sperbg
Visual Artist – Brazil
Portrait of Seu Humberto Fossa
Acrylic on cotton paper
42 x 29, 7 cm
This mixture of times that tangles in my memory,
Play with me, make me feel like a child again while the colors take over the space.
I look at the photograph of a man with white hair that betrays the passage of time,
However, it is Seu Humberto from Casa Rio and Cine-Teatro Glória that emerges from a vivid memory in the image that I insist on representing now.
It was the early 1970s, once I went to Casa Rio, bought colored pencils, gouache, a sketchbook and “Viagem ao Centro da Terra”. In his quiet but gentle way, Seu Humberto examined the book as if examining a jewel, and said:
“You'll like it, it's a fantastic book.”
It is known that he was a passionate researcher, his collection is both a source and a portal, it makes me dive and enter my memories that intertwine with those of others. “Journey to the Center of the Earth is a fantastic book,” he said, perhaps because he wanted children to dream and pursue their dreams, as he did. A cultured man committed to keeping the history of our land alive, for example, he helped Seu Firmino to rebuild the “Bumba-meu-boi de Encruzilhada”, a party held until today.
I have said that painting is one of my ways of speaking, after all, the words were already so well sewn in “Memória Encruzilhadense”, a literary collection organized by the compatriots and late Alice T. Campos Moreira and Dione Teixeira Borges Moreira, in whose pages they are shared fragments of work carried out for decades by the man who dreamed of an eternal crossroads. And with success he did, instilling in the hearts of children and young people the curiosity and the desire to keep the history of our village alive.
Portrait of Dona Maria Lima Mota
Portrait of Juliet
Acrylic on cotton paper
30 x 21 cm
"The garden is the person's universe and everything around him"
So he opened the deck, handled with agility. The fluid energy, from the shuffling of the cards, took over every space adorned with its holy protectors. His breathing was the only sound you could hear, there the atmosphere was dense, it was as if time had stopped. Incense smoke formed a veil wherever you looked; the smell of burning herbs, the light of candles, and then the interpretation of my destiny began through the gift and wisdom of Dona Maria.
Things were said, which at the time didn't make sense to me. However, in the course of life, everything became solid... How could it? Where does this power to read the universe come from, I wondered, myself and so many other people.
She held the center of umbanda with the help of whoever extended their hand. There, the children were blessed, along with offerings on the altar to the protective guides. In February he left in a caravan to the celebrations of Iemanjá. His horse received the Cacique Cobra Coral, protector of the forests and the land where we tread...
The question remains: where does this energy that soothes in the despair of misfortune come from? I can't say, but even today, when I remember the words of the Benjamin Constant healer, my heart calms down and I don't feel alone.
SOULS OF THE STREETS (series)
2021
Distant memories of now, but alive in me and in the community where I was born, Encruzilhada do Sul, a small town of approximately 25 thousand inhabitants. In my view, its streets had souls, and it is these that interest me. Uncle Nabuco, Dona Malvina's "dream seller"; Aunt Pretinha, “the benzedeira” and carnival lover; Seu Florindo, “the postman”, a serious man, knew that he carried treasures in his briefcase; Zé da pipa, “the pipeiro”, delivered water to homes that did not have running water, are charismatic figures of the city where I was born, alive in the memory of the crossroads and now immortalized in paintings.
The gardener, 2021
Portrait of Tio Chico
Acrylic on cotton paper
30 x 21 cm
It was still early, classes started at seven thirty.
Some days all you could hear was the snip snip of the pruning shears.
And when we walked by the Júlio de Castilhos Square on the way to school...
Suddenly we would hear:
– Good morning, girls!
In the middle of the cypress trees popped up Tio Chico,
A simple and gentle man, he left the countryside to live in the city, there on December 4th Street. Very early on he took up his post as the square's gardener. He was married to Dona Oraci, and they had seven children:
Teresinha, Rogério, Vera, Ronaldo, Gerlane, Clóvis and Marilza.
The sculptures that “the gardener” created were adorable. He turned the square into an art exhibition — a handy topiarist, who played with words and shapes, to the envy of the gardens of Versailles.
The paths between the sculptures were shiny, tiny stones reflected infinite colors, that square had a magic touch. In the springtime, the roses and junquillo trees joined the indescribable scent of the jasmines. Even before we entered the square, the perfume would invade my senses, and it still remains today as a portal in my memory every time I approach this flower.
The gardens of the Júlio de Castilhos Square were attended by entire families, lovers, lonely souls, workers and students — as a matter of fact, many solemn figures crossed the square to perform their duties or simply to have a chat with Tio Chico. Once in a while Tio Nabuco, Tia Pretinha, Mr. Florindo, Water Tank Zé, Mr. Osvaldo, Mr. Firmino and Dona Conceição would show up over there.
I know that the square is kept under the care of other people, children of their children, other gardeners, whether local or outsiders, who have heard about the sculptures or got to know them while growing up...
I also know that life is like that, a permanent, endless cycle. But I also know that there are people who mark one's life forever — they are souls that cross through times. And all it takes is for me to close my eyes and visit my memories so that I can hear the shears snip snip and that endearing "Good morning, girl!"
And then, albeit taken by nostalgia, I smile — sometimes with my eyes, sometimes with my mouth.
The guiding master
Portrait of Mr. Firmino
Acrylic on cotton paper
21 x 30 cm
For a long time the Mota family took care of the ox there, in the Lava-Pés neighborhood.
The cause of the deep sleep that took the ox for long years is not well known,
Until in the 60's, he was woken up in Mr. Firmino's backyard,
There on December 4th, in front of the Tabajara Club.
It was a hot summer afternoon, the first Saturday after Carnival.
For those who think that it is not hot in the southeastern hills, they are wrong.
Encruzilhada, with its "dog crippling" winters, also surprised us with its "head" burning summers. But why talk about the weather of our land?
It is quite simple, Mr. Firmino, on that hot afternoon in the 60's, saw the "kids" filled with laziness,
For the heat it was so intense... no mood to play, what do you mean? That was a no-no!
Remembering his childhood running after the bumba-meu-boi ("dance my ox", in Portuguese, a folkloric dance), he told his loved ones:
— Let's play a game... let's make a little ox. Let's see where it goes...
Soon the “ugly skeleton” was given ribbons and rattles on its horns, and with a colorful costume it advanced along the 4th of December, drawing children from all sides.
The ox ressurrected along with its former souls, and so did the children, the joy was restored.
The street was filled with its formers souls flags and the party was growing big, then his friend Humberto said:
— Hold on, I'm going to give you a hand.
The master and his friend made the party happen every first Saturday after carnival, from the backyard of Mr. Firmino. The children came along the street, and so did grown-ups. And there were bagpipes, drums, music! Mr. Firmino was the conductor of the ox that would faint during the journey, but would be revived with a shot from his veterinarian, and would soon resume the merrymaking for the joy of Encruzilhada.
We know that the bronze cowbells are for guiding those who come behind, but make no mistake, it was Mr. Firmino who was guiding, and the ox unwillingly obeyed.
— Get up, ox!
And the ox kept going…
It was a parade through all the streets, leading everyone to the central square,
Where the party would go on…
The street maker, 2021
Portrait of Mr. Osvaldo
Acrylic on cotton paper
30 x 21 cm
It used to be like this:
It rained cats and dogs and soon Ramiro Barcelos was transformed....
As a matter of fact, like so many other streets that were not yet paved.
The dirt ground was full of holes, it even looked like Swiss cheese.
But soon it would be levelled — by the street maker.
He lived right there,
at Ramiro's Travessa.
Mr. Osvaldo, a quiet and peaceful man, in his blue uniform contrasted inside the orange grader.
I didn't even know they were complementary colors back then,
But I already knew that the grader was only complete with Osvaldo.
Slowly, the grader carved a flat street, formed between two mountains of dirt.
Zealous, the street maker would say:
— Stay on the sidewalk, children!
But nobody would listen...
I smell the perfume of the turned earth, my memory, previously forgotten, bursts forth.
I see myself there,
Ramiro, between Barão do Amazonas and the "Little Square",
This was the route I was allowed to take by bicycle — me and a group of kids.
The calmness of the street was replaced by the hustle and bustle that arose everywhere,
Nandas, Aninhas, Serginhos, Elisetes, Pedras, Antoninhas, Periazinhos, Paulinhos Afonsos, Wilmas, Nidas, Anas Delfinas, Lecas, Xandis, Lises, Claudinhos, Ciros, Lélis, Narinhas, Zelinhas...
Nicknames or names, the same or different, only the streets would change.
The scene was repeated all over the dirt roads of my city.
As soon as Mr. Osvaldo waved and the grader was gone,
We flew down the newly made, then perfect street — a gift from our street maker.
The water hauler, 2021
Portrait of Water Tank Zé
Acrylic on cotton paper
21 x 30 cm
It was still night, he rested his lean body in Lava-pés, the neighborhood where he lived.
It wasn't even dawn yet when he climbed the slope with his tank on wheels,
Still empty...
A tank that was also a bank,
Carried by his horse companion, he and his tank went on.
Still empty...
Water Tank Zé crossed the city, crossed the times, he did it in the 50's.
But it was already the 60's and he kept going.
He would go down the slope, sight the Pedroso fountain, and fill his tank.
Easy, folks! The tank was big! There were 200 liters of clean water to be distributed.
A serious man, a bit stern, but kind...
He drove through the streets of Encruzilhada…
Taking to the homes, to those who still didn't have piped water, the precious life.
Can I have a water can, Zé?
The postman, 2021
Portrait of Mr. Florindo
30 x 21 cm
The name of the streets, the name of the people, who else would know them by heart?
In the 70's, in a time when people used to say: "a letter was lost!", back in Encruzilhada do Sul this did not happen. Mr. Florindo, with zeal and seriousness, would make sure the letter to reach its destination — whether it was news of death or news of life, there were also love letters and bills to be paid, sometimes overdue invoice letters...
The street would come alive as souls passed through, that's how it was in my town. The cobblestone or unpaved streets were visited by Florindo, the postman — his posture and firm steps showed the pride he felt in his job, whose importance he knew well. From Vila Mariano da Rocha to Lava-pés, the walk was long, the responsibility was great, he would carry treasures with him. His suitcase had no key, but was very well cared for, after all, it kept the city's secrets... maybe even letters of forbidden love?
― Here comes Mr. Florindo! ― some said, anxious to receive the words kept in a sealed envelope. And about stamps... the children tormented him! I was one of them.
― Mr. Florindo, do you have a stamp for me?
― No children, go play!
The benzedeira II, 2021
Portrait of Tia Pretinha
Acrylic on cotton paper
30 x 21cm
The evil eye, from soreness to the pain of love, cured the horse and cleansed the soul, opened paths.
Three Fridays, burning coal, a glass of water, scissors, and faith — instruments of work. If the burning coal sank and the water became cloudy, it was the evil eye, but those who sought her knew that on the last Friday the coal would float in clear water, and the evil eye would be severed.
Aside from opening paths, Tia Pretinha opened the Carnival in the streets of Encruzilhada.
With slow steps, her fragile body was carried by her warrior spirit, to the sound of the drumming through the streets of the city.
The Dream Seller, 2021
Portrait of Mr. Nabuco
Acrylic on cotton paper
30 x 21 cm
About painting, my choices start from my experiences, sometimes as denunciations, sometimes as sharing memories far from now, but alive in me and in the community where I was born, Encruzilhada do Sul, a small town of approximately 25 thousand inhabitants. In my view, its streets had souls, and it is these that interest me. Uncle Nabuco is one of them, the dream seller (Da Vó Malvina) also announced the Cine Glória program and the departure of his countrymen. He went from corner to corner, calling the people to say goodbye to someone. Yes, I speak of death, but it did not seem frightening announced by him, perhaps because of the sweetness and respect with which he exercised his craft.
Orchidarium, 2020
Acrylic on cotton paper
30 x 21 cm
I wish the man was as strong as the orchids
I wish ...
Smiles and dizzying dreams fade and don't come back
sometimes for nothing, sometimes for nothing that seems like everything.
And everything disappears, leaving the doubt if it even existed.
The magic, 2020
Acrylic on cotton paper
30 x 21 cm
There are people who stay in our lives ...
A gesture, a word that changes everything
Makes you take a little bit of yourself forever
That simple...
Little fortress, 2020
Acrylic on canvas
45 x 45 cm
There are those who do not understand
this instant that man realizes
how much you have to learn,
how can the world fit in an embrace?
The blue haired girl, 2020
Acrylic on canvas
37 x 43 cm
The first time I saw her
It looked like a scared little bird,
Your blue hair
It was his wings ...
INSIDE THINGS (series)
2018 - 2017
Once again, my eye sees from the outside the eye looking from the inside.
Who are you, who am I?
It resembles me, I don't know you.
It changes before me, leaving the eye that looked lost in a non-moment.
I no longer find myself or you, but another one, a mixture of us.
Untitled, 2018.
Acrylic on canvas.
108.4 x 80 cm
I've been living with doubt for a long time
I don't fight her anymore.
I already know the damage
I can not avoid.
Things and spaces tend to mix more times a day
I tried to map them in color, I even created boundaries with color.
Portal, 2018.
Oil on canvas.
79 x 100 cm.
But the stain comes back to permeate everything around me.
I return and then take on my gaze.
I entered this portal in search of temporal suspension, without realizing it I even doubted my own existence and, after all, there in the “no-moment”, that I found myself in nothing, where time is only, it was not, it is not and it will not be , leaving only indexes of my own ancestry through color. Then, finally, "I rested comfortable in the discomfort of the universe ...".
EA P, 2018.
Oil on canvas. 107x73.5 cm.
Reading of the short story "The black cat" by Edgar Allan Poe.
Epiphany II, 2018
Dimension: 120 x 90 cm
Technique: Digital Photography (vinyl printing)
I saw this passage to heaven ... There was no ladder to take me there, but I wanted to dive into that intense blue, so I decided to bring the sky to earth.
Epiphany, 2015
Installation
Wood, mirrors, nylon thread.
I closed my eyes,
I rested comfortable
In the discomfort of the Universe ...
I floated among the stars, the ones I visited in my childhood,
I saw myself cosmic dust,
I looked at me, it was nothing ...
being nothing, I made my way back,
and then I was unique, I was part of a whole.
- and inside the sky, in the “inside out of the sky”?
Again I saw myself there
I am part of it, my eye sees from the outside the eye looking from the inside ...
Is my eye concave or convex?
- depends on where you see it.
Who sees me, who do I see?
As? There is no answer,
Or is it that, if I am a particle, we are the infinite?