[...] Diadorim is my mist.”

“And what was it that I wanted? Ah, I think I didn’t really want anything, because I wanted everything so much. One thing, the thing, this thing: all I really wanted was — to keep being!”

Grande Sertão: Veredas (1956),  by João Guimarães Rosa.

So here we are, and here we speak of love; of the love of not being able to be. You, body; us, text, image, objects on the wall. And it is amidst these three desires that this space looks at the state of being, departing from mythological proposals of a Sertão without curves, interspersed with trails, as one who sits in the shade of a gameleira tree, in the narrowness of the step.

In the construction of this space, something is set forth, “the relation of a life of one who, by telling it, wants to see clearly in oneself,” in the words of Paulo Rónai, alluding to the way the verb stretches from the writings of João Guimarães Rosa, and which we reclaim here through the image and mythology of Diadorim, a character from his novel Grande Sertão: Veredas. The significance of the title—both of the exhibition itself and of the exhibition space—operates as an exercise that sets the tone for the idea of displacement that permeates all that is here with you: the syntaxes, semantics, sexualities, bodies, genders, landscapes, texts, and words, as well as their traces of political subjectification.

So here we are, and here we propose this: to speak of the captive and domestic

To give body to the sound that comes from the middle of the chest, tears into the inner ear, just to return and grasp the belly; word is like child; and those from the mouth of the sun are immense: The nod to what exists of the domestic in our process of healing and encounter when there is no longer the vision of stars, and only the language of angels (When there is no Sun, 2024; When Angels Speak Of Love, 2022).

Look up, at the sky. Look down, at your fragments, here matter folded and brought to space by the gesture in a dance of oxidations, pieces of the sky, simulations of the skin (Lança 2, 2023; Pieces of Sky, 2024); Distance is a detail, small or immense, whether by the linearity with which we can find our home on a map (Seven, 2024), or by the way the space can inhabit two stances of itself through the plot (there is space in other place, 2023); Stains of nuances and fingers greased with delight, charcoal and graphite that take the sheet and present us with delights of a space where nature, light, and shadow are (The sky burns and the shadow, from the forest series, 2023).

So here we are, and here we propose this: to speak of the landscape and the path

Place where we return to the initial form, to the driving force of our displacement, from genetics with its initial proposition, to the ox cart that carries the body through the arid (kenda, 2023); It is also about the time of rivers, and the enclosures we make to them, in building parallels between our bodies and their beds, their serpent-like deviations that we domesticate, as well as the desires where we lie down and submit ourselves compulsorily (Towards the Deviation, 2018/24).

So here we are, and here we propose this: to speak of affection and how our being reconfigures itself

The place of a pure affectivity, only expressible by being-in-body-in-freedom (Valeska, 2024); The excessive body that escapes the edges in embrace (Woman Man Animal, 2022); Body moves through space, endowed with nudity and transparency. Its gestures and syncopated gestures to a metallic sound, run through us (Encarnación, 2024); Assuming that every gesture is capable of another place, operating as accumulation on itself, building another space from the discard, understanding the error of what comes out of the other’s mouth in an autonomous exercise of stubbornness (Everything you tell me is right, I will do the opposite, 2024).

Figures of the myth of desire and flesh, the displacements that take the roads and the possible (Satyr, 2023; Transition II, 2023); There is much desire for what is born not yet said, fresh as a new word, never uttered from the mouth, a hunger that devours the very nature of painting, in a movement that swallows backgrounds and figures (Faceless, 2024); The emulation of flavors and textures, in bursts of desire (Molengas, 2024), telling us about nutrition, whether of our bodies and their responsibility with history, or of geology.

So here we are, and here we propose this: to speak of all the names that existed yesterday for things today

The operation of dualities returns, through figures that expand in the sketch, immersed in multicolored abstraction and power, operating the space in their own way, understanding the arbitrariness that exists between gesture and time (Three Figures in the Garden, 2024); Or as twists and ties allude to the manufacture and history of smoke, its winding with the place of personal and domestic history, and its place in enchantment (Tobacco Studies 15, 2024); Like stain, color, and invoice, the Rosian triad dances, throwing and throwing gestures into space by affirming their existence (veredas: Riobaldo Tatarana, 2022/2023; veredas: The Crossroads, 2022/2023; veredas: Riobaldo, Zé Bebelo and Diadorim, 2022/2023).

From wanderings about where we rest and their livusias, details are removed from the landscape in a game of assimilations that observe the invoice of those who operate word and image (Abysses, 2023; Cortázar, 2018/23; Susan Sontag, 2016/23; Jean-Luc Godard and Guimarães Rosa, 2024); Still about the place where we rest, we assume and recognize those whose history stands against the wall and time in a exercise of spectrality (Jimm, 2023), receiving them with huge hugs.

So here we are and here it does not rain, or if it rained long ago; thunder of shut-up. So here we are, and here we speak of love; of the love of not being able to be. You, body; we, text, image, objects on the wall. And it is amidst these three desires that this space looks at the state of being, departing from mythological proposals of a Sertão without curves, interspersed with trails, as one who sits in the shade of a gameleira tree, in the narrowness of the step.

Guilherme Teixeira