Whether in Portugal, his homeland, or in the various Latin American countries where he worked, photographer João Pina, 38, has devoted much of his 20 years of career to making “stories not fall into oblivion”. From the family inherited interest in politics – grandparents, communist militants, were political prisoners during the Salazarist regime. He also understood the importance of memory and knowing the past both to understand the present and to repair historical trauma and injustice.

No wonder, Por Teu Livre Pensamento, his first authorial work, was a sort of reckoning with his own history, from records of survivors of political persecution in Portugal. Condor, a project that took nine years to complete and resulted in a book and series of exhibitions around the world, investigated Operation Condor, articulation between six South American military dictatorships (Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Chile, Paraguay and Uruguay) organized to suppress leftist opposition.

Other projects came in Portugal, Cuba, Colombia (on the FARC), Rio de Janeiro (46750, which includes the number of homicides in the city between 2007 and 2016), among others. Currently, the photographer develops a work on Tarrafal, a concentration camp created by the Portuguese government in Cape Verde in the 1930s, and begins to address the slave heritage in Portugal. Unfortunately, according to Pina, looking into the past is still a little done work both in Brazil and in her country – although there discussions about colonialism and dictatorship begin to become more present.

In the Brazilian case, most worrying for the photographer, the result is, among others, the election of a president, Jair Bolsonaro, who praises “a torturer who should have been arrested for crimes against humanity”. Moreover, in the case of Rio de Janeiro, “I have no doubt that the fact that the military police kill on average 1,000 people a year has to do with this culture that comes from the dictatorship”, he says.

In each project, from long research and investigation, Pina builds narratives about open or hidden stories, present or past. The violence that appears explicitly in the current scenes of police actions in Rio appears otherwise silent in an empty room that was used for torture sessions in Argentina or on the faces of torture survivors in South American countries.

With an increasing role outside photojournalism, where she began her career, Pina has exhibited, over the years, in museums and galleries, and has published three books. “It’s completely out of my control and I don’t care how the market or academia classifies my work – whether it’s documentary, artistic, journalistic photography. What interests me is storytelling. I can only classify myself as an author who has a voice and things to say”. Read the full interview below:

ARTE!Brasileiros – Many of your projects deal with events of a time you did not live. How to use photography, which captures the present moment, to address these past facts. I mean, what devices did you use and use?

João Pina – Some devices of which I am aware and others not. The work goes through investigation, listening to primary sources to reach clues, places, people and objects, so to speak. I think it has to do with it, studying, researching, interviewing and then understanding how you can tell stories from a visual standpoint. So I will follow the clues of this visualization of the past in the present. And from that I create.

There always seems to be a desire to make public those often forgotten erased stories. Does it make sense to think like that?

Yes, I think this is my mission, to be able to broaden these voices and make these stories not fall into oblivion. This is my major concern, especially at this point in time, when it seems that we are rewriting and reinterpreting history according to who is in government. That to me is very scary.

In 2016, while Dilma Rousseff’s impeachment process was still under way, you said that the fact that Brazil had not discussed its past – and that the Armed Forces and some politicians continued to apologize for the coup – was very worrying because it was sowing the ground so that abuse could happen again. One such politician, Jair Bolsonaro, was elected president. How do you see this moment?

This process of not looking at memory in Brazil is very similar to what happens in Portugal, so it is not strange to me. But I look more concerned at the Brazilian case because I feel that the institutions in Portugal are a little more solid or at least there is less political instrumentalization of the institutions at this time. And this oblivion in Brazil, coupled with other problems of populism – which proposes easy recipes for deep problems – has given us what we are seeing with the election of the Bolsonaro, with a huge polarization and an exponential increase in violence that was thought to be resolved.

Violences inherited from dictatorship?

Because things cannot be resolved by osmosis on their own, they have to be spoken, stirred, remedied, and only then can a process be terminated. In Brazil, as in Portugal, where this resolution process did not exist, many people thought this would be resolved. But the fact is that Brazil continues to have barracks named after the dictators and that we had a deputy, now president, dedicating his impeachment vote to a torturer who should have been arrested for crimes against humanity. And a good part of the population thinks this is normal. So as long as these conditions objectively exist, it is normal for this kind of outcome to happen. The consequences are what we are seeing.

With the amnesty came this idea that one had to forget to move on. Do you really have to remember to move on?

It’s hard to give a recipe. I have read books including the right to forget, not just the right to remember. But I definitely think that ignoring the problem is not a recipe. History must be remembered to understand how things got where they came. And in Brazil this exercise is very little done. This exercise has never been done within the Armed Forces, which continue to argue that there was a liberating revolution that saved Brazil from communism, this bogeyman that eats little children. On the other hand, much of the left has not evolved its speech either. We must not forget that the Workers Party (PT) has been in power for 12 years and has done very little to discuss these issues. There was a National Truth Commission, but what followed it in practice was absolutely nothing. And with the current political landscape, then, it will be less than nothing, the setback, the rewriting of history.

This speech by a government that comes to save the country from communism, from 1964, is very similar to the one that elected Bolsonaro…

Just like in 1964, when it was said that everything was communism. That is, whoever says that everything is communism does not even know what communism is. Communism, fascism, are words that entered the distorted lexicon. Even the left makes this mistake when accusing anyone of fascist. Sometimes it calls fascists people who are neoliberal, which is completely different. But finally, it is a long discussion, which has to do with the lack of political and civic education. We have to think how to overcome this. Brazil suffers greatly from the lack of formal education, so to speak, and history becomes more manipulable. And if many Brazilians, even at school, do not really learn what happened in 1964, in 1968, in the Araguaia Guerrilla, etc., this is worrying.

And in the other South American countries you researched, is the picture very different?

The situations are different. Argentina is a country where these issues are very present, because soon after the dictatorship civil society mobilized a lot – and the victims were also many. So this became the order of the day and there were political conditions for the discussion to proceed. In some ways, it is an exemplary case. I think it would be unthinkable in Argentina for a figure to adopt a speech like Bolsonaro’s about dictatorship and to have such popularity and prominence.

Finally, moving to the 46750 project on violence in Rio de Janeiro, there seems to be a strong dialogue – perhaps not so explicit – with what one sees in Condor, as police violence in Brazil is still a direct remnant of repressive violence of dictatorship. Does it make sense?

It makes perfect sense. I started Condor in 2005 and 46750 in 2007, at a time when I was very focused on understanding these processes of violence, not only from the past but from the present. And very quickly for me this present violence began to show its nuances coming from behind. And in the case of Rio, I have no doubt that the fact that the military police kill on average a thousand people a year has to do with this culture that comes from the dictatorship. In fact, what you see there is also a result of the impunity implemented by the Portuguese when they arrived in Brazil, slavery, and after the military dictatorship. The fact that the Brazilian police is a military police, the one that dies the most and kills the world, does not come from yesterday, but from 500 years.

There is a much present discussion in the artistic universe today about how visual arts can also be a potent device for dealing with history. How do you see this question?

I think that even in academia today there is a growing concern to treat things also outside the text, using visual language for that. And I realized that with Condor. In using images to address this subject, I quickly began to be contacted by teachers and academics, and to be called to lecture on the subject. I think he began to understand better, 200 years after the emergence of photography, the power of visual and the contributions he can make even to the academy, whether in a documentary approach or more artistic, poetic, freer.

Do you believe that art, and more specifically photography, can have some restorative virtue? I mean, for victims of violence as well as for society, can jobs like this that you do have a healing role, too?

I don’t know, maybe it’s too pretentious or utopian to think this way. I don’t think an image itself will heal, heal, or give justice to anyone. But I think that it can contribute, like text, painting and music, to some kind of justice, reparation and better welfare for the victims. And, also, more uneasiness for the guilty, that when they see themselves portrayed they may be able to rethink what their actions were, to realize the consequences of what they did.

Huge figure of Brazilian modernism, Flávio de Carvalho is a character of great abundance and complexity. If he is always remembered when it comes to listing the unavoidable names of Brazilian art of the twentieth century, there have been few opportunities in recent decades to know more deeply the fertility and diversity of paths explored by this multifaceted artist. The Ideal Anthropophagous exhibition, on display at Galeria Almeida e Dale, fills this absence by presenting a broad panorama of his work, addressing the main guiding questions of his production. Originally conceived by curator Kiki Mazuchelli to introduce Carvalho’s work to the English public, the exhibition – which in the Brazilian version could add a larger number of works – has a clear didactic vocation, showing its various facets, at the same time chronological articulation. language. The richly illustrated, rich catalog with five analytical texts and a chronological summary (whose English version is the first publication about the author in this language) also assists in this effort to draw a more complete picture of his production.

Adopting a stripped montage, the exhibition presents the visitor with a very dense volume of paintings and drawings. One of the highlights is the large panel of portraits he made over decades, which testifies to his great appreciation of the human figure, devoting himself almost exclusively to portraits and nudes. His interest was not in the physiognomy but in the psychological aspect of the portrayed, which makes his work close to the surrealist and later expressionist aspects. The show also brings to light experiments developed by him in the 1970s, using phosphorescent paint that shines under black light, reinforcing his interest in researching new media and materials. Carvalho painted and wrote all his life. And there is, even in his most revolutionary works, often associated with an impulsive temperament, a theoretical basis, and acute conceptual reflection, Kiki recalls. At different times, and using different strategies (architecture, theater, performative action), the artist demonstrates how he anticipates, and quite early, the general state of the arts in the country. “His conceptual projects attest to his extraordinary achievement. to expand the field of art beyond known territories and forms, thus broadening the very definition of what can be considered art, ”explains the curator.

Such moments of great creative power, many of them ephemeral or unfulfilled, are represented in the exhibit through extensive documentation. Carvalho was, for example, a pioneer among the first modernists of São Paulo architecture and won the admiration of avant–garde like Mário and Oswald de Andrade with the project he presented in a contest held for the São Paulo Government Palace in 1927, under the suggestive pseudonym of. Efficiency. In 1931, performs Experiment no. 2, a scathing act against false Catholic morality, walking provocatively against a Corpus Christi procession with its head covered by a beret, being almost lynched by the population. In Experience no. 3, performed almost thirty years later, hits patriarchal morale when he decides to parade through the city streets wearing New Look, a costume he had developed as the ideal outfit for men, replacing the traditional suit and tie with a pleated skirt, a blouse. of light, puffy cloth and a fishnet to hide the varicose veins.

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In dialogue with his more plastic work, the diversity of experiences and the often rebellious and performative character of his work, which is difficult to translate into expository elements due to its ephemeral and conceptual character, becomes more concrete. The replicas of the masks used in the play The Ballet of the Dead God (originally written in 1931) and re–enacted by the Uzyna Uzona Theater Theater sometimes, including the vernissage of the show, coexist with a select set of paintings from the 1930s as well. at the opening of the exhibition.
His ability to subvert patterns and try to establish new bases for reflection on the place of man and art in the world is impressive. I was not afraid of combat. It defied society, opposed the moralistic hypocrisy of an extremely religious society. “He has been interested in two fields of knowledge throughout his life, psychoanalysis, relatively new at that time, and ethnology,” explains Kiki. It is for the confluence of these two fields, for a permanent desire to try to understand the world from behaviors built since ancient times, that the curator interprets her very diverse production.

Another interesting aspect of the selection is the emphasis it places on the artist’s broad social network, which somewhat contradicts the current idea that Carvalho was a lonely, marginalized man. From a wealthy family with many contacts in São Paulo’s artistic and social environment, he had close relations with the circle of first–generation modernists (the show’s own title, Ideal Anthropophagus, takes on a praiseworthy nickname attributed to him by Oswald de Andrade ) and actively participated in actions for the agglutination of the artistic milieu, such as the founding of the Modern Artists Club (CAM).

Berlin – After England, where the artist lived between 1914 and 1922 but where his work had never been exhibited before, it will be time for the German public to get to know his work more closely, whose disruptive, experimental and critical character will be central to the Biennale. from Berlin next year. “Her interest in mass psychology (Freud) allows us to analyze ideas of homeland, religious fanaticism, fear, crowd organization, lynching, fake news, and dissident bodies in public space,” says Lisette Lagnado, one of the curators of the event. “For us, Flavio is an antihero,” she summarizes.

I am out of time! We can’t waste time! Forget these expressions before entering the exhibition Nheë Nheë Nheë: Genealogia do Ócio Tropical, by Márcio Almeida at Sesc Santo Amaro, Recife. Try to plunge into idleness, relax and think that life is an existential adventure.

If you feel like sitting or lying in the exhibition space, after all this can be your moment of discovery, enjoyment, pleasure to meet with yourself. To be in idleness is to be in peace by redesigning life and mediating the place of creative transgression. Experimental loitering is nurtured by doing nothing creative. In short, it is what conveys this subtle show of striking formal cleanliness, and which reflects on labor relations, from the time of colonial Brazil to the present day. The concept has other contours and reaffirms the thought of Antonio Negri, Italian Marxist philosopher when he defines: “Work is capacity for production, social activity, dignity, but on the other hand is slavery, command, alienation”.

The exhibition is aligned with three previous works and the most recent, Nheë Nheë Nheë, is the result of Márcio Almeida’s residence at the Usina de Arte Santa Terezinha, in Zona da Mata, south of Pernambuco. For a few days he experienced moments of action and rest. It produced within free time, which nowadays is in danger of being eliminated by the government. Not working formally is seen by the system as vagrancy, laziness, idleness. Hannah Arendt, in The Human Condition, reminds us that all European words for work also mean pain and effort – in Latin and English labor, in Greek ponos, in French travail, in German Arbeit.

What is distinguished in this work is the way to combine elements that sprout in the exhibition space, since the title of the show born in the origins of our indigenous language. Ñheé, according to anthropologist Adolfo Colombres, means speech. Therefore, Nheë, Nheë, Nheë can be a free translation of chatter. It also refers to a form of control exercised by religious in an attempt to unify tribal languages ​​to facilitate forced catechesis.

In the introductory text, curator Beano de Borba comments on Márcio Almeida’s work as a traditional idleness and savage rite, sustained by an insurgency of free time. The artist’s intention is to “draw a parallel between the issue of western work and tropical idleness”. In this context, it is based on the interference of religions and the strategies of the colonizers in catechizing the indigenous. Leisure and freedom is the binomial that runs through all four installations that make up the show. “In the curation process we started from the new work, Nheë Nheë Nheë, and included other works, developments linked to the Western logic of work and reflecting the distortions practiced by the system.”

The Nheë Nheë Nheë installation, which is the title of the exhibition, is a delicate exercise made up of thirteen pieces created with olive twigs, shovels and pit iron that shape the work tools. Despite the relatively small space of the gallery, the works flow. The floor-to-ceiling glass wall does not disturb, on the contrary, it incorporates the external landscape, mimicking the vegetation with the dry branches. In another installation, Nosso Descanso é Carregar Pedras, serialism is present in the set of hospital time cards on which the artist illustrates with watercolor images of stones, symbolic elements of slavery since biblical times. The time clock marks the time demanded by the system which, according to Foucault, becomes a form of labor control.

The most comprehensive of these, Waiting for Work is marked by photography, a series of ten images that capture the resting moment of employees after lunch break. The time to do nothing, free reflection and communication between colleagues. This reality of the daily timeline is a lively extension of a field of attraction and repulsion, driven by poetic and social forces. The show closes, Truck Sistem, which touches on one of the cruelest aspects of Brazilian labor, debt bondage. With around 30 carbon papers, collected and graphed, Márcio Almeida puts into question the recurrent debt slavery experienced by the working class of the city and the countryside. This abuse procedure in force in Brazil shows that the worker can not settle his debts with the boss, even those of the canteen, becoming a permanent slave of the employer.

Nowadays, with the man subtracted from the time to which he is entitled, Genealogia do ócio tropical could be a starting point for the package leaflet: Vida outro Modo de Usar? The artist believes so. “I see production as directly linked to free thinking, without compromise, it is precisely in these moments of reflection that we are most productive.” Márcio Almeida constantly proves this remedy. Just start working a work, without any instrument, thinking quietly lying in the hammock, devising ideas, literally in idleness.

“Fool you who says / your future will be the mirror of this greatness.” The verse from Anna Maria Maiolino’s 1976 poem that opens the book AI-5 50 ANOS: ainda não terminou de acabar is an epigraph not only for the publication, but also for the situation in which Brazil finds itself today. To Paulo Miyada, the book’s organizer and curator of the exhibition that gave rise to it, “What we are living now is a burning aftermath of how profound the damage left by the years of military rule, compounded by the precarious character of democratic institutions that were not as revised and strengthened over the last three decades as it would have been necessary. ” The excerpt is present in the article Não terminou de acabar, which is part of the book and was originally published on the ARTE!Brasileiros platform in November 2018, under the subtitle As lacunas na memória brasileira e a extensão do AI-5 (the Gaps in Brazilian Memory and the Extension of AI-5).

At this juncture, gathering the material from one of the most important exhibitions of recent years in a book is a way of not allowing gaps to exist, recording the memory of physical form, with the collaboration of over 80 artists and authors in 600 pages of articles, texts about artists, facsimiles, images, among others. Made collaboratively, through donations, the collection of the necessary means for the production and printing of the publication was successful. It shows that a lot of people are not willing to forget