grupo Sobrevento

Envolverde Nelson Mandela

Bruna Caram (Oficial)

Bicho de Pé Angel Haze

Secretaria da Educação do Estado de São Paulo

Luciano Huck

Talco Bells

Governo do Estado de São Paulo

Existe água em SP

Baby do Brasil

Natura Musical


DJ Tudo e sua gente de todo lugar

A Craco Resiste

Nelson Motta

Yasiin Bey


O Melhor da Cultura SP

Chico Buarque


Periferia Invisível

Marvin Gaye

Viihrocha - Blog Todo Estilo

Derrick Green

Marky Ramone

Luzia Dvorek

Nhocuné Soul

Casa de Cultura e Cidadania

Elza Soares

5 a seco

Companhia do Metropolitano de São Paulo - Metrô

Projeto 2000 e água

The Bambi Molesters

Tietê Vivo

Trio Virgulino

SUEZ Brasil Rede Cultural Luther King

Ana Moser

Cia. O Curioso Atomic

Secretaria Municipal de Direitos Humanos e Cidadania de São Paulo

FAAP - Fundação Armando Alvares Penteado

Associação Capão Cidadão


Periferia em Movimento RAPPIN HOOD

Caetano Veloso


APAE Barueri

Le Monde Diplomatique Brasil

Ação Educativa

Andreas Kisser

Marisa Monte - Tribalistas

Grupo OPNI


Casa Fora do Eixo São Paulo

Espaço das Águas

The Mullet Monster Mafia

Marina Person

Periferia Revista

Crônicas do busão

Centro Educacional Infantil Luz e Lápis Revista Do Samba

Mais amor por favor



Carta Maior

Novembro Azul


Wet'n Wild - São Paulo Funk Como Le Gusta

Makeda Cultural


Do Chão da Maré às Nuvens

Marina Silva

Acorde - Oficinas para Desenvolvimento Humano

Os Paralamas do Sucesso




CeeLo Green


Som Livre Pedro Baby

Matriz Skate Shop

Sesc Piracicaba

Cia. Paulista de Trens Metropolitanos - CPTM


Projeto Arrastão



Sentimento Abstrato

Grupo AES Brasil

Secretaria de Estado dos Direitos da Pessoa com Deficiência de São Paulo

Tribunal de Justiça de São Paulo

Milton Nascimento

Colégio Cidade de Piracicaba - Anglo

Salve o Planeta

Lurdez da Luz

Thalma de Freitas

SESI Jacareí

Rádio Juventude

Jovens Sem Fronteiras

Núcleo de Dança Pélagos


Karol Conka Banda UÓ


Ateliê AZU

Fotos Antigas de São Paulo

Prefeitura de Itanhaém

Imaflora Brasil

Jazz na Kombi

Nando Reis

Banda Mantiqueira

Luiz Ayrão



Manifesto Crespo

Duo Nordestino POTENCIAL 3

Nação Zumbi


Ms. Lauryn Hill

TV Band Vale

Juventude Sustentável

Rico Dalasam

O Teatro Mágico


ASAP Rocky Sarau do Escritório

Edi Rock

Julio Falas


Companhia Ambiental do Estado de São Paulo (CETESB) Os Republicados

Rincon Sapiência Treme Terra

Sincomércio Piracicaba CBN São Paulo

Revista Vaidapé

Disputa de Colégios

Conta D'água

Unimep - Universidade Metodista de Piracicaba - Oficial Ad Lumen

Praçarau o sarau mais musical da COHAB Adventista

Filó Comunicação

Movimento Xingu Vivo para Sempre Contos de Reis

Devolva Meu Lado De Dentro Cordão da Terra

Polícia Militar do Estado de São Paulo

Domingo na Casa

Samba Sampa

Rio Tietê

MC Marechal

Galeria Olido


Alceu Valença

AABIC de Bem com o Condomínio TV Beira Rio

Michel Melamed

Marcio Sartorio

J Dilla


Kronik Skateboards

Geraldo Alckmin Poupatempo


Fabiana Cozza Escrevinhador

Caetano Veloso

Escoteiros SP Coletivo de Ventiladores SIGRH

Adoniran Barbosa

Ney Matogrosso


Uma Vila de Natal - Campos do Jordão

Fundação Cafu

Capacitação Professores Educação Física Cultuar't Produções Artísticas


Tribo Skate

As Resenheiras

A Tribuna Jornal

Departamento de Águas e Energia Elétrica - DAEE

sarau do burro Opanijé



Deputada Leci Brandão

Livros só mudam pessoas Guetto Connection

A Província - Paixão por Piracicaba

Tássia Reis

Secos & Molhados

Pelado Real Futebol Clube

Boutique de Krioula

Ziggy Marley

Estéticas das Periferias

Buguinha Dub Novos Baianos

A Tribuna Piracicabana

Piracicaba Sustentável

Ithamara Koorax Fan Page Pira For Kids Sandro Dias - Oficial Dança teatro juventudes

DZ9+UM=20 Chico César Outkast

Damian Marley

Corpo Molde

Projeto Cor Vida e Esperança

Ponto de Cultura e Memória Ibaô

4ª Feira de Cinzas

Professor Oséias Mingati Prefeitura de Limeira Sympathy for the BLUES Terra Celta Londrina

Disputa de Condomínios

Navega São Paulo

Associação ProBrasil

Fino Du Rap

Craveiro e Cravinho Los Primitivos Edgar MorinThe Legendary Tigerman

O Liberal

Bocada Forte


Jornalistas Livres

Mães de Maio

Immortal Technique Immortal Technique

Coletivo Limiar

SC Corinthians Paulista


Salão Internacional de Humor de Piracicaba


Cia Pé de Vento Teatro Pick It Up's

Jornal O Impacto - Mogi Mirim Evoé Cia de Teatro

Babí Máx Saramandaia Antonio Trivelin • Fotografia Piracicaba


Tetraldas Gestar, parir e cuidar consciente

Ciro Pessoa

Quarteto Colonial

Tribo no Rolhê

Bairro Monte Alegre Piracicaba/SP Prefeitura de Botucatu

Setor Reciclagem

Max B.O.

Dj Hum

Nhô Quim, o Caipira Centenário

Coletivo Piracema

Dub Fx

PiaparaCultural ESALQ- Escola Superior de Agricultura Luiz de Queiroz

Associação das Mulheres de Paraisópolis Pa Moreno

Prefeitura de Itatiba Samba de Raiz

Rádio Mixtura

Noel Rosa

Literatura Infantil Ano Novo Chines Câmara de Taubaté

Sarau do Trabalhador

Noiz Cultura Urbana

Núcleo Bartolomeu de Depoimentos

Rede Jornalistas das Periferias

Libertados - A conquista Corinthiana RB

Orquestra Filarmônica de Paraisópolis


Secretaria Municipal da Ação Cultural e Turismo - SemacTur Alberto Mourão

Jornal de Piracicaba

Aberto de São Paulo Prefeitura Municipal de Macatuba

Adeva Poliana Okimoto

Projeto Medicina

Cananéia - Cidade Ilustre do Brasil Poliana Okimoto

Brava Companhia

Agência das Bacias PCJ

Festival Curau - Culturas Regionais e Artes Urbanas Cidades e Soluções

Água de Vintém

Apoio a Sérgio Cabral

Cidade Verde Sounds


Projeto Jovens Músicos

Banda Rio Grande

Delboni Auriemo Escola Técnica Estadual ScienciaGuaracy Turismo Silveira Educacional Schumacher College

Escola do Samba


Cine da Quebrada



Clube Esperia Amigos da ADV São Roque Rotary Club de São Roque

Ian Gouveia

Poeta Sérgio Vaz

Observatório Popular de Direitos

Jaime""Diko"" Lopes

Pauê Aagaard


Mostra Cultural da Cooperifa


Espaço Comunidade

Jardim Monte Azul - Zona Sul - SP - Brasil


SAT Santos, 100 anos de Futebol Arte

Freeday Skate Luvita

TV Bernô

Comunidade Samba da Vela

Asa (cantora)

Futebol de Rua

Maria Antonieta de Brito

Gaspar - Rapsicordélico

Prefeitura da Estância Turística de Tupã Prefeitura Municipal de Torrinha - SP

Fentepira Piracicaba

Secretaria de Saneamento e Recursos Hídricos

Apite Piracicaba

Cultura Piracicaba Radiola DUB


Não fechem minha escola

Poetas Ambulantes

Ndee Naldinho

Tuff Gong International

Ong Casvi


Ash Stroud Bloco Agora Vai Banda Preto Soul

Gnarls Barkley

SESI Piracicaba

João Cury

Chapinha Partideiro Coletivo SP Por Mim e Pelo Meu Povo Valesca Mutantes Popozuda


Senac Piracicaba

Conética Administração de condomínios


Que nega é essa?

Dada Yute



Festival ManiFesta


Pumeza Matshikiza

Loja El Choq Pagode da 27

Craque Neto 10


Gah Mc


Escola de Música de Piracicaba ""Maestro Ernst Mahle""

Pequenas Empresas & Grandes Negócios

Afoxé Ibaô

Per Raps

Literatura do Rap

Guia Turístico Piracicaba

Fernanda Coimbra

Expo Comunidade

Sarau do Binho

Carlos Latuff

1festeco - Festival Ecológico de Piracicaba

Esporte Clube XV de Novembro de Piracicaba

Centro Cultural Martha Watts Grupo ""Chorando em Ré menor""

Julian Marley


Takedarte Chorinho no Monte

Z'África Brasil

Era uma vez.

Casarão da Mariquinha Pithy Cajón

Loja Cúpula Negredo

Stephen Marley


Usina Geradora

Capim Novo Amparar Black Star QuiLombo Hip Hop


Verso em Versos

James Bantu

Ataulfo Alves

Quebrada HQ

Nike Futebol

Parada Poética

Agência Solano Trindade


Maurício Pestana

Starter Br

MUROBR - acesse nossa LOJA OFICIAL http://www.murobr.com

Comunidade Portelinha & Viela 18

Receita de Samba

Foto Falada Veja Luz Sarau Terra Dura

El Choq! Produções

Esporte Clube Pinheiros

Ah, Eu Amo Você Fcduplafes Fernando E Como Sorocaba

Elementar Seu Jorge

Mundo da Rua

Afeto na Lata Comitê Juventude Resistência

Jazz da Comunidade

Sarau Pretas Peri

Projeto Hip-Hop no Monte


Lindomar 3L Observatório do Povo da Rua Role_De_Bike Avanilson Araújo


Só com vinil

Estação Cultura de Campinas Gaspar ZAfrica Brasil

Projeto Clamarte

Forro da Quebrada

Helena silvestre

Fernando e Sorocaba

Nocivo Shomon Rogerio Vieira Editora Capão Redondo

Cultura das Bordas

Craque do Amanhã

Caldo de Samba

G1 - O Portal de Notícias da Globo


Sapato Branco Instrumental

Rodrigo Ciríaco

Programa Freestyle

Master Crews


Funk Buia


100 contos por 10 contos trocados

Movimento Cultural das Periferias

Sociedade Santos Mártires Pixinguinha

Paulo André

Mata Adentro

Mema Fita Gelatéca

Rabiscos da Carolzinha - Itzá


WPJ Loca Vans e Agência de Viagens

Nene De Vila Matilde Soul Strut Greenpeeps

Gessé Silva Mos Def

Slam da Ponta



MC Marechal

Pati Liberato

Coletivo Literatura Marginales


Unidos do Peruche

Botequim Exposisamba

Menor slam do mundo

Sede da Comunidade Vila Fundão

Jacob do Bandolim Gabriel 8 Cordas


Waldir Azevedo

Coquetel Motolove

Slam Resistência


LUNABLU Chiquinha Gonzaga

Projeto Praga

Slam da Guilhermina


Estúdio Musica na Periferia Conjunto João Rubinato


ZumBiblioteca Amazonia Beats

Teatro Oi Casa Grande

Tratado sobre o coração das coisas ditas

Chorão Frases Ohmymag - Brasil : Frases

Praga de Poeta dia a dias

Sistema Municipal de Cultura de Campinas em pauta

Renata Armelin - Fotografia Além da Ponte

coletivo ha.veres

Intimismos Sarasta

Sarau Olhares Devassos

Johny Alen Rap

Rádio Nova Paraisópolis FM 87,5

Negrasim Raizes Tranças e Penteados Afros


Encontro de Compositores Chorinho

Sarau Cooperifa - Poesia e Cultura

MAD RATS El Choq Som Cozinha Orgânica Tempero Natural

Coletivo Dedoverde

Rede Globo

Ni Brisant

SPTV, Bom Dia SP e G1 SP

O Futuro do Hip Hop Grupo Chorinho

Reviva O VINIL

Sarau Debaixo

Samba & Choro

Para Brisa

Verdecaffé Toda via,

Clube do Choro de Juiz de Fora

Globo Rural Sobrenome Liberdade


NARRA Várzea

Aché Laboratórios

Sarau Antene-se

Mariana Felix

Slam do Corre

Gshow - O Entretenimento da Globo

JOHNY ALEN - En Venezuela RNT

Slam Função Convicto

Tati Limas Fotografia Som Independente Chandra Lacombe Coletivo Dedo Verde

Bem Estar

Um Salve Doutor

Movimento Aliança da Praça - M.A.P

Bom Dia Brasil


Audiovisão Produções Planeta Extremo TV Globo


Jornal Nacional Flogoral

Fantástico - O Show da Vida


Jornal Hoje

Você mais Adaptado

Biofenac Dezoito Prolive

CT Fut Talentos


Mais Você

Globo Internacional

Globo Esporte


Ultra Popular - Principal

Profissão Repórter Memória Globo

Jornal da Globo Ego


Globo On

Globo Mar

Globo Repórter

Lealdade F.C. UNIDOS DA VILA F.C. Rede Vanguarda

MGTV e Bom Dia Minas DFTV, Bom Dia DF e G1 DF

Hora 1

SuperStar TV Integração - Afiliada Globo

Tá no Ar

RJTV, Bom Dia Rio e G1 Rio Globo Nordeste

Diário da Várzea

Futebol de Varzea Loucos da Nova Era Topper Conectados na de Várzea Copa Amizade - Futebol Várzea Abcdmrr - SP Copa de Integração dos Refugiados



Santa Pelada

TV Anhanguera Goiás


The Voice Brasil

The Voice Kids - Brasil

Clandestinos Futebol Clube Futliga Portuguesa de Desportos - Fanáticos pela LUSA Dener

Ne wo k o e a onsh ps on Facebook om Fo ceA as2 and PageRank a go hms who he B ena de São Pau o kes who kes he B ena and who kes hose who ke he B ena

Propriétés Le Figaro

Actions to enlarge / expand / grow the understanding of the 33rd Bienal de São Paulo by Bruno Moreschi, with interventions by Gabriel Pereira (co-researcher / partner scientist in this project) based on a network of Artificial Intelligences that suggest modifications in the text by using three different techniques of article spinning. A similar procedure is used in the production of fake news. An alternative network for understanding the 33rd Bienal de São Paulo was constructed on the basis of intentionally different methods. The process begins with a refusal / A deceleration opens the procedure: the great lack of interest in contemplating the exhibition / the show and in following the explicit instructions, typical of the building (open your eyes, ignore guards and fire extinguishers, do not lean on the artworks, etc.), and implicit in contemporary art (which are almost always on the artwork labels / in the finishings / on the stickers ). Based on this restriction, four questions were formulated by me and Gabriel, in a sort of index of actions: What is presence today? What do the nonspecialists have to say? What reverberates / What resounds? And what stays / is clean for History? If the curatorship suggests a path, make it into a dadaist text. Machine learning programs are excellent for plagiarizing schoolwork, for fake news that helps politicians and spreads hateful discourse, and for artistic texts. As they are taking place here, on the basis of a base text, they exchange words for synonyms and expand the discourse with their imprecise interventions / based on a content of structure, they substitute words by equivalent words and extend the conversation with their mistakes / they cultivate the discourse using their imprecise interventions. There is a cell phone between the audience and the art object / and the protest against handicraft. A photographic record arises, with a strange capacity for reproduction. Excited by the algorithm constructed by the Western white man, it feeds a vast databank that is organized in a way that is too intricate for humans / in multifaceted routes for people. The digital neurons make mistakes, they make mistakes, until their mistakes become natural in the network of meanings / The advanced neurons disintegrate, dissolve, until their mistakes become natural in the system of implications. Artificial intelligence software programs are becoming increasingly precise, but they are still primitive when they try to read the codified system of contemporary art. Their errors are gaps / ruptures / breaks that reveal part of the ideology of their databases and indexes / Their mistakes are divisions that discover some part of the belief system of their database of files. Women tend to be associated with products for beauty and the kitchen. Often, their posture and face are interpreted as sexually provocative, even though they are visiting an exhibition, feeling boredom. An image has a greater likelihood of being read as “business,” “decision” and “power” if more than two white men are in the scene. The Bienal de São Paulo building is recognized as a luxury residential condominium / The Bienal de São Paulo is perceived as a private apartment suite and pseudonymous with extravagance. Its glass panes, as possible fences. There is also the strange obsession, in these programs, of warning us when a face looks Latino. Some cases are simple: it is more likely that a painting which depicts a person will be understood as a person by the AI than the visitor who looks at the painting / the work of art of a man can be understood by the individual more individual than an invitee who is deceived / who gazes at it / who falls asleep. A simple distraction by NeuralTalk2 occurs when it must read a situation with movement, like a visit to an exhibition. “Wide horizon” is how it interprets the white exhibition wall. If one wishes to see, one should close his or her eyes / With the chance of seeing yourself, close

claudia fontes


denise milan



feliciano centuriรณn 33bienal/sp

extreme ornamentation ticio escobar


The development of Feliciano Centurión’s work reflected constant shifts that determined various artistic positions, while never forcing him to abandon a visual matrix that was sketched out in the origins of his personal history. This statement requires a brief biographical note, which makes it possible to detect the first nexus of images, forms and experiences that cemented his poetics and visual repertoire.1 The artist was born in 1962 in the city of San Ignacio Guazú, in the department of Misiones, Paraguay. Although he lived there only during his early childhood, the memory of that place and of that period was a determining factor in the formation of his sensibility. During the 1960s, the population of San Ignacio Guazú was strongly conditioned by traditional patterns of a rural origin. Although the Guarani-Jesuit past marked – and still marks – the memory of the missionary territory, it is continuously rewritten through the powerful handicraft production of wool and cotton fabrics, which is concentrated in the neighboring city of San Miguel. The iconography of those fabrics, based not only in the material’s natural tones, but also in intense colors of industrial origin, is characterized by a development of geometric patterns, mainly striped, and with phytomorphic motifs, which define a certain missionary visual atmosphere that is intensely present in the daily life of the region. But although Centurión was immersed in the airs of that handicraft work, it is in his home that we should trace his passion for fabric and its ornamentation. His grandmother Rogelia, the widow of Acosta Mena, was an excellent lacemaker skilled in


Approaching this theme essentially required the data and material generously furnished by Yolanda Centurión, as well as by Verónica Torres and Damián Cabrera. The long conversations I had with Feliciano also provided me with valuable information. 1

the embroidery of crochet; his mother, Yolanda Acosta, was a teacher and taught arts and crafts, including hand embroidery and machine sewing, crafts he learned at home. Centurión’s sensibility was nourished within a calm scene, furnished with the refined aesthetics of the missionary zone and, particularly, that of his home. Thus, the formation of his imagination was fed by the subtleties and meticulous care of a manual craft then practiced almost exclusively by women, who were in charge of beautifying the experience of daily life with fabrics, embroideries and lace, skilled at summarizing in great detail the essential drive of collective forces. In relation to the question of how art can be influential in the experience of a beautiful life, Fernando Davis cites the words of Feliciano: “I try hard to produce beauty.”2 Beauty is therefore conceived as the product of an effort: a task of construction. And this concept, imbued with the criollo visual temperament, is coupled to the Guarani ideal of tekoporã, the search for the “good and beautiful life,” committed to both the public space as well as daily life, stripped of excesses, reduced to essential signs in its ornamental expression, powerful in its conciseness. (Centered in the “splendor of the simple,” to use a Heideggerian concept.) But this approach to a tranquil world should also acknowledge its nocturnal side. On the one hand, each ideal of beauty contains its own underside, starkly outlined. It was on the razor’s edge of a very tough time of his life that Centurión perfected the splendor of his embroidery and short phrases, by enhancing the delicateness and radicalizing the sense of his embroideries in step with how his strength and days dwindled. Without losing their lightness, his last images/writings have the irrefutable conviction of lasting truths. On the other hand, the sinister presence of the dictatorship (1954-1989) of Alfredo Stroessner (1912-2006) hovered in the air in the days of his childhood. It is possible that the boy was not aware of that gloomy horizon, but an initial look 2

Fernando Davis. Feliciano Centurión. Las intensidades de la belleza. Curatorial text for the exhibition held at Centro de Artes Visuales/Museo del Barro, Asunción, Paraguay, in 2013. 2

is enough to detect the threats of each current moment, in giving shape to its signs and furnishing images for the adversities that the adults named in an incomprehensible way. The injustice and repression then rife in the country raised a wall of uncertainty that provoked the continuous “river crossing” – a euphemism for the Paraguayan exodus. Centurión’s paternal uncles (Arturo and Juan de Dios) were exiled for political reasons, just as his nuclear family was for economic reasons: the diaspora of hundreds of thousands of Paraguayans forced to flee the repression and oppression of the dictatorship. The artist’s father, Feliciano Centurión Balbuena, a teacher and accountant, had to move with his family to the city of Alberdi, located across from Formosa, Argentina, in search of better job conditions for himself, and educational conditions for his children, who crossed the border every day to attend the school in Formosa. Ultimately, it became necessary for the family to take up residence directly in the city, where Feliciano finished his studies and began his career as an artist.3 During his secondary studies his talent for calligraphy became apparent, which would later lead to a poetics of embroidered writing, whose words not only bear a semantic value, but are also charged with visual meanings and imaginary episodes.


Feliciano Centurión completed his artistic training 4 and expanded his talent through his participation in the Buenos Aires arts scene. But parallel to his involvement in this context, from the 1980s onward, Centurión also established his presence in the Paraguayan art world. He was therefore always actively engaged in work in both countries. In fact, his first exhibition was held in Asunción, as was his retrospective, as though formally opening and closing his career. 3


Feliciano Centurión concluded his elementary schooling at Escuela N. 1 General San Martín; went to junior high and high school at Escuela Nacional de Comercio; and began his training in the “fine arts” at Instituto Óscar Albertazzi, all these institutions established in the city of Formosa. As a recent graduate or as a teacher, Feliciano’s academic career took place in three fine arts schools of Buenos Aires: Manuel Belgrano, Prilidiano Pueyrredon and Ernesto de la Cárcova. 3

Centurión emerged in the visual arts of Asunción with a painting of vehement uniform colors and emphatic, occasionally categorical shapes. Although little recognized, this figuration was decisive for situating the gist of the artist’s political stand. They are larger-format artworks in an expressionist style, focused on his inner world and, at the same time, attentive to the pressures of a history of hardship. They are serious paintings tensioned between, on the one hand, the singular condition of the artist, his desires and feeling, and, on the other, the adverse times that suffocated (and suffocate) the regional history, especially that of Paraguay. Centurión takes up the conflict in terms of a personal politics: he feels the weight of those times more in the resonances of his body, memory and the intersubjective relations than in terms of the institutionalized public space or of history conceived in large format. The Buenos Aires art scene, at that time not as circumspect as that of Asunción, therefore had a decisive influence on Centurión’s iconography: it ushered in a historical moment open to the emergence of the younger generations, mindful of the collective tasks and permeable to the influence of socalled postmodernism. Not believing in the great utopias or in political commitment, the emerging artists established an ironic position on the basis of which they worked on new meanings of taste: they valued the fringe aesthetics in order to consider the transgressive possibilities of the popular sensibility of the masses, and to detect the critical and poetic reaches of “light” aesthetics. In this context, the high esteem for household handicraft and ornamentation acquired relevance (a spirit of “escuelismo” [“schoolism”] and its indulgence with the artworks based on school exercises and iconographies). Centurión’s sensibility fit very well in this environment that fostered everyday aesthetics: a poetics of embroidery and sewing, a respect for household tasks, nostalgia for a world of small knowhows threatened with extinction. After painting, the artist began to work with supports linked both to household practices as well as industrial products. He produced then a succession of blankets made of rustic fabric, rugs, pillowcases and used tablecloths; he 4

sewed together scraps of embroideries, ñanduti5 and crocheted lacework, patches or backgrounds of brilliant canvases; he added fabric on top of fabric, embroidery on top of embroidery, he wrote short phrases that sustained definitive sentences and were converted into new images. He thus employed motifs that contradict or affirm the aesthetics of the support (large figures of tigers, octopuses and lizards) or intervened on the geometry of the blankets, related with the missionary aesthetics in their colors and squares. In other words, he did not confuse nor ignore the meanings and the functions proper to the materials he used, but made them more complex and re-signified them: entangled with others, the connotations of shelter, household intimacy or decoration are always present. These operations revive the skills of his childhood, his world of figures and delicate sewing. They reveal the reminiscence of the needle that penetrates, splits, embroiders and stitches; the restlessness of the back of the canvas returns, the ambiguity of the writing awakens, the things learned at school are reechoed. Following this, Feliciano naturally fit into the young scene of Buenos Aires, which allowed him to activate complex memories and to rekindle images and practices deeply settled in his own sensitive experience.


The critical questions raised by the work of Feliciano Centurión should be considered in light of his disconnect with the system of representation that framed it. This regime was, on the one hand, anchored in the persistent remnants of the patriarchal and Eurocentric canons from the illustrious origin of its traditional and modern versions. On the other hand, it was strongly dependent on the hegemonic aesthetics which, in terms of spectacle and entertainment, promoted the inconsistent aesthetics of images.6

5 6

A word in the Guarani language that refers to fine lacework, generally translated as “spider web.” The fact that this paragraph is written in the past tense is not to ignore the ongoing character of the conditions set forth, although today they assume other formats and have acquired different scopes. 5

Centurión’s work spontaneously assumes the conflict between handicraft, technical and serial production, as well as the persistence of the aura of the era of reproducibility, questions that fascinate a culture beset by the excess of stereotypes and molds, secretly anxious for the destiny of the elementary material and of the first making. His work thus sparked a debate between the factory designs of the blankets, rugs and gobelins, and the interventions that he himself generated through his paintings made in acrylic, embroidery and appliqués. When brought face to face, the more direct artisanal practice and the industrial production release a constellation of scattered meanings involving the modes of “good taste” and of the role of mass production, the quality of the material and the value of the merely decorative. The blankets, with a modest touch and explicit kitsch tone, are obliged to evoke the unstable borders of taste and to debate established canons and venerable concepts. The emergence of alternative suburban patterns makes it possible to question the hegemonic model of a superior taste. And, upon doing this, it promotes the affirmation of other sensibilities and activates the game of differences which, in art, is always a factor of creation, of poetic recreation. Obviously, for decades the market has been assuming the lucrative possibilities of the sensibility of masses; what the artists were searching for in the 1980s and 1990s was to reconsider this sensibility in a critical and poetic direction, against the grain of purely lucrative aims. It sought to detect shadow or lack; to find the opposite, the flipside, or that which lies beyond kitsch. In Centurión’s work, critical irony assumes a personal color: insofar as he does not completely disconnect from the original household imagination, he does not obtain the distance required for the ironic gaze in relation to the object. In his case, to speak of irony it is necessary to understand this concept in its wider sense: as a principle of negativity that localizes the gaps of representation to make them the driver of radical questions. Perhaps these questions do not have answers and the ironic gesture resides in its own formulation. Building on the basis of his primordial imagination, Centurión activates the involuntary memory, able to give rise to questionings that are sometimes renewed. Each point of the basting or embroidery helps to delineate a small flower or 6

to trace a word which, each brought together from a different time, will never be the same: the difference between household and school models, on the one hand, and the embroideries on sheets or blankets, on the other, establishes a space, an inevitable void that provokes melancholic backstitching and new meanings darned over old ones. Mediated by Centurión’s iconography, the decorative motifs of the canvases and blankets do not only discuss the mythic principle of the legitimacy of the image, but also parody the heroic-dramatic sense of modern art and even the assumptions of its representation, which avoids the seriousness of the discourse to emphasize anecdotal and merely narrative aspects. By praising any situation, however, he touches a human nerve and arrives at a profound vein of the real: shot through by desire, offered with conviction to the gaze, the most trivial objects acquire an additional sense that makes them unique. The challenge lies in the capacity to provide an aura to these objects, without falling into the diffuse aesthetics of the market, which seeks to erase vestiges of their materiality, the marks of their production and the rough edges of their origin. Confronting the ghosts of memory is a resource of art to bypass the fetishism of merchandise, the “sex appeal of the inorganic,” in the terms of philosopher Walter Benjamin (1892–1940). For this reason, one should question the innocence of Centurión’s images, which cannot be interpreted by means of simple figures, like the celebration of the commonplace, the veneration of kitsch or the snobbery of “light” aesthetics. The refinement of his embroideries rends the canvas, goes through to the other side, establishes minimal densities that belie the bidimensional status of the support: a support of the image and of the word. His mild statements should be read in a visual key, which includes the concept, but makes it the place of the gaze (the gaze, never in conformity with the stable meanings, resisting the transparency of the denoted). His motifs shelter the power of the detail, but also the obscure reserve of the fold. A sewn, embroidered canvas that bears writing or is added to another canvas must be considered in its pleats or reverse, and the minimal thickness of 7

its weave must be known: here reside signs of personal history and political reach, germs that can be activated in a public way. And, in this density, signs of the inaugural sensitivity are inscribed, signs of restlessness, anxiety and orgasmic enjoyment (pleasure and pain) of his difference: his sexual particularity, his way of expressing the body and representing the world, his elegant way of living and accepting death. Linked to the feminine everyday world and identified with lesser skills, Feliciano’s productive practices arise in confrontation to the prestige of the hegemonic visual system, not only with a basis in the problematics of the parallel aesthetics, but also from a perspective of gender, which incites the disrespect for the patriarchal and heteronormative regime, which fixes places, determines roles and establishes hierarchies. The prevalence of this regime had grown in detriment to the personal political dimension, exiled from the solemn path of the illustrated shape. The critiques of modernity gave rise to powerful forces springing from the knowledge of the body, from subjective experience and from desire. In this context, the work on the banal and the decorative, the superficial and the playful, acquire a micropolitical dimension, able to absorb monopolized questions through a hierarchical and vertical view of the public order and political life. But, how could those powerful forces be linked to a light aesthetics ready to become unraveled in a languid circle which, maintained in the round of a mere game, seems unable to explain the intensity of the real? One of Centurión’s last artworks deals with the “tacky” and the trivial to an extreme that winds up in a radical position. The small fragments of laces and tapestries are manually embroidered with brief captions that speak of ideal loves, fear of loneliness, farewell and hope. They are trivial talismans, commonplace objects reinhabited by the truth of a borderline situation that makes them vibrant and extreme, nearly circumspect. Feliciano never lost the thread of his humor nor did he ever abandon his parodic game with language; rather, his search for the brilliance of a hackneyed aphorism led him to look behind the clichés and allowed him to connect with the dramatic vein that animates the smaller sign, when it is shouted with genuine force. 8

Inmensamente azul [Immensely Blue], 1991

Untitled, 1990

Untitled, 1993

Ciervo [Deer], 1994

Descansa tu cabeza en mis brazos [Rest Your Head In My Arms], 1995

EnsueĂąo [Dream], 1995

Untitled, 1990

Untitled, 1995

Gansos [Geese], 1991

Te quiero [I Love You], 1993

Flores del mal de amor [Flowers of Love Sickness], 1996

Cordero sacrificado [Sacrificed Lamb], c. 1996

Mi casa es mi templo [My House Is My Temple], 1996

AĂąoranza [Yearning], s.d.

Vivir es todo sacrificio [Living Is All Sacrifice], 1996

Luz divina del alma [Divine Light of the Soul], c. 1996

Soledad [Solitude], c. 1996

Reposa [Rest], c. 1996

SueĂąa [Dream], c. 1996

lucia nogueira




mischief 1995


the words and things of lucia nogueira jacopo crivelli visconti 3

... 1992



needle 1995


A crow has settled on a bare branch – autumn evening Matsuo Bashō, 1680

As in a poem, the fewer elements that compose an installation or any other work of art, the greater the degree of attention that it demands from the observer to be understood, especially if in the composition of the artwork the artist has used elements that were taken from daily life and re-signified them based on their insertion in the symbolically charged context of the white cube. In this new context, the objects continue being what they were, and at the same time begin to be something ontologically different. For those who manage to perceive this transformation, the change is decisive, almost mystical, similar to what Giorgio Agamben (1942-) describes, citing Walter Benjamin (1892-1940): The Hassidim tell a story about the world to come that says everything there will be just as it is here. Just as our room is now, so it will be in the world to come; where our baby sleeps now, there too will it sleep in the other world. And the clothes we wear in this world, these too we will wear there. Everything will be as it is now, just a little different.1

The use of elements from daily life, on the other hand, can make the artwork run the risk of going unperceived, or of not being understood. Aesthetic conciseness and banality are combined, in this sense, to create an extremely particular tension, which keeps the work constantly on the “razor’s edge,” that is, at the brink of the abyss of incomprehension. It is in this realm that the work of Lucia Nogueira (1950-1998) takes place. 1

Agamben, A comunidade que vem, transl. Claudio Oliveira. Belo Horizonte: Autêntica, 2013, p.51. 7

full stop 1993


Full Stop (1993), for example, is a sculpture made with a large wooden industrial spool and a rectangular steel post. The post is low, a bit higher than the spool, and stands securely on its broader, nearly square base. The spool is standing with its two rims on the floor, ready to roll, if it weren’t for the post it is nestled up against, which maintains the spool in a state of full stop. The decisive element for understanding this work lies in a double meaning: in the British English that Lucia Nogueira used throughout her artistic career in a dense and perfectly conscious way (that is, never unconscious or “natural,” as with one’s mother tongue), the phrase “full stop” also denotes the period at the end of a sentence. The sculpture is therefore, before anything else, a play on words. This brief description of Full Stop reveals that nothing that is said about Lucia Nogueira’s sculptures and installations should be considered as nonessential or accidental, and this is especially true of the never totally explicit, subtle irony that characterizes them. To understand this irony it is important to remember that, for the artist, one of the qualities that best defines her work is tension: “a tension that you don’t know where it starts and where it ends.”2 There is a tension between the shapes (sometimes rigidly geometric, sometimes imposed on soft materials by the support they are moulded to), between the materials (sometimes solid and common, sometimes ethereal, nebulous, nearly incomprehensible), between the objects (sometimes appropriated from the most prosaic daily life, sometimes totally surreal), and between the titles (which can be either descriptive, fun, contradictory, ambiguous, or absent). Irony, as we know, reveals something by affirming its opposite, and in this sense it also arises from a constant tension, from the clash between negation and affirmation and, mainly, from the more or less remote possibility that what is being affirmed to suggest its opposite could be understood in a literal sense, transforming the would-be irony into incomprehension. It is this risk which gives rise to the fundamental tension of Lucia Nogueira’s artworks, suspended 2

William Furlong, Audio and Arts, volume 12, number 1, side B, approximately 2’40”. Available at: <http://www.tate.org.uk/audio-arts/volume-12/number-1>, retrieved on: January 20, 2018. 9

between the irony of being contradictions in terms and the danger that, in the absence of adequate interpretation, they become mere juxtapositions of objects and materials. “In her studio, which had meanwhile moved to Bermondsey, south of the Thames, Lucia Nogueira left a large quantity of artworks whose status still needs to be determined.”3 Are they objects, artworks, or raw material? Even with the finished artworks, it can be difficult to differentiate their nature and to classify each thing in the artist’s world. In the artwork Untitled (1997), two lists scrawled in an apparently impromptu way on slates convey a very clear idea of this difficulty. On the first slate we read, among other elements: “Estilingue, Bola, Lâmpada, Boxing Ring, Shutters, Sapato, Vidro c/ sangue, Meia, Dente” [Slingshot, Ball, Lightbulb, Boxing Ring, Shutters, Shoe, Glass w/ blood, Sock, Tooth]; while the second bears the words and phrases “Morcego num tronco de árvore, Red dots, Casa sem teto, Black Board c/ moldura dourada, Jogo feito com pacotes vazios” [Bat on a tree trunk, Red dots, Roofless house, Blackboard w/ gold frame, Game made with empty packages]. It is difficult to imagine a more immediate way of conveying the tense coexistence of these elements, the clash between the languages and the images that each word or idea carries. This construction leads us simultaneously to the surrealism of Lautréamont’s (1846-1870) dissecting table (the shoe, the red dots, the gold frame), to the world of childhood (the slingshot, the ball, the roofless house, the game made with empty packages), or the horror film (the glass with blood, the bat on a tree trunk, the tooth), to cite only some of the possible directions. The sensation that it is impossible to extract a univocal meaning from the juxtaposition of apparently irreconcilably distinct fragments is felt very frequently by observers of Lucia Nogueira’s work, mainly because each one of the elements is extremely suggestive individually. The artist herself, describing the installation mounted at Chisenhale Gallery, in London in 1990, evinced how everything in it seems to lead to nothing


Adrian Searle, Sem isto sem aquilo. Porto: Fundação de Serralves, 2007, p.20. 10

untitled 1997

baixa resolução

and how everything is ultimately circular, “a vicious circle.”4 Significantly, in this description the verb that she most often uses is “to suggest”: “the sack suggests a recipient for carrying things, the bucket suggests a liquid,” everything suggests something else, but which we finally perceive is not there. In a certain way, by suggesting something different from what is being effectively shown, the work operates in the field of metaphor, that is, nearly an enlarged field of irony, if we consider that there is very little distance between metaphor and irony. Irony reveals something by affirming its opposite, while metaphor reveals something by talking about something else, without, however, being limited to a univocal relation like that of opposition. Thinking about the relationship between fullness and void, or between presence and absence, it is interesting to observe how often the artist’s sculptures and installations are made using objects such as boxes, packages, closets, tubes, pipes, wires and other items that can contain, connect or transport, link different spaces, or transmit signals or energy. The dynamics at play are often between what is inside and what is outside, or more precisely, between what is included and what is excluded, yet which, even so, are essential for the balance or operation of the whole. One of the clearest examples in this sense is the installation Blink (1996), which consists of a steel cable stretched under the ceiling of Eugen Lendl Gallery, in Graz, Austria. The steel cable, from which two pulleys hang, crosses the space and links two adjacent rooms that are separated by sliding glass doors held apart just enough by a powerful magnet for the cable to pass. Beneath the cable, in each of the rooms, there is a steel ladder that “suggests” the possibility of going up and touching the pulley (but, to do what with it?), though it is too low to allow any action. As we can see, everything is once again carefully constructed to create expectations and to frustrate them: the ladder that is too low; the doors nearly closed, open only enough to allow the cable (and our sight) to pass from one room to the other; 4

William Furlong, op. cit., 3’40”. 12

blink 1996

swing 1995


the pulleys without a defined use. Another artwork, in a certain sense complementary to this one, is the small sculpture Untitled (1995), consisting of a metal support fastened to the wall, on which a yellow painted wooden cube rests. On this cube there is a flat-bottomed chemistry glassware flask. Inside the flask there is plastic clip that is empty, although it appears to have been placed there precisely to hold something in the flask’s protective, aseptic interior. This elegant, nearly ethereal composition is as paradoxical as a surrealist painting by Giorgio Morandi (1890-1964) (if something like that is conceivable): the yellow cube separates the flask from the world, the flask protects the fastener and whatever it presents or offers… but it holds nothing. As in various works by Lucia Nogueira, what this artwork achieves is an anticlimax; we suddenly discover that we are looking at a careful orchestration of nothing. The creation of nothing, the void that the artist installs precisely at the center of her work is far from being random or accidental: “I sometimes think that my work is all about gaps,”5 she says. The gap as a sign that defines the artist’s poetics is interesting because it indicates an interval. In linguistics, this gap would be the equivalent of a hiatus, the nearly imperceptible pause in the pronunciation of contiguous vowels, which belong to different syllables and therefore demand a pause. A break.6 The haikai, or haiku, is a genre of Japanese poetry characterized by being short and, generally, inspired by an apparently ingenuous observation of the simple beauty of nature. Initially the haikai constituted the first stanza of a larger poem (renga) and from the 17th century onward began to take on a life of its own, mainly thanks to master poet Matsuo Bashō (1644-1694). Translations began to circulate at the beginning of the 20th century and, in the West, wound up consolidating a genre slightly different from the original Japanese, composed of three lines, respectively of five, seven and five syllables. One of the essential characteristics of the haikai is its extremely 5 6

Furlong, op. cit., 17’15”. In Furlong, op. cit., at approximately 17’-18’30”, the artist speaks at length about how the central element of her work is analogous to a break that takes place in the routine of daily life. 15

untitled 1995


pause 1992

hiato 1990


abbreviated conciseness7 which in itself would justify an association with Lucia Nogueira’s work, which even though essentially organic, is extremely economic in the quantity of materials as well as the ideas used in each artwork: there is nothing extra. The element of the haikai that is most pertinent to a reading of the artist’s work, however, is the kireji, often translated as the “cutting word”: a word that can operate slightly differently if placed at the beginning, the middle or the end of a poem, but which always points to a break, a change of atmosphere that is nearly imperceptible, yet essential. Regardless of its specific function in a poem, the kireji is practically untranslatable in Western languages, making it nearly dissolve into other words of the phrase, transformed, for example, into an interjection or punctuation mark. Insofar as it is invisible and nonetheless fundamental for the rhythm, balance and understanding of the poem, the kireji is analogous to that something in Lucia Nogueira’s work which displaces everything almost imperceptibly, but enough so that the things stop making sense according to conventional logic even though they maintain the appearance of day-to-day down-to-earthness. In Anchor (1992), for example, an old metal closet is standing in a corner, apparently abandoned and forgotten. The door of the closet is closed, but sticking out of the door crack there is a tuft of black fur. We are evidently in a realm that is completely different from that of a haikai, but, even so, some characteristics of the work allow for an analogous reading: the sculpture is also constructed of lines, or elements, which are overlaid one atop the other and complement each other, creating a counterpoint that is crystallized in an object or element that operates precisely like a kireji, that is, introducing a rupture or cut in the narrative created. This is what the tuft of fur does in Anchor, as it is also the role played by the half-open doors and drawers, a recurrent element in her work which allows the viewer to glimpse something that we are not able to totally decipher, to the point where we do not understand the reason for 7

In the Western artistic tradition, mainly throughout the 20th century, the idea of “conciseness” is generally associated with constructivism, concretism and minimalism, movements based on a very rigid and precise geometry. 18

anchor 1992



monosyllable 1993 without this without that 1993 dilemma 1992

its presence, as in Monosyllable (1993), or Without This Without That (1993), both consisting of half-open wooden cabinets from which unexpected objects project. Despite having left some sculptures and nearly all her drawings untitled, Lucia Nogueira gave her installations and most of her sculptures extremely dense titles. Initially, these titles seem to shed light on a hypothetical narrative of the work, but they wind up making the interpretation more ambiguous. Titles like Innocent (1993), Dilemma (1992) or Mischief (1995), for example, suggest the idea of a crime to be judged, which the works themselves only partially corroborate. In other cases, more than a specific work, the title seems to refer to an existential condition, or to the artist’s overall oeuvre and poetics as in Pause (1990), Hiato [Hiatus] (1990) and Refrain (1991-1998), or it may allude to the importance of language in this world, as in Apostrophe, ... (1992), Monosyllable (1993), Full Stop (1993) and Monologue (1995). In fact, the role of the titles seems to be metonymic of the role which language, in a wider way, performs in her work. In this sense, it is revealing to note how most of the critics who have written about her work have wound up describing in great detail one work or another, perhaps seeking to unconsciously convey the equivalence between things and words in the artist’s poetics.8 The role that the names play in the economy of the work is fundamental: the careful juxtaposition of objects is also a juxtaposition of words, in the sense that each element chosen by the artist has the power that words – even those used in everyday life – acquire upon entering a poetic text. Certainly, these considerations should be related with the biographical consideration, as mentioned above, that the artist was not using words in a gratuitous or unconscious way. Lucia Nogueira moved to England before coming into her own as an artist, which made the artist’s condition as a foreigner become nearly synonymous with her practice. For her, living in a different context from the one she 8

One of the most interesting texts in this sense is that of Michael Archer (1954-), published in the magazine Artforum, v.34, n.3, 1995 (p.102). That text presents a detailed description of some works by Lucia Nogueira shown at Anthony Reynolds Gallery. 22

innocent 1993

refrain 1991–1998


untitled 1989


untitled 1995

smoke 1996


grew up in required “being completely alert, you can’t relax […]: it is not like being at home, there is always something new that comes out, and you’ve got to know how to deal with it.”9 The most fascinating aspect of this description is that, despite being totally autobiographical, it can also be understood as a declaration of intentions, if applied to the state of constant and heightened attention that the artist seems to demand from the viewers of her works, who are asked to note the smallest and apparently most insignificant details, in a tension that she defines, in the same phrase, as “nice,” because “it makes one think all the time.”10 This way of placing oneself in relation to the world as a “foreigner” reveals one of the most fertile keys for understanding Lucia Nogueira’s work, something inseparably linked to the idea of non-belonging to an environment or place. This is why – more than for the fact that she did not undergo a conventional or academic art training – her work cannot be easily identified with any school, movement or geographic context. It seems that her habit of often finishing her artworks in the exhibition space, and the constant state of (in)definition of the things in her studio also have to do with the same desire to travel light, carrying only the indispensable minimum for the realization of a work that remains, as stated above, extremely economical. On the other hand, this modus operandi makes her work a foreigner anywhere, perfectly “at ease” in any context. When the gallery, museum, or any other exhibition space is occupied by works by Lucia Nogueira it seems to lose its essential characteristics: “The ‘white cube’ is not just the location of the presentation or the affirmative backdrop for a historical presentation technique, but is itself a part of the installation, almost like a picture frame, folded into three dimensions”.11 The role, meaning and pertinence that the frame took on from the time of modernism onward are very complex subjects, but it is undeniable that the frame touches, involves 9 10 11

Furlong, op. cit., 19’10”-20’05”. Ibid., 20’20”. Rainer Fuchs, Paradox as Plausible Logic: Notes on an Exhibition of Lucia Nogueira. Catalog for the exhibition at Eugen Lendl Gallery, 1996 (unnumbered pages). 26

and protects the artwork, and it is in this sense that it becomes highly interesting to think that the white cube – or, beyond it, the world – touches, involves and protects Lucia Nogueira’s work, gently sheltering it, without restrictions, without questionings and without second intentions, like it should be when someone who went away finally comes back home.


no time for commas 1993

step 1995


store 1992

at will and the other 1989


ends without end 1993



luiza crosman


mamma andersson


Mamma Andersson (1962-) Underthings, 2015, oil on panel, 83 Ă— 122 cm

Gunvor Nelson (1931-) My Name is Oona, 1969, video still, 10 min

Dick Bengtsson (1936-1989) Venus och Cupido med sko [Venus and Cupido with Shoe], 1970, oil on panel, 125 Ă— 113 cm

Mamma Andersson (1962-) You and the Night, 2012, oil on panel, 160 Ă— 100 cm

Mamma Andersson (1962-) Humdrum Day, 2013, oil on panel, 112.5 Ă— 108.5 cm

Mamma Andersson (1962-) Hangman, 2014, oil on panel, 125 Ă— 125 Ă— 2.2 cm

Bruno Knutman (1930-2017) Den sista timmen [The Last Hour], 2014, oil on canvas, 74 Ă— 60 cm

Henry Darger (1892-1973) Untitled, c.1940-1960, printed paper (recto and verso), carbon tracing, watercolor, pencil on paper, 48 Ă— 180.4 cm

Archangel Michael with the Saints Flor and Lavr, c. 1575-1625, icon, northern Russia, oil on panel, 105 × 80 cm

Ladislas Starewitch (1882-1965) La Revanche du Ciné-opérateur [The Cameraman’s Revenge], 1912, stop-motion animation, 2.35 min

Mamma Andersson (1962-) Dog Days, 2011, mixed media on panel, 99 Ă— 184.5 cm

Ernst Josephson (1851-1906) Porträtt av herr Jones [Portrait of Mister Jones], 1889-1893, oil and pastel on canvas, 201 × 53 cm Mamma Andersson (1962-) Lovelorn, 2014, oil on panel, 93 × 61 cm

Carl Fredrik Hill (1849-1911) Utan Titel (Gran vid Vattenfall) [Untitled (Pinetree and Waterfall)], 1883-1911, crayon on paper, 36.5 Ă— 22.7 cm

Mamma Andersson (1962-) Crib, 2014, oil on panel, 104 Ă— 122 cm

Miroslav TychĂ˝ (1926-2011) Untitled, gelatin silver print glued to paper, 25.5 Ă— 17.7 cm

Mamma Andersson (1962-) Glรถmd [Forgotten], 2016, oil and acrylic on panel, 103 ร 126 cm

Front Cover images (cropped) Henry Darger (1892-1973) Russian icon Mamma Andersson (1962-) Lucas Cranach (1472-1553) Bruno Knutman (1930-2017) Dick Bengtsson (1936-1989) Lim Johan (Johan Erik Olsson) (1865-1944) Giorgio de Chirico (1888-1978) Philip Guston (1913-1980) Bruno Knutman (1930-2017) Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890) Ernst Josephson (1851-1906) Miroslav Tychý (1926-2011) Unknown Korean artist Francisco de Goya (1746-1828) James Castle (1899-1977) Back Cover images (cropped) Vilhelm Hammershøi (1864-1916) Carl Fredrik Hill (1849-1911) Vera NIlsson (1888-1979) Paul Gauguin (1848-1903) Sidney Nolan (1917-1992) Edvard Munch (1863-1944) Hercules Segers (1589-1638) Piero della Francesca (1415-1492) Pierre Bonnard (1867-1947) Gunvor Nelson (1931-) Ernst Josephson (1851-1906) Carl Fredrik Hill (1849-1911) Mamma Andersson (1962-) Lim Johan (Johan Erik Olsson) (1865-1944)

Design, Valentin Nordström Final art, Eric Moretti Karin Mamma Andersson 33rd Bienal de São Paulo, 2018

maria laet


nelson felix


siron franco


cesium and rua 57 siron: coincidences, facts, and circumstances charles cosac

At some time before 1987, in the city of Goiânia, in the state of Goiás, Central-West region of Brazil, a capsule of a lethal odontological chemical product – cesium 137 – was negligently abandoned in a vacant lot on the street named rua 57, in the district called Bairro Popular. The country was going through a particular moment. The year 1984 saw the end of two decades of military dictatorship in Brazil. And in the 1980s, painting was regaining the status it had lost in the previous years to conceptual art and other movements, first in the Northern Hemisphere, then in the Southern. Goiânia was founded in 1933 as a planned city, designed to serve as the new capital of the state of Goiás, replacing the then capital city of Vila Boa (now known as Goiás Velho). The district of Bairro Popular, true to its name [which means “Popular Neighborhood”] was designed to be inhabited by low-income families. It is, therefore, a relatively unappealing area of the city, with an arid and monotonous view, full of precariously constructed dwellings all with a similar appearance. They are single-story homes with backyards that become individualized with time and decay. Siron Franco, having moved to Goiânia from Goiás Velho, resided with his family in Bairro Popular, on rua 74, from 1950 to 1970, from the age of 3 to 23. Despite the first three years that he spent in the picturesque Goiás Velho, it can be said that Bairro Popular was the true native landscape of who was to become one of the greatest painters of his time. 1

Besides the roughness of this district, it was also amidst a politically and intellectually hostile environment that Siron began his career as a painter, in 1967, with a small exhibition of drawings in the lobby of a hotel in Goiânia and, in 1968, with his participation in the second edition of the now defunct Bienal da Bahia, in Salvador, closed on the first night by the military dictatorship. While the dictatorship signified cutbacks in the country’s cultural production, this was coupled to the pronouncement of the death of painting, constituting a huge discouragement for this young artist who dreamed of painting; so, it was in the midst of two dictatorships that Siron Franco developed his pictorial work, from the 1960s to the early 1980s. In stark contrast to the cesium accident, it was also in 1987 that Siron Franco, then at the age of 40 and at the peak of his career, participated in two important traveling group exhibitions held in the United States and France: Art of the Fantastic,1 at which the artist showed the works O analista [The Analyst] (1980) and O apicultor [The Beekeeper] (1984), and Modernidade – Arte Brasileira no século XX,2 at which he presented the work Proibido [Prohibited] (1984).3 As discussed below, these two exhibitions were fundamental at that time for disseminating abroad the art made in Brazil.


In 1987, a capsule of cesium 137 was improperly abandoned in a vacant lot on rua 57 and later opened. Some people came into contact with the magical substance, a powder that came from a stone and which had a shiny silvery luster during the day, and glowed phosphorescent blue at night. Just one year after the tragic accident that occurred in 1986 in Chernobyl, Russia, a radioactive crisis was besetting Goiânia and the state of Goiás, which resulted 1

Held in 1987–1988 at Indianapolis Museum of Art, The Queens Museum, New York, and the Center for the Fine Arts, Miami.


Held in 1987–1988 at the Musée d’Art de la Ville de Paris, France, and at the Museu de Arte Moderna de São Paulo (MAM-SP).


Held at Museu de Arte Contemporânea da Universidade São Paulo (MAC-USP). 2

Rua 57 57 Street 1987

in the death of five people4 and a dog, the amputation of contaminated body parts from hundreds of people and, until today, victims who survive in a precarious state of health. It was an economic and social crisis for a rural agricultural society, and generated hostility at the national level. The contamination of the land and the possibility of the problem spreading to neighboring states became an international issue. Bairro Popular was fenced off, the residents of the streets adjacent to the place where the capsule ruptured were quarantined. From the moment the capsule was opened and the substance removed, rua 57 became the center of various concentric circles that irradiated, in silver and blue, the horror and fear of the contagion: rua 57, Bairro Popular, and the areas near the district, the city, the state, the country, the continent and the world. For various years afterwards, people from the state of Goiรกs were turned away from hotels in other states. Nothing coming from that state was consumed. Outraged by the negligence of the dental clinic that had abandoned the capsule, the laxity of the authorities in regard to the inspection of vacant lots in the city, the control of waste, the misinformation and the many collateral facts that this negligence 4

In the year of the accident there were four victims. Ten years later, in 1997, a fifth victim died. 3

caused, Siron practically abandoned his “work in process,” the series Peles [Skins], which he soon resumed in 1989, and produced what is now commonly known as the series Césio [Cesium] or Rua 57 [57 Street]. Composed of 23 paintings and a set of works in gouache produced at the same time, the Césio series was shown at Galeria Montesanti [currently Galeria Nara Roesler], in São Paulo, one month after the accident. Profits from the sale of the artworks were to be donated to the victims. Although over the years the series has become hotly demanded by collectors of Siron’s works, on the occasion no paintings were sold. What happened? The radioactive accident caused by the opening of the cesium capsule, which resulted in the series Césio, or Rua 57, was Siron Franco’s definitive point of rupture from all the precepts and possible postulates of his informal and self-taught education, from the expected and probable traumas of childhood and adolescence, from the various influences of national and international artists, and from the baroque and European painting style. From this series onward, countless elements such as graphism, metallic aspects, texture, impasto, collage, earth used as pigment, calligraphy, unfinished painting, bad painting, painting for painting’s sake and all-over painting began to appear in the artist’s works. In fact, the series Césio 137 was to determine all his production in the 1990s, and from 2010 until today. In a recent telephone conversation, the artist admitted that he would never have gotten as involved as he did if the accident had taken place in another district.


Taking a new look at Siron’s work leading up to 1987, the year of the exhibition Césio, Rua 57, we note a stylistic progress that is cadenced, but perhaps overly consistent. From 1970 to 1987, while still a young artist, Siron won the unanimous approval of the critics, the public and the art market. A landmark in the consolidation of this achievement was the exhibition Semelhantes, held 4

Goiânia rua 57 Outubro de 1987 Goiânia 57 Street October of 1987 1987

at the Museu de Arte de São Paulo Assis Chateaubriand (masp) in 1980. Up to the year 1987, the artist had produced sincere masterpieces with a seductive if not sedative effect. The artworks from that phase recur to typical pictorial effects from the 1970s, but transformed into a bolder, more colorful, structured and courageous language, in which the gloominess gives way to a true explosion of colors that display an exclusively Sironian visual lexicon. They are finely finished works as seen, for example, in the paintings produced between the years 1980 and 1985 and presented in the exhibitions Modernidade and Art of the Fantastic, also from 1987. Siron was frequently compared to Irish artist Francis Bacon [1561-1626]. That comparison, probably the result of a lack of knowledge about his work, could be superficially applied to some paintings in the 1970s, but this would be insufficient to decipher the oeuvre of the artist from Goiás. Unlike Bacon and much more in the direction of Lucian Freud (1922-2011), Siron Franco – like Freud – cruelly and definitively materializes the human being. In the work of both artists, the person portrayed loses his or her identity, name and origin to be transformed into one of the many banal and common characters of the 20th century. Human beings are dehumanized, re-embodied and labeled in figures of executives, prostitutes, transvestites, Madonnas, lovers, brides, dwarfs, 5

generals, impotent people, monsters, ghosts, victims, homeless people, and, especially and recurrently, the artist’s self-portrait. Concerning Siron Franco’s painting, English critic Dawn Ades stated in her first monograph on the artist, Siron Franco – Pinturas e semelhanças,5 from 1995: This exhibition [Art of the Fantastic] was my first opportunity to see Siron’s work, as it was for many non-Brazilians. Both [O analista and O Apicultor] were forceful and distinctive pictures, powerful new contributions to a painting that was able to comment on and respond both to political situations and to individual human experience without resort to dogma and propaganda on the one hand, or expressionist bombast on the other. What was fresh and invigorating about them was their freedom from the tired dichotomies which much European and North American painting was struggling against.6


Insofar as it is a pretext or pre-text for the work that the artist would develop beginning in the 1990s, understanding the Césio series is essential to comprehend the various paths that Siron would adopt in the following years, and to which he returned with full freedom and coherence. A crucial fact was the use of refined earth as a pictorial pigment. Even though, like any Brazilian artist, Siron sought recognition in the large national and international metropolises, he always had an umbilical relation with the state of his birth. He spoke eloquently and precisely about different aspects of Brazil, including its fauna, flora, water, indigenous peoples, colonialism and so on. In his soul, his words, his attitudes and his art he evinced a great respect for the country and its inhabitants. It must have been very pleasant for him, due to his difficulties of 5

Dawn Ades, Siron Franco, figuras e semelhanças, pinturas 1968-95. Rio de Janeiro: Índex, 1995.


Ibid., p.41. 6

Goiânia rua 57 Outubro de 1987 Goiânia 57 Street October of 1987 1987

obtaining good European paints, to begin using the soil of his own land and, through it, to obtain nameless nuances between red and nearly black, colors never before seen or described. It seems that the contaminated soil profoundly “contaminated” the artist. Another element which the artist had been flirting with for some time, and which came to light in the series Césio, was the use of the color silver, applied with a brush or as spray paint. Because the colors that the lethal powder emanated were silver and phosphorescent blue, from that point onward Siron delved into a “metallic” world in a way that allowed him, in the 1990s, to produce canvases with areas that were extensively or totally silver. The great merit of this fact, in my view, is that even working with a noncolor – the metallic, the silver – the artist successfully produced (with or without the use of blue) strongly expressionist images which at times were illusory or magical. In the life of people who do not reside in metropolises, the color silver is very present in the form of fireflies – those little silvery bugs that mingle freely among the stars in the nocturnal skies of the cerrado [Brazilian tropical savanna]. Also in the series Césio, the artist included the artworks’ titles in the works themselves. Although he had often used his own signature, on the front, as an “element” of the work (Siron recurrently 7

signs his name in dissimilar colors), this was the first time that he began doing this while also including the name of the series, as we see in the works Segunda vítima [Second Victim] and Quarta vítima [Fourth Victim]. Sometimes, Rua 57 alludes to the scene of the accident, but it often leads us to think that, perhaps, the work itself was executed at this site. As previously mentioned, Siron “qualifies” his characters just as Lucian Freud did. In the Césio series, Siron reaches the apex of this practice, when he reduces four of the humans to their fatal and unfortunate destinies. Despite there being allusions and particularities about each of the victims, in this series, the characters are simply what they, truly and involuntarily, became: the first, second, third and fourth victims. Without first name, last name, dates of birth or death, and without even any clue as to what they were victims of.

Goiânia rua 57 Outubro de 1987 Goiânia 57 Street October of 1987 1987



Siron had the opportunity to meet these four victims, and possesses an over five-hour taped statement with the first victim, who was the mother of the second victim, the wife of the third victim and the cousin of the fourth victim. Buried in lead caskets, they and their dog became five horizontal and deeply submersed totems, inserted in the soil of Goiás, accidentally contaminated by them. They are pitiful for having brought on their own deaths due to their ignorance, victims of the dentist who had criminally abandoned the capsule near their houses, victims of their own curiosity for opening a sealed capsule and strewing about the powder it contained, but also responsible for the contamination of the soil, the contamination and amputation of limbs of their neighbors, and the socioeconomic disaster unleashed by this accident. They are therefore victims in the strongest sense insofar as they will never achieve the status of heroes or martyrs in light of the ambiguity and futility of their deaths. They are victims in the strongest sense insofar as they will need to be forgotten and their remains are undesirable and lethal, perpetually sealed just as the cesium should have been. In the series Césio a set of four canvases represent the four victims. There are other canvases in which the dog or the girl, still alive (Segunda vítima [Second Victim]), are the protagonists. There are others in which we see aerial maps or the familiar silhouette of a house in the Bairro Popular style, for which the artist demonstrates a great deal of enduring fondness. Fortunately, even though they are extremely powerful for being all together in a private collection, the four canvases do not express any indignation. They are silent, dry canvases labeled according to the order of their death.

In the first canvas, by including a real dress, supposedly the victim’s (even though it is not), Siron approaches the notion of the reliquary and the memento mori, while also revealing the character’s gender. The doubt about the origin of the dress causes fear, just as do all the other canvases made with soil from Goiânia, which may or may not be contaminated. Headed toward São Paulo, in search of life, the first victim is portrayed wrapped 9

up like a mummy, with her right profile and part of her left eye exposed. The notion of a head coupled with the presence of the dress (body) makes us believe that we are before a human being. The black stripes interspersed with brown bands are the turbines of the airplane that would bring her to her destination. In the background of the work the artist creates a horizon of a silvercolored land and an earth-colored sky, as though inverting the world upside down. On one of the turbines we read: “1a Vítima” [1st Victim] together with the symbol of radioactivity. The second victim is also female. That she is a child is apparent by the childlike silhouette and atrophied legs. Above the girl’s body, two feet might be conveying a pictorial allusion by having two lighter areas that perhaps represent two nails on the body of the crucified Christ. It is known that the second victim was the daughter of the first. The third victim is an ambiguous being. It could be female or male. We know it is a man due to statements by the artist. The phosphorescent blue crucifix, at the right, lies on the breast of the first victim, but Siron deliberately transported it to the third, who also has his body “tattooed” by silver stains whose silhouettes recall cartographic views, like perhaps a map of Goiás. The third victim was married to the first and was the father of the second, the girl, who also died. An entire family – mother, father and daughter – was extinguished. In one way or another, they were all deified and, despite the heavy casket made of lead, rose to heaven. The familial relationships of the fourth victim are not known. By the features of the face we see that this victim is a male. His prolonged bust floats in an uncertain place. It is apparent that he is inside a house, since the artist outlines in the upper part of the work the profile of a house from Bairro Popular. As in the canvas of the second victim, the fourth also bears the address, the place of the “crime” or accident: rua 57 Goiás. The fourth work completes the totemic and monolithic set. Four people and a dog are gone, hundreds were wounded or condemned. Here are the victims of cesium 137. 10

Mapa de Goiรกs Map of Goiรกs 1987

Primeira vĂ­tima First Victim 1987

Segunda vĂ­tima Second Victim 1987

Terceira vĂ­tima Third Victim 1987

Quarta vĂ­tima Fourth Victim 1987


Works of indignation and triumph have been present in the history of civilizations for many centuries. Any Arch of Triumph always follows a given period of indignation, injustice and oppression. The obelisks are giant totems that confer a given city the status of being that given city. The tombs of unknown soldiers are a reverence for those who, perhaps, have died for us, someone to whom we owe a great deal of gratitude, though we do not know them. Artists have always depicted diasporas, carnage, flights for survival, refugees, massacres and the like. Pablo Picasso painted Guernica (1937) and also determined its destiny as a physical and mobile work. SĂŁo Paulo visual artist Nuno Ramos created the installation 111, which denounces the massacre of 111 prisoners in Carandiru Penitentiary, in SĂŁo Paulo. These four victims, however, find themselves in an uncomfortable and dubious place, given that their condition as victims is uncomfortable and dubious. Killed by their own ignorance, the status of their victimhood remains undefined. It is not known for sure who their executioner is or even if they had been condemned to death. All that is known is that they died because they were alive. For the first time, perhaps for the last and only time, and without previous warning, rua 57 left its obscurity and anonymity, its sad condition of being a low-income street in a low-income district, to shine silvery to the world, like a star, but unfortunately, an evil star, which no one wishes to remember.


publicação 33BSP.poster.sofia_borges.indd 1

Sofia Borges: So, fire is also a symbol of transformation. Ticio Escobar: Yes. Of purification. Nearly all the rites of passage from one state to another include fire, because fire is like a destruction in order to then start constructing again. It is a redeeming destruction, of redemption. SB: Thinking about these things, one thing I want to do is to hold an exhibition at the Bienal that is geographically organized on the floor… And I am still thinking about the objects of my proposal for this Bienal, perhaps fire will return but not in the actual act of burning… because then we would have to think how we would make a bonfire at the Bienal… TE: It would be very complicated. SB: Very complicated. But making a room that appears already totally burned, with the same objects, perhaps with one side of the room unburned and the other burned. To do this I would need to work with living artists who would agree to have their works burned. Another thing from the time of No Sound is that at that time I was: first, coming from the end of a period of research – there was a span of seven years, Ticio, in my work as an artist, when I could not get away from the structure of the museum, because my investigation about meaning, on the state of the representation of things, in some way the objects, when they were inside this place, where they had a sort of accumulated meaning, it was easy for me to photograph that and show this layer of meaning and try to empty that as well. So I spent seven years inside museums, research centers, zoos, where the things were also in this state of depiction. All of this ended when I went to the prehistoric caverns of southern France and understood that the problem I was facing – because it was very strong, I went to Chauvet, which dates back 36,000 years, more precisely, I went to the replica and I could photograph – and when I looked at the first wall with red handprints I had a collapse, I understood that my problem, which I was trying to solve, was the same problem that was dealt with there, and that since then there had not yet been any real solution… that culture, art, religion, philosophy and science are outcomes of this problem but did not manage to solve it, which is the problem of reality, of meaning, of existence-in-itself. It was on that basis, on what I understood there, that I decided to do this curatorship, where I called the artists to deal with the impossibility of this being solved. We would only experiment. TE: So it is the opposition between the sign and the thing, that is, representation seeks to solve through all the means you mentioned, art is continuously obsessed about solving the subject of depiction, and in many cases we talk about nullifying representation, but nullifying representation would mean dissolving the subject of art, so it is like seeing, ultimately, that the impossibility of solving this problem is, perhaps, an inherent question for art, which already bears within itself the failure to take the thing-in-itself beyond the veil of depiction. And the search for the real, in a Lacanian sense, the pure real, Kant’s thingin-itself, is impossible, but art seeks to do it, and this yearning for something impossible expresses a great deal of the meaning of representation, which can stop being present. SB: Yes, but for me, more than representation, to try to involve in meaning something existing… I think that I spent seven years thinking about this state of representation of things and I understand, only now, it has no solution. TE: No, there is no solution. SB: After I understood this, I somehow became free of this problem. I made a book setting forth this problem. And then I automatically began to be attracted to the state of existence and how existing generates meaning. And, for example, science also tries to understand reality; to know what things are, it compares. But the one, the one thing, is a sort of absolute enigma, it is impossible to know what one thing is. We only know what one thing is because there are two, there is the two. TE: Yes, science is also a system of representation. SB: It also is, yes. TE: And it is impossible to know how things are by themselves, without this system of representation. SB: Yes and science is equally a state of comparison. TE: Well, and religion does not admit it, but also, the myths, culture itself is a representational system, which in a certain way is interposed between the things and one thus loses forever this direct and absolute contact, the pure knowledge of a thing. At that instant many other things appear, which is the interesting consideration, as this enigma cannot be solved because it would be killing the goose that laid the golden egg [laughing]. But yes, in this one question many others appear. SB: Everything appears, everything that exists. TE: The myth of Plato’s cave, in a certain sense, begins to deal with this. SB: I always say that if there were only one toothbrush in the entire universe, that toothbrush would be God and there would be no language, and we would be a toothbrush. TE: Exactly. SB: We only know what an apple tastes like because we compare it to a pear, we only know what blue is because red exists, the things-in-themselves, when outside this state of comparison, are aliens, they are an unsupportable single solid, a strange and indistinguishable… this interests me a lot. TE: Kant launches the problem of the thing-in-itself, Das Ding an sich, saying that if we all had rose-tinted glasses we would see the whole world pink. SB: We would not see the color pink. TE: Yes, of course, we would not see the color pink, but we would see this color and think that the world was that color; if it were yellow, we would see it in yellow, but if we took the glasses off we would not see at all, so we do not really know the color. SB: No, because if we had rose-colored glasses, we would not see, we would not know that that was pink. TE: Of course, the color pink is created by the difference from other colors and we would not see the difference, therefore… this enigma does not have a solution. SB: But I can’t manage to stop thinking about this… precisely: this – it’s the problem of my life [laughing]. TE: But this problem cannot be solved and it is an obsession of all of culture, how to solve the relation between the signifier and the signified, between the sign and the thing. SB: And that is what I understood when I went to the 36-thousand-year-old caves, I arrived there, and “pow,” I understood: that my problem was precisely the problem of those people who made those representations, and even though there is no solution, we have been trying to solve it ever since. TE: But there is an interesting question, and indigenous art takes another approach to the subject, which is the following: we work on a metaphysical platform of thought that distinguishes between essence and appearance, subject and object, meaning and thing, signifier and signified, which are all the mechanisms of representation, but in indigenous thought – or another sort of nonmetaphysical occidental thought – there is no distinction, there is another relation between subject and object or between the outer and inner world, so often in the circles of representation who represents a God, for a moment is not a representation of God, but is God, that is, one is broken down and converted into the other. The shaman who is an animal is converted into that animal, or the subject is converted into the thing. So it is very crazy, because the ritual allows them a little, whereas for the Catholics the communion wafer is not the representation of the body of God, it is actually the body of God; that’s it, it crosses through what our culture does not manage to cross through, what is called the fourth wall of the theater. There is a theater, here is the screen, and one cannot cross through it, that is the problem. And for them, they can leave and enter during the ritual. Or they enter a state of exaltation of the community bonds, or of ecstasy, or even into a state induced by the consumption of hallucinogens; through hallucination or insanity it is possible to cross through this prohibited question which is presented there… that is why the indigenous world evokes so much passion in us, because they enter and leave. I’m not saying that the question of representation is solved in an objective way, but there is no proposal of a metaphysical dichotomy that makes things have an essence and an appearance, and a subject and an object, and the self and an other. This would roughly correspond to the Heideggerian sense of becoming, of going from one state to another. What our philosophy has managed to deconstruct… and which current thinkers call undecidables, are non-absolute situations, which depend on contexts and contingencies, but it did get this far, although the actual difference cannot be absolutely suspended, there is always one side, one side that looks and another that is looked at, or a reflection, perhaps, that is the question. SB: So, that is what I am doing here. TE: I think it’s great, because I like this subject a lot. SB: Because it is this, Ticio, I’m going to take a step back to arrive at this same place. First, I always say that in my research as an artist I have been researching the same thing since the outset and it is not within the order of the visible… I do photography, and it took me many years to understand why I was interested in photography, because I would not normally be interested in photography, I think it’s an utter bore, but there was something in photography that allowed me to do what I needed to do. It took about seven years for me to finally understand that I was using photography because the state of the photographic of the image was very similar to the state of the image of our eye, and when I was able to create an image that would remove from that image the possibility of it signifying something, that is when I managed to reach the core of my problem, which is to de-signify reality and to do away with this border. In short… But all of this is to say that my interest in the photographical, in the real, is of a metaphysical order, and I always say that in photography I also investigate abstraction, but not from a formal perspective, it doesn’t matter if there is representation or not, it is abstraction from the perspective of meaning, abstraction from the point of view of understanding, of the possibility to understand what is a thing in which you dissolve the understanding of that, because, perhaps, when you dissolve the understanding of what the other is, you manage to cross over and you become that other, because there is no longer a border. TE: Clearly, they are other ways, other ways of crossing the path of alterity without dissolving the difference. SB: Yes, the state of alterity, the state of difference is… TE: How to deal with difference, which is ultimately this possibility, it is not a metaphysical or ontological difference, I believe, but rather a difference in the sense of generating an alterity, another position. SB: And if we look at reality without this differentiation, what does the experience of existing become? I am very much interested in this. TE: I think that referring to the question of existence is fundamental, ultimately. Because the essence-existence dichotomy itself is a problem that also lies behind all these dichotomies. Essence and existence, this is very important because in the Aristotelian dimension there is already act and potential, all the ontological charge of the Christian philosophical thinking and, later, Descartes and everyone reassumed the thinking of essence, even though the existentialists think of it differently and open the discussion of essence and existence in another way. For them, existence precedes or is more important than essence, but they are

always talking in terms of a philosophy or of a philosophical debate that has its origin in Aristotle. Even though the terms have changed with the passage of time, with the change of the world. SB: Not in Plato. TE: Not in Plato, but Plato, and this has often made him a positive or negative reference for contemporary thought… but it is always an occidental thinking of essence and existence that we are obliged to take up, because the language is already cut out for us. There is no way to think in another way. There are searches. The concept of becoming supposes a movement more than a fixed position, but always moves within a horizon conditioned by the essence/ existence opposition. SB: How so? I don’t understand. Because language is already the vehicle? TE: I think that the language of the occident, the language in which we are thinking, is already a split platform, so it is very difficult for us to think about something that is not dichotomous, soul-body, essence-existence, act-potential… So what we can do is to think about the fissures in this or to find… well, the deconstruction that Derrida proposes is precisely like an attempt to make these dichotomies absolute, make them contingent, not as though they were written by the gods, but as they depended on conjunctural situations, how they are being… I don’t know if they are being solved, but how they are taking place, and this is where the existential question you talked about comes in. In my existence, how this affects me and how I can deal with this, in a situation, not in an absolute way. But we have not gone beyond this, that is the problem. SB: So, all of this has to do with how this project began. It began at two moments. The first, back then, when I was doing No Sound, I decided that my next curatorship would be a tragedy, but what was tragedy and why did I decide that it would be a tragedy? At that time I was reading very little, but I was reading a little of Aristotle, a little of Barthes, Derrida, what they said about tragedy. And I arrived at a text called “The Death of the Author,” by Barthes, which was a watershed. When I understood that text, what I understood from it also made me want to do that first curatorship. In that text he says that who determines the meaning of an artwork is not the author, but the reader, I mean the absolute reader, that can understand everything or one specific thing on the basis of that same object. It was something around this that I understood, and I took this understanding and extended it a little beyond the signification of the art object, to where every one thing can contain any and all the knowledge of the world. It depends on the ability of the reader, that is, perhaps of humanity, to be able to extract from a single object everything that can be known. But right there I had a dilemma, which was language itself, because if I was trying to understand the meaning of matter, matter is a thing, it exists, and it therefore contains encrypted – based on that text by Barthes – all possible knowledge. Who is going to decipher everything, based on just one thing, would be knowledge. But how am I going to talk about matter, let’s say a vase, with another matter, which would be sound? This is the origin of the tragedy. Because also, in Barthes’s texts, he says that every tragedy is based on the fact that the characters talk to each other with words that have a double meaning and they understand precisely the wrong meaning of the words they speak to one another. And there is also someone else who sees these two characters talking and watches the fact, understands the dubiousness of the words they say to one another and understands each person’s misunderstanding. So there is always this third element, which can be the audience, or it can be another character in the tragedy, but every tragedy is based on the tragic nature of language, which is the fact that all words have multiple meanings. Language in itself is tragic and one matter cannot be used to talk about another. That is why my exhibition was called No Sound, so that it would be, in and of itself, a sound, and not only pure language – that’s why it was called No Sound. TE: This is important because the question of the limit of language, therefore, is seen to be fundamental. Lacan gives some clues that are very interesting for me, when he talks about the triple register, of the real, the symbolic and the imaginary. He understands that the real is that which cannot be reached through language, it is what we talked about in regard to the thing-in-itself, the absolute secret of an object, which cannot be reduced to language. And language, then, by definition, cannot reach the real, because the real is what cannot be reached by the symbolic order of the representative, that is, by language. On the other hand, the third regime, which is that of the image, the image also cannot reach the real, but can imagine it, can intuit it, can create it like a low fire, a dialectic image of this thought can, like in a flash of lightning, gain sight of what language cannot. This is why art works among language, but there arrives a moment at which language is no longer enough for it and it can only resort to images, not to words. And sometimes sound also works between image and language or there is the addition of the image in the language which is not contained in the codification that is the basis of language: this means a telephone, okay? SB: Yes. TE: On the other hand, the image goes away, it flies, it goes crazy… SB: I think that what you are calling the image… what I call an image is a mental image. TE: Me too. SB: Which can also do this. TE: Freud also analyzes visual images, mental images…

SB: This has everything to do with my investigation in No Sound, it was like this: one day during that time I was talking by Skype with Leda Catunda, I was talking about my ideas and she said, “Sofia, I am reading Rudolf Steiner.” And he said it (later she told me that she didn’t say any of this, and that Rudolf Steiner had never said that [laughing], but…). TE: That’s not important, the important thing is what we get out of what we read. SB: I agree, so Rudolf Steiner said that you cannot talk about the beyond matter, with matter. That is where No Sound comes from, so you cannot do it, you cannot talk about it, but then Steiner said that the only ones who could receive the messages from the beyond matter and transform it into raw material, into the prime material, are the artists. What is art for me? Art is a state of mirror, I think, in which what we see, what we experience through sight, form, existence, through the relation of the being with any other thing that also exists – it can be a painting, it can be a sound – is a state of recognition where, for the first time, one looks at something that already existed, but at the beyond matter. So, for me, perhaps the greatest artists were those who created things that would present, would give visibility to that which has always existed but which never had a form of existence, before existing only as content. So when we look at an art object, it instates a content that each viewer already has within him- or herself, but which did not previously have a form. So this, for me, is the role of art, it is this state of giving form to contents that already exist, but in this beyond matter state. TE: Upon existing, upon being formalized, there is already another mode, it is no longer pure existence, because the form-matter opposition is also another dichotomy, another disjunction, since in the traditional concept matter is opposed, it is a preexisting, predetermined thing, which is waiting for a form, which is the ideal and intelligible form that gives it intelligibility… SB: That is Platonic. […] That is Platonic, but the matter, the form is also spoken of in two ways, as eidos or as morphé, right? A form that comes to redeem the matter, make it intelligible and awaken its meaning, or a form that will act with the material itself and produce a meaning in an interaction or a dialogue that cannot be separated: concept and matter, right? SB: Yes, but so let’s talk about a material, lama [mud, in Portuguese]. Is lama a sort of matter or is it form? TE: What is lama? SB: [in English] Clay, mud. TE: Oh, barro [synonym for mud, in both Spanish and Portuguese]! SB: Barro! [laughing] It’s that I made this book that is called O pântano [The Swamp] and the book’s spine bears the phrase “Realidade como lama tão densa quanto o ar” [Reality as Mud as Dense as Air]. Why? For me, when I photograph, in the image it is as though everything that exists were covered with this very strange substance, which is the image. And what we photograph is not the matter-in-itself, but the state of image that the matter is bearing, covered by it, in that circumstance, of light, of our own sensitive perception, which we are able to sensorially perceive in a specific way and with a very defined limitation, of sensorial experience. We know that there are sound waves that we do not hear (for example radio) all the time – the fact that we do not hear them nor see them (because we do see other waves) does not prevent us from knowing that they exist. TE: Of course, yes, yes. SB: So it is very limiting. And this is why that book is called O pântano, because everything that I was looking at, for years, was entirely covered by this state, which is the state of visibility. But what I was trying to photograph was of the order of the not visible, and this involves what you were talking about image, that image generates this… that reality is unreachable and the symbolic tries to reach reality, tries to reach the perfect vision, by an error, by a distortion, but the state of vision takes place, through the wrong form, but, in some way, it does take place. But, getting back to what you were saying, about the difference between form and matter. TE: Or form and content as well. SB: But I think they are very different. TE: Yes, without a doubt. But they are disjunctions contained in the concept of form. Form in the presence of the material, form in the presence of the content, form in the presence of the function. Fundamentally, form has these three fronts, doesn’t it? SB: Yes. Now, let’s suppose that for me, then, the difference between form and matter is the meaning. TE: Yes, yes. It so happens that form is often related as a signifier, and material is related as being of the order of content tending toward one possible signified, and in light of the confrontation between signifier and signified, this game or interplay appears once again… SB: Wait, could you repeat, the construction between form… TE: No, between the signifier and the signified. In which form enters more in the order of the signifier, as a more or less pure form or a mold, that gives it… SB: An urge to signify. TE: Yes, an urge, like a force, like an idea, also a determined one, which falls on a content that is not sufficiently defined and allows it to acquire a configuration, to acquire a meaning, a fuller signification. But I believe that this is a daemon separating the components a little metaphysically, in fact, in the game of signification, the two moments come in, and it is difficult to isolate them into form and content, they enter as a combined whole. SB: Yes, and it is from this that art arises from. TE: Yes. Art as an attempt to also solve this paradox, which allows us to not only intensify the signifieds, but, more than this, the meaning of the world [to know the world]. SB: Yes. TE: […] the fourth side is missing from the frame [which interested me a lot] and it is this, and really they are plumb bobs that do not have form, it is nearly pure matter. SB: Well, but for me this is the state of all things. You could put a chair, or a person, a fruit… TE: [laughing] Now I am bringing something for hand cleaning [laughing]. SB: But… precisely. TE: The napkins are welcome. I brought this, if you want sugar… SB: No, I don’t want any. TE: I also drink it without anything. SB: Well, so… for me this says a lot about the state of all the things and this is why I liked it so much. And is that artwork also by him? Or perhaps it has nothing to do with him? TE: Which one? SB: That blue box. TE: No, that’s by Cacho, the Cuban. SB: And another one that I loved is the metaphysical painting that is in the bathroom. TE: Oh, it’s by him all right! That painting is by Osvaldo Salerno. SB: Oh, it’s by him? Because you go from one state to another, there is an angle that divides the things, but the color itself… TE: And this one too! SB: It also has a lot to do with it, it is great. TE: This is also by him, I have many works by him. SB: That’s so nice, Later I want to research more about him. Is he still alive? TE: It is also a bit of the problem of the matter that runs and struggles, there is a matter-form struggle… I’m going to bring a material to you… TE: Yes… He [Osvaldo Salerno] is one of the museum’s directors. SB: Oh, cool! […] Wow look at this. So I’m going to meet him tomorrow? TE: Yes. SB: Wonderful. […] Well, but so, let me tell you, at that time I understood that language was the “evil” of this story, because it was what was trying to make the bridge between two things that existed, myself and the matter or the matter itself, I-matter, as my own self that exists within the matter. Also, that language is tragic, tragedy is language, language is the basis of tragedy. TE: Precisely [inaudible] … radical. I don’t know if you have read a book by Giorgio Agamben, which is called Language and Death, which is very beautiful. SB: It’s so beautiful, isn’t it? That’s why I wanted to make an exhibition that was called No Sound, in which I invited the artists to transcend language to try to understand the meaning that is encoded within the matter. This is why there was an object of proposition there at the entrance of the show, the phrase was important. The phrase was: todo objeto é um enigma [every object is an enigma]. And we were not going to solve this enigma by tragedy, that is, the tragic attempt to explain, with a thing, another thing; we were going to transcend this and try to create exercises to be transformed into the object, without sound, without language. And so we did various practices, in which the objects of proposition helped, but… Because it was an exhibition that had a first phase, which was the phase of the objects that I had selected in the world – by six artists, not “in the world” – and brought to the exhibition, this was the raw material, these were the objects to be investigated; then there was a second group of artists, who were there to carry out experiments based on this given fact. And very interesting things happened: first, objects arose from this; second, four artists were transformed into objects and decided to dance the whole time, while the exhibition was open, so they danced eight hours a day, on all the days of the exhibition. TE: That’s so beautiful! SB: Yeah. And this changed everything. The presence of the experiment transformed the exhibition from something passive into what I wanted, and it became active, an investigation, a time, a space-time and not only a space. For example, an art object that arose from this was a mantle, that I asked Leda Catunda to help me make. Based on what Leda had told me, this was for the artists to wear and to better receive the messages from the beyond. So this cloak was at the exhibition, everyone wore it, everyone in his or her own way. Another object that took place was a partnership between myself and Rodrigo Cass, an artist, in which we defined an artwork consisting of a wrapper, in three categories: the opaque, the transparent and the shining. The opaque was when the object was prevented from emanating its own meaning, so we wrapped everything, the objects, the artworks, everything, with opaque materials, which obstructed the vision. The transparent wrapper was the state of reality, where the things were simply existing and you saw through it and saw the object. And the shining was when the objects were emanating their own meaning. We wrapped up everything. We wrapped up the fire, the holes, the dancers, and everything else. The fire was the first thing wrapped up, because before we lit the fire, we wrapped it up first, as though we were wrapping up the entire fire as a gift. So we created an opaque state of meaning for the fire and later we lit it and it was revealed. It was very cool. TE: How beautiful, how beautiful! When was that? SB: It was three or four years ago, in January 2014, now it’s going to be three years. TE: That’s great! SB: And wrapping up the holes was also very beautiful. TE: Your coffee is going to get cold [laughing] do you want me to bring another one? SB: No, no, it is warm. And I also don’t care if coffee is cooler. Well, I am telling you all of this to say that it was at that time, it was based on that experience that I thought about the next step in this investigation of mine, which is the most fundamental investigation as an artist, it is from there that arises… this is the problem I react to, as an artist. When I did that first curatorship, I opened my problem to others, because

I knew that I was not going to solve this problem by myself, and humankind itself has not been able to do it, so I was going to get some help from my artist friends for us to at least frame this problem better. Also for many years I have been saying that if I had to summarize all my work in a single question, it would be “What is an image?” Or “What is a photograph?” After many years of thinking about this problem, I understood that my research was not dedicated to create an answer to it, but to create, to raise this problem in the form of an image. Well, but getting back, so I decided at that time that the next step would be a tragedy, but not a tragedy; rather a tragedy taking Barthes, who said what this structure of tragedy is, and that language is tragic and the attempt to give meaning is itself a tragedy… That’s where it stopped, three years ago. But before being invited now, to this project at the Bienal, I was talking one day with a dancer, a choreographer, telling him about my interest in tragedy, and he mentioned the book by Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy. And he talked about something that I had never been aware of, which is the fact that in tragedy, every Greek tragedy is based on fatality, that is, the characters are misunderstanding the words they are saying to one another not because of a mistake, but because they are committed to the fatality of their own destiny. TE: At rock-bottom, the origin of tragedy is that the gods wrote a libretto, and the human being does not know, or cannot know, or does not accept this libretto or this meaning, and desperately tries to fulfill a supposed ethical choice, but the end is already determined, that is, whatever you do this choice is already determined. Perhaps the starting point for ethics is thus to assume the responsibility of what is already written, or try to deviate from destiny inventing other projects in the minimal interstices left by destiny. SB: Wonderful! TE: This is the tragedy, the desperate human attempt. And essentially we are predetermined to die, and we live as though we would be immortal. We rebel against the order of the gods and of nature, the tragic culture rebels against the natural order [inaudible] and this attempt is also romantic, tragic, heroic, not to accept the real and the possible whose sign the gods possess. It is already written. In other words, whatever you do, it’s going to end up there. Hopefully it will end well! The true tragedy is the coercion of freedom, not creating based on a choice, but based on the margin left by some forgetting or some possible game, there, in those fissures. SB: Right, tragedy is the renouncement of good behavior in light of what would be this… TE: Of course. The nonacceptance of…. SB: Of death. It is the nonacceptance of death. TE: Clearly, which is already written by the gods. SB: [laughing] TE: The human destiny, the human limit is already written, determined, it is tragic, and the tragedy… and this is the creator of millions of things. SB: Of millions of things, of everything that exists. TE: By not accepting death, the human being creates and makes everything, raises worlds… this is culture, this rebellion against… SB: I’m speechless [laughing]. Precisely. And maybe tragedy is also the renouncement of the “one,” of alterity. TE: Yes, also. And of the undecipherable. SB: Yes, of the fact that I am me and the other is different from me. TE: Yes, and of the attempt to put oneself in the same place, even though it is impossible… because one can deduce from the reading of Lacan, for example, that love, like all human communication, is a big misunderstanding [laughing]… But it is because the person is always waiting for something that the other person does not exactly give, or perhaps does not see it that way, so there is an opening for misunderstanding, because I want one thing and you want another and so we are not able to connect, but there is a desperate attempt at connecting this. And, in a certain sense, even the sexual relation is also an attempt to placate this difference. That is why Lacan said that the sexual relation does not exist [laughing]. SB: But that is his problem [laughing]. TE: Because there will never be any concretization of the dream for this coupling to convert a person totally into another, and into absolute encounter. SB: Yes, in quantic terms, he was right. TE: Yes. SB: Today it is proven that things never touch each other. No atom ever touches another one. TE: Yes, from that standpoint he is right. But fundamentally, the yearning to possess or be possessed by another person is the most profound insertion between two people and even so it does not resolve the difference. [laughing] And this is also tragic! SB: This is tragic, and another tragedy is the nonacceptance of being one in this sense, not accepting that the “one” exists. TE: Right, yes. SB: So, now we arrive at a question that is precisely where I was some time ago, when I went to Greece to research. I started to think about egg, and I began to research all the mythologies about the egg, and I learned that the egg is the origin, it is the “one” from which everything originates, in many mythologies, all around the world, there is this understanding of the egg being a perfect “one.” So I started doing some works with egg, I brought eggs that I had painted on to Pan’s Cave, which is a mythological cave per se, and is very close to Athens, I went there to photograph the eggs but I ended up also buriyng them, I took photographs, I was very much concerned about the egg. Then when I got back to Brazil I decided to create a study group on mythology, because after I understood this problem of the representation of objects, of the representation contained in matter, and that

there was no solution for this, I delivered everything that I knew, everything that I had done, seven years of research, in this book O pântano, which was the closing of a great moment of my research. And I started to research about this state of representation that was not contained only in inert matter, but which was contained in everything. And this is how I arrived at the myth, because the myth activates the soul of everything. I am not talking about what is animate or inanimate, living, anima, or dead, there is none of that there… the myth dissolves this. TE: What the myth does precisely is it dissolves all these oppositions, nullifies them, and nullifies all of the impossibilities, this is why the myth is one of the devices that the human being invents against tragedy. Because, in myth, this can be solved. In myth one can rebel against the unchangeable order, already written by the gods. The myths can cross through, the human being can appear on the other side, be converted into other immortal beings, fly, be infinite, die, resuscitate, all of this. SB: It is funny that the Greek mythology precedes tragedy itself. TE: Yes. SB: Because Greek mythology is of the divine order. TE: Well, tragedy as a genre. SB: Tragedy is human, mythology is divine. TE: Yes. I wrote a book about an indigenous group, the Ishir, which deals precisely with the subject of art, ritual, myth and thought… I will give you a copy… I worked with a group that I would say… completely wild, but they have a comprehension, a very refined sensitivity and they explain many things and through myths they reorder things… it is wonderful! It is another system of culture. Wonderful, wonderful. […] We need to land, because in a little while I need to go [laughing]. SB: Oh, that’s too bad. TE: No, but also tomorrow at the museum… we can… SB: But, so, let me finish telling you all of this… closing, at least, this introduction. The thing is, Ticio, that at that time, when I was researching about the egg, I did those things in Greece, I arrived in Brazil and decided to start a study group on mythology. And the first chapter, the first day we held a meeting, by the way it was a study group that lasted for just this meeting… it was everything that needed to happen. At this “first” day, I proposed that we began that meeting talking about the egg, which is the “one.” And it is incredible, but… there is a text by Lispector, called “O ovo e a galinha” [The Egg and the Chicken], in which she dissolves this maxim of the… oh, just one thing, in regard to what you said about the myth, there is a Greek character called Deus ex machina… TE: Yes, Deus ex machina. SB: He arrives at the end of the tragedy to solve anything that happened. But, anyway, at that meeting, my friend Catarina… The meeting was supposed to be about the egg, but we then decided that we would form a study group about numbers, beginning with the number one, and all the mythology involving number one, because she brought a text by Pierre Clastres, you probably know it, that is called “Of the One Without the Many”. TE: Yes. Pierre Clastres, I met him. He was in Paraguay and wrote a beautiful book about the Guayaquis, about the indigenous peoples of Paraguay. And also based on that, on Paraguay, he launched his thesis Society against the State. SB: That’s the book! TE: Because he understood that the Guaranis or indigenous people have a society without a state, so he derived his entire theory from this. And he was here, we met each other, we were together… SB: So it’s over, there’s nothing left to do, I’m leaving. TE: [laughing] No, no! I only know this part of Clastres. It is an advantage to have many years under my belt, traveling along many paths [laughing]. SB: I’m kidding… it’s because this text, is a text that has this metaphysical understanding that the Guaranis had, saying that the one is the evil, because the one is that which is enclosed in itself, and the good is not the multiple, but the two, where the Guarani is Guarani, at the same time that he is God. Which is what you were saying at the beginning, about this indigenous metaphysical understanding, which transcends this difference and manages to relate with the other, the other being that thing rather than representing it. This is the challenge of this tragedy, it is the renouncement of matter. TE: And of representation. SB: The renouncement of representation. This is why currently the project at the Bienal is called A infinita história das coisas ou o fim da tragédia do um [The Infinite History of Things or the End of the Tragedy of the One]. TE: Is this your curatorship, or the whole Bienal? SB: No, my curatorship. And all this because the day that Gabriel went to my house, to my studio, for the second time, to invite me to this curatorship, I had just finished writing a project called A infinita história das coisas ou o fim da tragédia do um, where I was going to establish a research, at that moment as an artist, about this Guarani understanding. So, later I will tell you everything I want to do at the Museu do Barro. I think that today we will need to finish with my introduction of the project. TE: I got very enthusiastic, talking with you and forgot that I have another commitment. SB: Of course! […] This is what I came to do here. I came, more than to see the production of the Guaranis, to understand this other way of structuring existence, that indigenous culture does. And I thought about using this structure, this Guarani understanding about the “good,” which is the dissolving of the “one,” which is when man is man and also every one other thing that exists, each one thing… Guarani is Guarani at the same time that he is a river, Guarani is Guarani at the same time that he is a clock, or another guarani, or plant, or time or God. TE: There is a fundamental concept of Guarani culture, we work a lot with this concept in São Paulo, precisely because

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it is repeated, it is called Tekoporã. Teko Porã is “to live well,” but not the bon-vivant… SB: Not the bon-vivant in France. TE: No, another thing. It is a concept that is divided into two words, Teko Porã. Teko is the way of existing, of being, the uniqueness of one’s way of being in the world, which in a certain sense – as they can be situated collectively, they can be the culture itself – is what makes one different. SB: Yes. Culture as… the different cultures that translate existence as culture. TE: Yes, but above all as a being, and it is even asked sometimes, “mba’eichapa nde reko,” “how is your Teko?” Which means, “how is your way of being today?” SB: I see. TE: Teko, this is the word, Teko. And Porã means simultaneously “good and beautiful.” Like the Platonic, “Porã?” “How are you?” “Porã.” “I am well.” If I want to say “she is beautiful,” this is Porã. It means both things. So the two meanings come together in this word – precisely in São Paulo we were working with this word […]. This is a very interesting concept, from Guarani philosophy, Teko Porã, and I develop this theme in various places, I will look for some things for you. SB: Yes, I would like that. […] TE: It is a book written based on the work of Salerno, called Nandí Verá. Nandí is nothing, nothingness, and Verá is what sparkles, it is the sparkling of nothing. SB: Oh, how beautiful… TE: And it is used a lot, Nandí Verá is something that sparkles in the absence, that sparkles! SB: Is it the act of seeing the nothing? TE: How? SB: It’s the act of seeing everything in the nothing? Is that right? TE: There are a thousand meanings… what is missing, the essence, and this sparkles. Lacan has a very interesting view about the potter. He says that the ceramist, the potter, is fundamental, because he creates matter based on the nothing that is there inside. There is a hollow, and this absence is what sustains it, this nothing is what sustains the work itself, gives it structure, and it is what gives it meaning, because what is missing is like a shelter of possible meanings, like an absence in which the signs can resound and be renovated, and it’s somewhat in this sense that the Guaranis work. SB: The first thing, at the first day, when I began to make ceramics, my ceramist said: “Ok so today you are going to mold the void.” TE: That’s great. SB: Then it was a ball, we make a ball, enclose it, and then you begin to mold the air inside, the void. TE: Yes. That is precisely what art is, according to Lacan. He said that art is exactly that, surrounding the void, giving it a body; the void is within, at rock bottom there is a void, it is not full, because if the matter were full, you would not be able to find meanings, because it would be stuck, it would enter into the order of the tragic, of its already fulfilled destiny. On the other hand, the void is what allows one to point to the meaning, more than to find meanings. SB: So, but from there… precisely. The tragic would be the encounter with the divine, which is the encounter with the true meaning of the void. TE: Precisely, precisely, and this is Nandí Verá. […] SB: So, because at the beginning of this project I thought about working with the ideas of archetypes, so each artist was to be a conductor and at the same time conducted. Within his or her knowledge he or she would dictate, would be a conductor, but all of this was going to compose this tragedy where others were going to conduct, so there was going to be an artist who represented the archetype of the sun, one who represented the archetype of the image, and from there I got to thinking, for example, about the archetype of the child, in which the child was also going to indicate another understanding about reality. I also thought about the archetype, for example, of the Guarani, or about the archetype of the unknown artist, I’m going to tell you more about it tomorrow, so it’s not too much. But after I began to understand that there were too many ideas in a single project and that it would be better for me to define that tragedy, this tragedy, tragedy as a reaction to death, and tragedy as an attempt to demonstrate existence…, but I would still like, perhaps, to use this Guarani precept, or understandings of a metaphysical order, to structure the tragedy. So, myths are going to structure the script of this tragedy, which is of a conceptual order, it is not a tragedy per se, it is not a theater play. TE: No, no. I understand it. It is like the figure of tragedy. SB: That’s it, and this is one of the things that I came here to do, approaching this understanding that the Guaranis have of reality, to reach these places that we talked about, so many places. Like Nandí Verá, that text by Pierre Clastres saying that… TE: I can get you texts by Bartomeu Meliá or Graciela Chamorro, about what they call Guarani religiosity, but it just so happens that for the Guaranis it is a thought of the sacred, and the sacred… SB: Is not the religious. TE: Not in the occidental definition of the term. It could be the sublime, or the real, or the being, or the thing-in-itself, which here is interpreted as a religious principle and all its rituals… It has a religious meaning, but obviously not in the Christian sense of the term, it is another religio, another way of reconnecting. SB: Right, the word religion comes from the term religare [Latin for “to reconnect”] TE: Yes, it is another “reconnection” […] SB: Ticio, it was wonderful. TE: Yes.

In December 2017, Sofia Borges traveled to Paraguay to research Guarani culture in the context of her curatorial research. In Asunción, she met with Ticio Escobar, director of the Museo del Barro/Museo de Arte Indígena del Centro de Artes Visuales, a curator, professor, art critic and ex-minister of Culture of Paraguay. The text presented here is a transcription of part of their first conversation.

sofia borges 33bienal/sp

O ENSAIO / THE REHEARSAL Seria um evento ímpar… O caixão, o defunto falante, o emplastro, os soluços das amantes, as falas baixas dos homens, o barulho da chuva nas folhas da moita… / It would be an exceptional event… the coffin, the dead man speaking, the medicinal plaster, the sobbing lovers, the murmuring men, the sound of rain on the shrubbery leaves…

produzido para a 33ª Bienal de São Paulo com apoio da / produced for the 33rd Bienal de São Paulo with the support of Fundação Bienal de São Paulo Danish Arts Foundation Fortes D’Aloia & Gabriel, São Paulo com assistência de / with the additional assistance of Dan Gunn Gallery, Londres

trilha sonora original / original soundtrack Arto Lindsay

um filme de / a film by Tamar Guimarães

roteiro / script Tamar Guimarães, Melissa de Raaf, Lillah Halla, com a colaboração dos atores e equipe / with the collaboration of cast and crew. Baseado na leitura de Memórias póstumas de Brás Cubas, de Machado de Assis / Based on a reading of The Posthumous Memoirs of Bras Cubas, by Machado de Assis

diretor de produção / production director Luís Knihs

com / with Isabél Zuaa Germano Melo Kelner Macêdo Camila Mota Julia Ianina Silvio Restiffe e a participação de / and the participation of Carolina Cordeiro Danilo Machado Dorinha Santos Elaine Fontana Elaine Medeiros Francisco Restiffe Gabriel Pérez-Barreiro Ivo Mesquita J. Pombo Josefa Gomes Lopes Lucideine Pereira de Santana Luiza Proença Nayara Maria Ayres de Oliveira Olívia Tamie Otávio Rodrigues Pablo Lafuente Rayssa Foizer Rita Marinho Suely Rolnik Thiago Gil elenco de apoio / supporting cast Alvaro Razuk Bianca Volpi Carolina Carvalho dos Santos Claudia Medeiros Edgar Heloisa Bedicks Juan Manuel Pereira Saeta Laura Cosendey Lorena Cascallana Luiz Luiz Epitacio de Aguiar Manoel Borba Marcio Harum Maria Chiaretti Mauro Restiffe Monica Hollander Pedro Guimarães Pipa Ambrogi Sérgio Silva Vitor Delaqua Vivian Gandelsman Yusuf Etiman

produção executiva / executive production Luís Knihs Maria Chiaretti direção / directed by Tamar Guimarães assistentes de direção / assistant directors Lillah Halla Patrícia Monegatto assistente de roteiro e preparação de elenco / casting and script assistant Dayse Barreto

som direto / live sound Rubén Valdes assistente de som / sound assistant Rodney Blanco Ancheta

assistente de produção / production assistant Francisco Miguez produção de set / production on set Amanda Carvalho Danilo Seemann produção na / production at Fundação Bienal Heloisa Bedicks consultoria de pesquisa / content advice Ivo Mesquita Luiza Proença Maria Chiaretti Pedro Andrada Pablo Lafuente direção de arte e figurino / art and costume direction Dayse Barreto

preparação de elenco / casting Helena Albergaria com a colaboração de / with the collaboration of Janaina Leite

assistência de arte e figurino / art and costume assistants Lucas Andrade Maria Fernanda Simonsen e a colaboração do elenco e equipe / with the collaboration of cast and crew

direção de fotografia / cinematography Bárbara Alvarez

maquiagem / make-up Guilherme Funari

1a assistente de fotografia / 1st cinematography assistant Wilssa Esser

montagem / editing Tamar Guimarães Beatriz Pomar

2a assistente de fotografia / 2nd cinematography assistant Daniel Upton Martínez

consultoria de montagem / editing consultant Virginia Flores

logger Flora Correia

desenho de som e mixagem / sound design and mixing Rubén Valdes

gaffer Luiz Paulo Xein assistente de elétrica / lighting assistant Everaldo Cicero dos Santos Leandro Rocha cartaz / poster still image Mauro Restiffe

finalização / post production lab Quanta gravação de ensaios / rehearsal recording Francisco Miguez transcrição de ensaios / rehearsals transcript Carolina Cordeiro

alimentação / catering Comedoro motoristas / drivers Gilson No Olho do Furacão João Paulo dos Santos Marcio Novak locações / locations Cemitério da Consolação, São Paulo / Consolação Cemetery, São Paulo Região do centro da cidade de São Paulo / Inner city streets, São Paulo Pavilhão da Bienal de São Paulo, Parque Ibirapuera, São Paulo / Bienal de São Paulo Pavilion, Ibirapuera Park, São Paulo Auditório do MASP, Museu de Arte de São Paulo / MASP Auditorium, Museum of Art of São Paulo Filmado em São Paulo, em julho de 2018 / Filmed in São Paulo in July 2018 agradecimentos / thanks to Adriano Pedrosa Alessandra d’Aloia Alexandre Gabriel Bel Lüscher Brenda Koschel Carol Gesser Corinne Werner Dan Gunn Danish Arts Foundation Denise Perucas Eliana Guimarães Farhat Equipe Cemitério da Consolação FAAP – Fundação Armando Alvares Penteado Fundação Bienal de São Paulo Gabriel Pérez-Barreiro Josy Panão Juliana Coelho Kasper Akhøj Kwame Yonatan Poli dos Santos Lize Borba Lolô Querida Márcia Fortes Márcia Vaz Marcos Moraes MASP, São Paulo Roberto Schwarz Will Martins Yusi Etiman

tamar guimarães 33bienal/sp

O ENSAIO Seria um evento ímpar… O caixão, o defunto falante, o emplastro, os soluços das amantes, as falas baixas dos homens, o barulho da chuva nas folhas da moita…

O ENSAIO / THE REHEARSAL um filme de / a film by Tamar Guimarães com / with Isabél Zuaa, Germano Melo, Camila Mota, Julia Ianina, Kelner Macêdo, Silvio Restiffe e a participação de / and the participation of Carolina Cordeiro, Danilo Machado, Dorinha Santos, Elaine Fontana, Elaine Medeiros, Francisco Restiffe, Gabriel Pérez-Barreiro, Ivo Mesquita, J. Pombo, Josefa Gomes Lopes, Lucideine Pereira de Santana, Luiza Proença, Nayara Maria Ayres de Oliveira, Olívia Tamie, Otávio Rodrigues, Pablo Lafuente, Rayssa Foizer, Rita Marinho, Suely Rolnik, Thiago Gil roteiro / script Tamar Guimarães, Melissa de Raaf, Lillah Halla, com a colaboração do elenco e equipe / with the collaboration of cast and crew produção executiva / executive production Luís Knihs, Maria Chiaretti trilha sonora original / original soundtrack Arto Lindsay direção de fotografia / cinematography Bárbara Alvarez

vânia mignone


waltercio caldas


1 RODIN, 1995 2 WITH MORANDI, 2005

[photo Wilton Montenegro]

[photo Vicente de Mello]


[photo Wilton Montenegro]


[photo Jaime Acioli]


[photo Vicente de Mello]

[photo Miguel Rio Branco]

[photo Wilton Montenegro]

[photo Jaime Acioli]


[photo Vicente de Mello]


Things all think at the same time. HERBERTO HELDER


Silence is not enough, its invention is also needed.


My metaphysics occurs when the placeless changes its image.



What always arises in continuous objects?


Walk through the images like a blind man in his own house.


Time was about to unimagine its eyes when the gauge vanished.


What does blue know about what happens?


A figureless statue and transparent bones.

Erratum: where it says images, read where.



We dream for the second time as if almost, or when.


If there is much and we don’t see it, isn’t it?

wura-natasha ogunji


Conversations Lhola Amira Mame-Diarra Niang Nicole Vlado ruby onyinyechi amanze Wura-Natasha Ogunji Youmna Chlala

Artists ruby onyinyechi amanze, Nicole Vlado, Youmna Chlala, Lhola Amira, Mame-Diarra Niang and Wura-Natasha Ogunji present new works at the Bienal which explore space and site in relationship to the body, history and architecture. Their creative investigations range from the intimate (body, memory, gesture) to the epic (history, nation, the cosmos). In an open and ongoing dialogue between artists, their individual projects and practices intersect with larger ideas and questions about bravery, freedom, and experimentation as central aspects of the artmaking process. Personal history and experience is but a layer to what these artists make in the world. They are of South African, Nigerian, Puerto Rican, Lebanese, Ivorian, Senegalese, French, American, and Romani descent. They are deeply affected by their ever-changing, complicated and at times contradictory relationships to the land, places, nations, territories in which they find themselves. The nuanced ways in which their experiences inform their collective artistic practices allow them to connect, experiment, confront and defy. It is not the fact of origins or homelands that is revelatory, however, but rather the breaks in these narratives, the movements beyond.

Their works embrace interruptions as necessary openings for making. It is this in-between, this not-knowing that becomes a portal and, as such, paramount to the way these artists create, make space and find presence in the world. They embrace the fissure, glitch, knot, seam, spine, crevice, fold, appearance, non-territory. amanze creates drawings on paper which bend, suspend and reach out into space. Vlado, an artist and architect, focuses on capturing spaces created between bodies, such as plaster set in the grip of a fist. When Lhola Amira steps into a space in Appearances she invokes the past and the future. Chlala considers the spine as a representation of the connection between prescience and memory. Niang’s photographs and videos make up both new and non-territories. Ogunji’s drawings, stitched from both sides of the page, reveal an uncanny beauty in the underside. It is these fissures that become fertile ground for profound experimentation, clear and concise translation, and deep respect for all that they don’t know. 1

Nicole: Wura, I love this: “reveal an uncanny

beauty in the underside.” This is such a part of what I admire about your stitched works, and it’s something that I explore with my impressions and study of negative space. Is this merely about seeing what’s not to be seen? I’d love to think about this with you and the rest of the group, because it can resonate as a much larger theme – not just formally, but in terms of existence, our existence. Similarly, the phrase “a deep respect for all that they don’t know” makes me think of humility, which I love, but I think we’re also curious about audacity. I’d love to imagine how this fits in. ruby: Echoing Nicole here, I’m also very inter-


ested in the dichotomy of audacity and humility which I think is present in all of our work. The word humility, to me, feels in line with subtlety as a visual, a way in which one’s hand marks a surface… something about the physical pressure of making the mark, or the surface area a mark holds, or the choice to omit or reserve. But not in a way that feels soft or shy, which is perhaps where the audacity comes in. For us, I don’t think we view these ideas as contrary. So how is it that something can be audacious and humble simultaneously? Do they coexist when there is an outward expectation put on the maker to be a certain way or make a certain type of work? For example, in my work, choosing to leave half of the space on the paper blank when there is a cultural expectation of me as a person of African descent, to saturate space… is that when subtlety becomes audacious? Or Nicole… filling an otherwise forgotten and walked-upon fissure with shining brass? Wura, what is an underside when there are two otherwise equal sides? When the drawings hang in space, is there still an underside?

Nicole Vlado Wura: I’ve always felt very moved by your rela-

tionship to architecture and the city, New York, where you grew up. And how that relationship is shaped by the prominence of the front stoop as a place you made your own. Can you talk about your thinking and process for this upcoming work and specifically your relationship to the particular space of the Niemeyer Pavilion? Nicole: I have a beautiful memory of being in the Bienal alone working and seeing what seemed like a dance that was being made accidentally or secretly. There were six, maybe ten, although it felt like dozens, of women and men dressed in black with dust brooms walking throughout the space, around me, carefully avoiding me. Their steps and voices echoed through the space. I was nervous that I was in their way, but they seemed not to be bothered by me. It was as if they did not see me. A few days earlier we saw men in the park sweeping the grounds with their wide palm brooms – I remember the sound of the dry fronds scraping against concrete. It was spring and there were petals everywhere. I became very interested in this effort to preserve perfection both in the Bienal and the park. This served to remind me that architecture is not just experienced, but it is made (built by laborers) and maintained (cleaned by laborers). The modernists, like Niemeyer, add a challenge of often relying on the pristine: the polished black concrete floor shows dust. It shows cracks and patches, sweaty palm prints, shoe marks. It appears like a chalkboard that has been laid on the ground, always showing the marks of what has been erased even after it has been cleaned. I love scarred surfaces and the worlds they form. I spent a lot of time in my apartment as a child. I didn’t explore the woods, the wild, instead my imagination and small fingers explored the nail heads rising from the top of parquet floors, the curling vinyl in the kitchen, the topography of the decades of paint along the walls, the old dumbwaiter door, braided electrical cords. Once outside, I touched the smoothed granite treads in the stoop, stared in wonder at the dark splatters of old chewing gum on the

glittery sidewalks, traced my eyes along the cracks in the sidewalk, which revealed themselves as canyons. Now a grown woman and an architect in nyc, my work continues to be an exploration of interstices – the space between buildings, between rooms. The Bienal pavilion is an emblem of modernist doctrine, and what can one do in a space with perfectly bare ribbon windows looking out into the tree line, a forest made of columns, immensely high ceilings, an expressive concrete ramp, and that sea of polished concrete with its delicate brass control joints? I felt drawn to the floor which looks like the surface of the moon, a freeing moment of site specificity and scale in a vast colonnade. I knew that I would make casts from the floor. I love imagining visitors laying their bellies pressed on the cool concrete, exploring it on their own, but how unlikely and impractical! Instead, my work will include casts of negative spaces taken from the floor and also from my body – the work becomes a dance between me and Niemeyer’s floor. This dance expresses not only the intimacy of touch, something which appears in many of my works, but also the intimacy of cleaning, a reference to the building’s crew and their push-brooms, a whisper to Mierle Laderman Ukeles, and Janine Antoni. Washing the floor, washing Niemeyer, washing a lover, being a laborer, loving the labor.

Youmna Chlala Wura: I’m very interested in your process of

making, in what might be called the research process, and your artistic practice. You’re an artist and a writer and have an important relationship to architecture. Youmna: There was a time when I was disil-

lusioned with language as a way of expression, storytelling or even as an assertion of rights, possibilities and change. I found architectural theory a way of exposing the vitality of space, spatial constructs and the way bodies and objects are situated in those spaces. One of the first books I read and reread is directly related to this project – Mario Salvadori’s Why Buildings

Stand Up. I don’t think he would call it theory but rather a way of seeing. It is not accidental that as an engineer, architect and professor he also translated Emily Dickinson into Italian. Her works and forms in language are minute, minimalist, moving structures. In the foreword, he uses words like love and beauty, words rarely found in an architecture book. Wura: I would love to hear you talk about the

relationship of your body to this particular exhibition space, but also how your body and the visceral figure into your artistic practice as a whole. Youmna: What struck me most about the build-

ing when I first entered was the way it seemed to make the interior and exterior disappear and appear as you moved through it. The vast scale feels like it is having a conversation with the park, attempting and sometimes failing in a simple human way to engage nature on its own terms (though the park itself has those same qualities). The void in the center as circulation made me dizzy, happy and curious. It was not a well of light, rather a way of moving. I noticed the birds building nests on the windowsills. A small and familial gesture given the breadth of the volumes. They would soon be displaced to make room for cleaners to wipe the windows of dust, weather and twig imprints. I noticed the machine ghosts. What else could occupy such a grand scale? I like that in the original use of the building those spaces were meant for agricultural equipment. Again, there is no pretense that nature, growth, desire, hunger does not exist in that building as much as the rotating installations, lights, and monetary and object exchanges try to impose a kind of indoor market or gathering. I noticed the way bodies moved outside and touched the building when they stretched their limbs against it, used its shade, ran up the ramp, slid along the edge on skateboards, pressed their hands on the glass to open doors. The concrete muted the music blasting as encouragement for exercise groups to stretch toward the sun. Inside, the columns seemed to be in perpetual conversation with each other. We were the intruder bodies, moving gently in the forest,


asking questions about time, air, growth, light and the potential for wildlife. So, as we sat, stood, slid, strolled and gazed at the space the most compelling moments for me had to do with two or three people walking together. It revealed not only that there were many layers of exchange happening, but it also meant a kind of opening of the space. The bodies themselves created those ruptures. I love to make work that encourages further ruptures and openings, connections. The loveseat supposes that proximity is one way we love. The way I’m thinking about these seats also has to do with what happens when we see together. I’d like to consider the way our whole bodies experience a moment and simultaneously remember previous moments. A non-linear, multiple and simultaneous way of seeing or foreseeing like a plant situated outside the building might experience time and space. Wura: What questions are you asking as you

make? 4

Youmna: What is a spine? When is it multiple? Why does it take a year for a starfish to regenerate an arm? How are memory and time intertwined spatially in the deep ocean? What if the multiple spines of a neuron do not emerge from a center but arrive together and towards each other? What is sitting? What is closeness? What is an imperfect seat? How do we love when we sit? What is a column? Why does it curve on the interior, secretly? Can vertebrae exist without the whole? What can future forms and materials tell us about how we make space now? What is woven? How is it unwoven? If we store our pain memory in our spines, what happens when we heal? Do book spines hold a kind of memory? Can a curve be a cut? What can be found in a freeform curve? Or in two or three freeform curves near each other? ruby: I love these questions! And the going back and forth between ocean and water reference alongside spine as structure – spine as architecture – spine as memory holder. I wonder about the spine imagery as a different kind of space than the in-between spaces some of the other works touch on. It feels more concrete – as an

armature, the one that defines the parameters of all other space. But you talk of it almost as if it’s ephemeral. I’m intrigued by this.

Lhola Amira The artist Lhola Amira was born from the body of curator and academic Khanyisile Mbongwa. Both Womxn share a plural existence, co-habiting the same body. It is for this purpose that Lhola Amira’s practice is described as an “Appearance.” Wura: How did being in São Paulo shape your

project? Lhola: My relationship to space is the inter-

section between the past, present and future. It is about time, what keeps unfolding through time. The structural and physical presence of time through buildings, objects and, of course, the kind of time geographical locations hold. Space to me is multi-dimensional, it is layered with what we can see with our naked eye and with the mystic, spiritual and ancestral presence. I have been asking myself, “What am I looking at and what am I seeing?” At first glance it seems a very simple task, looking. I first had to peel off what I carry when I look and then look again. There is an ancestral energy I picked up, and it is this energy that I have been using as my guide. I always ask myself, “Why have I been invited to a place, what am I being asked to do?” I have to be very attentive to hear clearly; it is important to meet the purpose of why I have been called. My practice is interested in the wound and healing. I am interested to see what the wound is, what it is made of, what has been sustaining it, what has been used to cover it – and then begin, through it, to gesture for healing. For Brazil, the images that kept emerging: washing sheets, linen; cleaning brass, cutlery. I would see water, ocean, streams, rivers. I would see feet walking, standing, dancing, wandering, stomping, running, tied, bruised, tired, aging, flying, born. I wanted to know who these feet belonged to, so I began to research Brazil and its history – I have yet to know where the pressure sits.

I envision creating a place to rest, to breathe, to take a moment and remember, a place to listen to yourself and your people – and hopefully some healing will be reached. I want to create a space where I extend myself to others and gesture for healing.

access due to white private ownership. Spiritual and ancestral presence then exist on their own terms, outside of these physical realities.

Wura: When describing your work you write:

Lhola: Yes, I had to peel off what I carry. It is important in my culture before you enter any place or space that you leave your things behind so that you have a clear spirit to look, see, observe, listen, hear. Because Khanyisile exists in the South African context I carry parts of that and I have to peel it off in order to see beyond my physical eye – it is my ancestral and spiritual being that has to be in tune. When I peel off, I don’t assume similarities of historical and contemporary context – this is very important in my process. Within Nguni spiritual understanding our bodies are not our own. And I think this is how Khanyisile could accept my presence. It is necessary for a clear pathway.

“The practice of Appearance draws from southern African Nguni spiritualism that denotes plural existences in one body but also an understanding of the Zulu notion of Ukuvela which contextualizes a person’s existence in relation to historical and future narratives. Confronting the historical and contemporary precarity of black bodies, Appearance as a decolonial practice moves from bodies that perform to bodies that appear on their own terms, from ritualistic practice to gestural practice.” Lhola: Yes, Appearance as a practice draws from Nguni spiritualism and in my work I seek healing gestures for wounds that have been sustained over generations. Through my practice I noticed that a wound can repeat itself over and over – this is how I began asking myself, “What needs to happen for us to curb this agony?” Though mostly my practice deals with specific historical happenings – my gestures are very speculative. Hence, I would never say this will heal you but I say gestural healing because ultimately the individual who has engaged with me will have to continue the gesture to explore its healing. My Appearances are guided by spiritual energy and visions – this is why I cannot call what I do performance. Through my practice I attempt to meet the standard of the vision.

Wura: You said, “I first had to peel off what I

carry when I look.”

Lhola: Side note: In a conversation you mention my washing of people’s feet – in Brazil it would be people of color because I am aware the context is not the same as South Africa. Wura: People of color as differentiated from

black because of the context of Brazil? Lhola: The definition of black in Brazil is much more complex and nuanced than in South Africa and I think it’s important to acknowledge this.

Mame-Diarra Niang

Wura: Can you talk more about “bodies that

Wura: You said, “I see my work as an inner space

appear on their own terms” as specifically related to the South African context?

odyssey.” Could you talk more about that? When we met in São Paulo I was very interested in your working process and “tuning” your own body with music and sound at the beginning of your day.

Lhola: South Africa has a complex and painful history, one that doesn’t recognize or acknowledge the genocide of black people through colonial conquest and the apartheid regime. There are many ways the black body has been restricted historically and continues to be in the contemporary. There are places (land, beaches, mountains) where our ancestors died which we cannot

Mame-Diarra: I am exploring my presence, the

matter of the self, what constitutes myself as a physical body and energetic being to be present. Playing music, tuning my body to the song helps me examine the energy available for the day. The question is, “What has changed today?”


The way the energy moves inside a musical structure helps to read, feel and connect with another side of my territory. This guides me to become the object observed. I find appropriate the phrase inner space odyssey as I abandon the space to explore the infinity inside the self. Wura: Why is a sense of space important? Mame-Diarra: It’s about the relationship of


the visual to a bodily experience. I’m not creating. I’m discovering. I have a way, a path to my territories. Before I didn’t know how to play music. With all my practice with meditation and research about the self I found a way to the music. I sensed that we are complete, we have everything inside us. We just need to activate the connection and have the experience. Every day I try to play music in the morning. I bring the song. I play and see if it’s right. When I tap a key it changes but it’s the same structure and I can play live. I can use any pattern that I need and every day I’m trying to confront the things that I brought yesterday to see how they changed or how I changed. I’m really trying to stretch, to understand, to travel. It’s a journey through, a discovery of things I cannot put into words. Wura: Can you talk about Brazil? What comes

to you? Mame-Diarra: The work here in Brazil is

about many territories of my life including Johannesburg, Dakar and Paris. I’m bringing sounds and films. Also, I want to film my body. This work is an awakening and I want to experience something, to confront the experience that I will find there. I’m also including panoramas of Dakar, São Paulo, and Paris. I create a way to visualize my memories. It is my landscape. I want to see what Brazil brings. I don’t yet know the territory it will give me. It’s hard to say what I will do exactly because I only have the feeling. I can project things but I don’t know how my body will stand there. I work with this feeling. I work with the invisible inside me. I need to stretch. I need to reconsider. Wura: This makes me think of Youmna’s spines.

Mame-Diarra: For a long time, I only got the

sensations. Before, it was quite complicated for me to articulate to others, to my gallery. I lived with the spirit of the work inside me. I was so frustrated, so when the work came into the space it was really something. I just started playing. It was like a key. I’m not a genius but this work made me think I’m a genius. It’s like the columns, you’re just a gate between the infinite outer space and the infinite self. I guess we are just the core, our individual consciousness. Or door or gate or bridge. The only thing that I know, that I’m sure that I’m doing is recording. I’m recording and I’m sharing information with you.

ruby onyinyechi amanze ruby: I like the idea of space being made tangible in multiple dimensions – both on the paper (imaginary world) and in the real world. In drawn form, depth is communicated and understood, but it’s also completely fabricated. We have learned to believe it. I think in the physical form, despite being brick and mortar, it’s the same thing – it’s just something we believe. It’s defined space and for me those lines and boundaries are temporary. In all forms, they can and will shift. When I first came to architecture it was in search of a way to make abstract spaces and homes into quantifiable things. I’d lived in the in-between and was looking for a grounding of sorts. Architecture seemed like a way to provide that, even philosophically. I don’t look for grounding at this point in the work. On the contrary, home and space are now comfortably in flux. So, any architectural references in the work are illusive – drawn from memory and only ever in part. On a purely visual level, I’m also deeply attracted to the language of architectural drawings. I include the way drawings for sculptures (for example, Richard Serra’s drawings) are often made as a parallel aesthetic. There’s something about them that I gravitate towards. I don’t personally draw this way and may never, but when I see it I can feel it. They feel equally elementary and sophisticated and that’s the ultimate balance.

Wura: Can you elaborate on this: “I’d lived in the

in-between”? ruby: I’d only ever lived as parts of spaces, but never as the whole space. The whole history, the whole ancestral, root, language holding thing. I never had that. I grazed through homes and lands for short periods, collecting pieces and then adhering them to the pieces of the next place. Place and identity are often thought of as a simple connecting factor. You are from here so you are this. But all my life, I’ve been from nowhere in particular. From a very early age until the present moment, my experiences of my body in the world have been from a place of seeming inauthenticity – borrowed languages, unknown languages, unused names, accents that blur into “questionable.” Now I take it as a source of pride. To be from the in-between of things that are concrete. That means there is fluidity. There is freedom. There is an ability to invent. Wura: You wrote about alignment and joy. I’m thinking about the importance of space, the physical spaces we find ourselves in when we make... the studio. And also the space of alignment. What is alignment anyway? ruby: It’s the driver! The friend! Alignment to me is the same as inspired right action – which is a Taoist philosophy – of somehow knowing what to do and trusting it. It’s connected to the idea of effortless effort – work that is guided by an ease and an innate certainty. I guess the physical space of the studio and our surroundings allow for the space of alignment. We cultivate the one so the other can show up. Wura: What’s in the abyss? What is the more that

Björk speaks about? ruby: When she talks about the more of the work that she can see but hasn’t made yet, I can relate. There is something else in there… out there. It’s a bizarre awareness to have because the more is so clear. I think it has to stay a little out of reach so our meeting can be more fulfilling. And the process of getting there also... that’s the best part. I do think we meet up with the more (in theory). But I doubt it’ll be enough when we do.

Perhaps it’s an endless pursuit to keep things interesting. You go through all of this evolution in the process of being a maker and as an artist it’s all “progress.” What’s behind the seeming simplicity of a new mark could be years’ worth of discoveries. But how could any of that possibly translate when the work is received? There’s a perpetual lag. At the point of reception, it’s the surface result that’s visible but rarely the back catalogues.


ruby onyinyechi amanze


ruby onyinyechi amanze in her studio at Crane Arts, Philadelphia (2018) ada and Audre, 2015 graphite, ink, photo transfers, metallic enamel, 96.5 Ă— 127 cm

bird dance #1, 2018 inkjet print on semi matte paper, 185.4 Ă— 97.8 cm

Lhola Amira


eNgxingxolo kwaSilatsha, 2017, series 29°06’S 26°13’E research Documentation: Nongqawuse: The Cattle Killing of 1857 LAGOM: Breaking Bread with The Self-Righteous II, 2017, series LAGOM: Breaking Bread with The Self-Righteous giclée print on Hahnemühle PhotoRag Baryta Diasec, 91 × 145 cm

from the series Philisa : Hlala Ngikombamthise [To Be Healed: Sit Let Me Cover You], 2018 sketch by Bulumko Mbete, the artist's studio assistant

Youmna Chlala


Youmna Chlala in her studio Imagined City, 2010 ink, graphite, eraser on vellum, 40 Ă— 60 cm

LoveSeat Process 2, 2018 ink and watercolor on paper, 35 Ă— 43 cm

Mame-Diarra Niang


Mame-Diarra Niang performance in the videoinstallation Since Time Is Distance in Space, Johannesburg (September, 2017) preliminary drawing for video-installation Since Time Is Distance in Space, for the 33rd Bienal de SĂŁo Paulo (2018)

Since Time Is Distance in Space, 2016 − ongoing video, variable duration

Wura-Natasha Ogunji


But I am breathing under water, 2017 thread, ink, graphite on tracing paper, 30 × 61 cm The sea, and it’s raining. I missed you so much, 2018 project’s drawing, ink on paper, 21 × 13 cm

Computer Blue, 2017 performance, 60’, performance documentation, Lagos, Nigeria

Nicole Vlado


shed, 2009 performance, plaster

from the series “here� (i gaze at stars to heal wounds), 2018 research documentation (2017), plaster

cover Nicole Vlado sprint, 2006 performance, plaster Youmna Chlala LoveSeat Process 11, 2018 mixed paper collage, 30 × 45 cm ruby onyinyechi amanze Starfish, 2016 ink, graphite, fluorescent acrylic, photo transfers; mounted on a wooden box, 96.5 × 125.7 x 5.6 cm

inside front cover Nicole Vlado series “here” (i gaze at stars to heal wounds), 2018 research documentation (2017), plaster

inside back cover 20

Youmna Chlala LoveSeat Process 10, 2018 ink on vellum paper, 45 × 30 cm

back cover Wura-Natasha Ogunji Generators, 2014 thread, ink, graphite on tracing paper, 61 × 61 cm Lhola Amira iYahluma I [To Blossom / A New Dawn I], 2018, series SINKING:Xa Sinqamla Unxubo [SINKING: When We Are Curbing The Flow of Agony], 2018 giclée print on Hahnemühle PhotoRag Baryta Diasec, 88 × 144 cm Mame-Diarra Niang Since Time Is Distance in Space, 2016 − ongoing video, variable duration


33 bienal são paulo [afinidades afetivas] 2018

Ministry of Culture, Fundação Bienal de São Paulo and Itaú present

33 bienal são paulo [affective affinities] 2018

artist’s books and posters: alejandro cesarco* alejandro corujeira aníbal lópez antonio ballester moreno* bruno moreschi claudia fontes* denise milan feliciano centurión lucia nogueira luiza crosman mamma andersson* maria laet nelson felix siron franco sofia borges* tamar guimarães vânia mignone waltercio caldas* wura-natasha ogunji* + 33 bienal poster * artist-curators