A última vez que estive com Dora, soube de lados dela que eu realmente não esperava. Como por exemplo o fato de que ela não gosta do que faz. Sim, ela detesta pintar. Revelação esta que causou muita perplexidade. Se ela não gosta, por que continua? Por que fez uma carreira inteira disso? Não, ela não parece do tipo de pessoa que diria esse tipo de coisa só pra fazer pose. Soube que ela foi casada durante quatro anos, mas qualquer um que pesquisasse na internet saberia disso (preguiça...). E também que ela não pretende ter filhos. Mas isso é óbvio só pelo tipo de pessoa que ela é. Ela já teve outros cães, tão mastodônticos quanto os atuais, e sempre com nomes de artistas. Mas ainda estou pensando no fato de que ela não gosta de pintura... Revelação obtida de forma muito casal. Não lembro muito bem, mas estávamos falando sobre satisfação com o próprio trabalho. Eu dizia que geralmente ficava satisfeito com minhas pinturas. Auto-maravilhamento (Eu mesmo fiz isso?). Faz um bem danado para o ego. E alguém falou que nunca estava satisfeita e que nem queria estar. Porque quando estivesse satisfeita pararia de procurar. Pararia de fazer arte. E foi então que Dora falou que nunca gostou do que faz, nunca esteve satisfeita. Eu, apesar de quase sempre estar satisfeito, continuo procurando. Essa história de parar depois de encontrar a satisfação é como só ter uma paixão na vida. Ora vamos, embora seja utópico, há outras pessoas no mundo, outras bocas para se beijar, outras... Enfim, outras experiências. E eu sou muito jovem ainda pra me comprometer por definitivo. Assim como sou muito inexperiente ainda para parar de pintar só porque fiquei satisfeito com a mais recente criação. Há sempre novas paixões, novas obsessões. O que não tem nada a ver e pode confortavelmente conviver com namoros duradouros. Mas isso é mais complicado de explicar e acho que não interessa a ninguém além de mim. Obviamente só ela entenderia...

Spoilers on Matrix Reloaded:
I know this is a curse, but if you haven`t seen the movie, DON`T READ THIS:

A few revelations on the movie really caugt my mind.
It is easy enough to understand that the Oracle is a program. She says so herself. Just like the Merovingian, the Keymaker and others. But then I began thinking about other characters whe`d never conceive as programs. For all we know, Morpheus, Councelor Hamman and many others could simply be guides to direct Neo to the objective traced by the Architect. Heck, for all we know, anyone could be a program. Everyone could be a program.
I was reading this article which brought new light to certain aspects as well... In the scene where Neo, Trinity and Morpheus reach the Merovingian, there`s a huge 101 on the wall right at the entrance. At first I thought it was a simple and even stupid reference to binary code. But then, this article called to my attention the fact that Neo`s appartment in the first movie is also number 101. Now couple this knowledge to the fact that there have been other Ones before and to the Merovingian`s power to manipulate events inside the matrix... And there you have it: the Merovingian as a former, failed One. Even more startleing is this doubt: since the Merovingian is an exiled program, what does this make Neo?
By the way, Neo stops the advance of the machines in the real world just like he does to bullets on the matrix. Also, Agent Smith infects another person and rides a telephone line out of the matrix and into a real person. This seems slightly impossible unless... the real world isn`t actually real. A matrix inside a matrix. Or, as the Architect puts it, a way to make humans believe they are free. This is actually very logical: if they believe they are free, they`ll stop struggling. So, simply put, there could be thousands of matrixes within matrixes. One could never tell which is the realy real world.

Also read articles about the names in both movies. Smith is rather obvious: it`s the most impersonal and common last name in the english tongue. We all know Neo is an anagram for One. Cypher, from the first movie, means zero. And so you have a struggle between good and evil, positive and negative, 1 and 0, binary code. In the real world, Neo is called Thomas, related to twins, or number 2. Trinity is obvious, isn`t it? And just as self-explanatory is the Oracle, the Keymaker and the Architect. Next, we have the Merovingian, related to the merovingian order that passed hidden knowledge between generations of kings, which is intimately related to the character`s role in the plot. Conselor Hamman`s name derives from a 17th century philosopher who created that theory of interdependence (in the movie, humans and machines depends on each other to survive). Likewise, Commander Lock`s name seems to come from John Locke, 18th century philosopher who stated that reason was above all else, like the movie character. The helpers, Link (obvious too, right?), and Tank and Dozer from the first movie, obvious reference to their physical strength. I still have no idea as to where Niobe came from and although I know the meaning of Persephone, I can`t tie the greek legend to the character`s role in the movie. For those who are unaware, Persephone in greek mythology was the daughter of the goddess of bounty and all plant life. She was kidnapped by Hades, the god of greek hell, who fell in love with her. Her mother, in gief, covered the earth in ice and withered all plant life. Humans starved. To make a long story short, lots of things happened and boths gods came to an agreement that Persephone would spend a few months of every year with Hades and then return to her mother. And in those few months, the goddess would again cover the earth in ice. Thus winter came to be.

Long essay, right? You can get more details on this at Matrix Essays. Hopefully the last time I`ll bother you with these ramblings...

So, I watched Matrix reloaded this weekend:




I got word of a huge amount of people who had a hard time understanding the entire thing. I think I came out pretty well. There isn't much I can write here without spoiling the surprise for those who haven't seen it. All I can say is it solves a few glitches from the first movie. And poses more unanswered questions. See, in the first movie, I had a few doubts.
1) If the matrix evolved according to human history, then there would be a time inside it when humans would again discover artificial intelligence. And then it would all evolve into the war that happens outside the matrix. So the machines would have to do something to prevent human history inside the matrix from getting to that point. This has been taken care of in this new movie.
2) If all you believe is real were suddenly a lie, and you lost all parameters to understand what reality is, how could you believe this new reality is actually "reality"? This is also seen in the new movie. It's actually the core of the whole plot. And the answers are quite amusing.

Three points:
Three very interesting things kept ringing on my mind after the movie. First of all, if you've undertaken any creative activity which deals with the creation of a hero, you will recognize this logic. In creating your hero, you give him powers which you believe are capable of overcoming any eventuality. Then, for a plot to ensue, you must find an adversity that will put in check these powers, challenge and pose a seemingly undefeatable threat to your hero. Then you must find a way for your hero to overcome this threat... And then find a way for the enemy to correct his mistakes and try again. It's a ping-pong game. In Matrix reloaded, you can easily understand the writers' logic in dealing with the triumphant Neo from the first movie. See, the matrix is all about control. Once they start doubting this control, how can the program submit them to it again? Reinserting them into the matrix would be no good. Something has to happen on what they think is the outside. And it does. Many wonderful mechanisms of control.
The second thing, on a more basic level, was that scene when Morpheus addresses the people of Zion. Did anyone notice how many black people were in the crowd? This whole scene, with their bare feet on the earth, their hands in the air, their tattered clothing, it all reminded me so much of slavery, ancient struggles for freedom seen in history books. Another undertone deals with religion. Morpheus speaks so much about the Prophecy, the One, miracles and gods, that it gives the whole thing a religious hue. But contrary to what happens in the real world, these things are blatant and proven, and not asking to be blindly believed. Sure, there is doubt as to wether Neo is the One, but he gives so many proofs of it, that it's hard to maintain any doubt. It's like hi-tech biblical times.
Finally, I can't stop thinking about the way this plot deals with two very strong mathematical concepts: fractals and cycles. I don't think I need to explain cycles. Simlpy put, a fractal is a phenomenon that occurs when something big is formed by the accumulation of smaller parts that are equal to the big thing. Someone once said that every grain of sand has the shape of the mountain it originated from. On a more logical explanation, imagine you have a set of cubes measuring 1 centimeter. You can arrange them to from many larger cubes of 10 centimeters, which can in turn be put toghether to form a 100 centimeter cube, and so on.

Did you get any of this?

Another night with Dora:

Remember when I said there were two moments of aprehension of Tinkerbel's portrait? Dora had a possible third moment. See, I could have simply glued a piece of blank canvas to the painting to show it was a two dimensional thing. But I painted over it. So I pull the viewer back into the idea of the common painting. The viewer returns to that first comprehension, but he has learned something.

This actually isn't that simple. But at three in the morning, my writting capabilities aren't 100%, so if any of you are really interested, drop me a line or two and I'll take it up a knotch...

All you vintage anime fans out there have to see Metropolis:


It's the latest creation of anime master Osamu Tezuka, the creator of the big eyes aesthetics. The screenplay was written by Katsuhiro Otomo. If you've seen Akira, you're quite aware of his capabilities... The plot happens in a near future and revolves around the construction of a tower called the Ziggurat, supposed to be the epithome of human science. Actualy, it's the most powerful weapon ever created. As minor, yet decisive events, there's an adopted child's love for his foster father, the creation of an android girl caught in the dilema of wether love makes her human and the eternal man-versus-machine struggle, present in many a succesful anime. I'm not going to give further details so as not to spoil the fun. But you who know your anime will find many references amidst the high resolution graphics to earlier works by Tezuka. The characters in general seem to follow a line very similar to the one seen in Tetsuwan Atom (Astro Boy), but the settings are way more advanced, as well as the colloring and computer graphics. These guys pay much the same attention to lighting as I do in my paintings... The music is also supperb: a collection of oldies from the fifties or so, played at very key moments in the movie. The stuff of genius.

On more personal notes, It had been a long time since an anime had caused such feelings to arise in me. The final scenes are that kind that lingers on your memory for days. If I have any complaints, it's with Tezuka's obssession for american culture. No offense, but it doesn't suit a japanese creation to have so many american influences. Mostly every writting on the film is in english, all songs are in engligh (although I'm not complaining, cause they are wonderfull...), there's this whole too-american-maltese-falcon undertone to the whole thing (trench-coated detectives and such...), not to mention the fact that Tezuka created the big eyes style after watching the dwarves in Disney's Snow White (nobody ever mentions those huge eyes...).

But by and large, the film is highly recommended for vintage anime fans!

Ack!

Something happened to my template and I can`t fiure out what it is... Help, Aerandir!!The entire right side of my blog simplty vanished... My fairy in the tagboard, my site stats... everything!
I believe something`s wrong with the template coding... But I can`t see what`s wrong...
And as if that wasn`t enough, only the latest post comes up. None of the others do. HEEEEELP!!

There was this class today, at the foundation, in which I brought all of my relevant paintings so far. The idea is that every class now, someone will bring whatever they think is relevant and we'll all discuss it. The discussion brought about by my work was great. They kept dealing with the fact that there are two simultaneous trends I follow, one being more violent (the Virgin & Child, the Apathy series and most of my etchings...) and another one being more light-hearted, but just as dense (some of the portraits, and this untitled one I'm finishing...). I had never seen so many of my own paintings up on a wall before. So many familiar images put toghether. But something very interesting happened there and I believe someone hinted at that: when put toghether, they give the impression of telling a little tale. I suppose if you put all of Lucian Freud's works or Edward Hopper's, they'll tell a little tale too. It's not a tale that can be put into words. But I guess it's a little bit of how the person feels like, being in this world. Mine have told a tale of burgeoise apathy and dense relationships...

I wish I could one day have a wall at home filled with them...

Aquela mulher

Chico Buarque
1985

Se você quer mesmo saber
Por que ela ficou comigo
Eu digo que não sei
Se ela ainda tem seu endereço
Ou se lembra de você
Confesso que não perguntei
As nossas noites são
Feito oração na catedral
Não cuidamos do mundo
Um segundo sequer
Que noites de alucinação
Passo dentro daquela mulher
Com outros homens, ela só me diz
Que sempre se exibiu
E até fingiu sentir prazer
Mas nunca soube, antes de mim
Que o amor vai longe assim
Não foi você quem quis saber?

I once had a wound with curly hair. The pain was endurable, and I went on with my life. But then it got infected with someone that was better than me. And this new pain was relentless and unbareable...

By the way, following my Blonde Muse's advice when I asked her permission to enroll her portrait on the university's student expo, I had a brief chat with the Fairy (remember her? post dated 5/16/2002) and asked to take her picture. Actually it took a long process of aproach that has been going on for a month or so. Started when her class was displaying their works out on the foundation's square and I just began a little mindless conversation about her work. But at least it was enough so that I wouldn't be just some random guy coming out of nowhere wanting to take a picture of her. At least she had become an aquaintance. Well... I took a snapshot of her and her friend, and hopefuly by tomorrow I'll start on this portrait. Got a little surprise on this one! But I don't think any of you'll be interested in technical details...

Mesmo mexendo com meu lado mais psicótico (Dark), nunca me senti tão organizado (Lawful).

Várias chances para expôr meus trabalhos têm surgido ultimamente. E para poder aproveitar ao máximo todas elas, estou me organizando de forma tão severa, que meus dias têm uma hora para tudo. Programo os dias seguintes todas as noites, separando horas muito bem demarcadas para a produção de cada uma das minhas pinturas. Ao mesmo tempo, vou estabelecendo os contatos necessários com os responsáveis por cada uma dessas oportunidades. De quebra, ainda tem trabalho burocrático da universidade no final do dia. Nossa... É tanta coisa e tudo tão estruturado, que só falta eu começar a usar roupa social e contratar uma secretária... Mas sabe, eu sempre me senti muito bem nesse ambiente. Pena que eu escolhi justamente as duas opções de carreira menos formais que existem!

Bom, à medida que as exposições forem acontecendo (se é que elas vão de fato acontecer...), avisarei todo mundo.

Estou lendo Notícia de un secuestro do Gabriel Garcia Marques. No livro (e na realidade...), o governo colombiano usa, como arma contra o narcotráfico, a extradição: narcotraficantes presos seriam banidos do país. E isso desencadeia uma série de seqüestros que os Extraditables, como passam a ser chamados os criminosos, cometem para forçar a Assembléia Constituínte a votar contra esse projeto de lei. E isso desencadeia toda a história do livro.
O caso é que lá, a extradição é um medo terrível. O povo colombiano é extremamente patriota (palavra de quem pasosu algum tempo lá...). E portanto esse torna-se o maior dos castigos. Mas imagino se tal lei fosse instituída no meu país... Acho que ninguém daria a mínima. Não somos lá tão patriotas. Aliás, pelo contrário: alguns têm até vergonha. É certo que, passando décadas longe da terra natal, qualquer um sentiria saudades e uma pena tremenda de não poder voltar. Mas os colombianos agarram-se à terra deles como se não pudesse estar longe nem por um dia...

There was a lunar eclipse yesterday. The full moon had gone through most of the night in all it's splendour, dying the night in tones of blue. Prusian blue. It would shine so bright, that a thick white halo could be seen around it. The sky was clear as far as the eye could see, making it a perfect night for an eclipse. I had hear about this phenomenon: rumors that the moon would turn red before it was to dissapear. But around half past ten, a shade began to take over one side of the moon. It would creep across it slowly as the hours passed. Almost too slow to be noticed by anyone not paying attention. When I got home that night from the university, the shadow had crept half way across the moon. At the time, what was left of the moon had, along with the white halo, some slight redness emanating from the edge of the natural satelite. This sepia-coloured darkness on the moon's eclipsed side was darker than the halo, making it still possible to comprehend the full circle of the moon, as if the whole thing had been a huge painting from which part of the moon had been cut through to reveal darkness beyond it. Closer to midnight, all that was left of the once glorious moon was a thinning trace of white. Like a random trace of a white pencil or a clipped finger-nail floating through oblivion. There was no more white halo nor the sepia-coloured darkness. One could barely tell it was the moon... And then, half past midnight, it vanished. I kept wondering if we'd get total and complete darkness in case there was a blackout in the city. And more than anything, I had wanted that to happen at the time. To be immersed in the darkness. Hidden. Safe.

Today, after visiting a museum with my coleagues at the art course, I rode home with one of them. Driving past the cemetery, I talked about the day I met the Vampiress there. And how it had seemed like a very calm place, away from the noise and rush of the city. A place of resting indeed. And this friend of mine, with whom I was riding home, did not agree. She kept pointing out there was a heavyness in the air of that cemetery. A tension. She just couldn't relax in there.

There's something in common between my wish during the total eclipse, that day at the cemetery and my recent photos. They would all mean such terrible things to everyone else. Why is it that they seem to be so soothing to me?

Acabo de voltar da exposição do Hélio Oiticica na Pinacoteca. Cosmococas. Só posso dizer que salas com pisos acolchoados e almofadas geométricas dão mais barato do que cocaína...

Meu irmão conta que a Sis recebeu por e-mail fotos que vazaram do IML daquela mulher que foi esquartejada pelo cirurgião plástico há pouco tempo. Estávamos andando na rua enquanto ele contava e mamãe pôs-se a pensar: "Em termos práticos, isso deve ser o sonho do cirurgião plástico: ele pode ficar lá, fazendo o que quiser, sem se preocupar se o paciente está bem, se a anestesia está falhando...". Parecia um pensamento levemente doentio.
Então peguei o ônibus para a universidade e fui pensando na cena a caminho da aula...

Random literature:
Estendeu o corpo já sem vida sobre a mesa, colocando-a em uma posição neutra, quase como em uma mesa de operação. Abriu a maleta com seus utensílios de trabalho e então começou a realisar diversas incisões. Tudo com a perfeição cirúrgica de quem estudara vários anos de medicina e exercera outros tantos. Tomou seu tempo, sabendo que não havia necessidade em preocupar-se com o efeito da anestesia ou o bem-estar do paciente. E mais: fazia-o sentindo a delícia de aliviar-se de uma presença há muito indesejada. Mas acima de tudo isso, fazia-o com a calma, o deleite e a fome de quem sabia que estava fazendo aquilo de que mais gostava pela última vez.

Forgot to tell you that I finished reading Mutation, by Robin Cook



My advice: don't read it! If all of Cook's books are as predictable as this, I'm done with him.
From the beggining, references to Mary Shelley's Frankesntein pile up to the point where everything seems like a stupid satire. From the scientist called Victor Frank (the remaining "-enstein" having been surgically removed...), who genetically engineers a little monster, to the almost complete lack of a name for his son/creation, who eventually ends up being called VJ (as in Victor Frank Jr....). Why not call him "The Monster" and get it over with?
Aside from that, the plot is quite obvious. From the start you can tell who commited the murders of other children like VJ, why the culprit did it and even how he did it. The rest of the book wanders through endless scientific descriptions as Dr. Frank(-enstein) unravels the plot and psychiatric tests imposed on VJ by his mother, who is bothered by the boy's apathy and lack of emotions (please, no comparisons...). There are a few remaining surprises at the end, but not enough to make it all worth while. And besides, a more sttentive reader can figure them out along the way. I was obviously not paying that much attention... Anyway, that's all I have to say about it.

I'm beggining to despise these modern paperback writers...

Dadaist revelation VIII:
Blood.

Blood on my loins in the back-seat of my car. The stentch of it on my fingers and her clothes.
Blood on gunshot wounds in the walls of the foundation. Blood from gashes in Methodless' arm.

Too much of it everywhere.

Just a passing thought.

As coisas têm mudado um pouco ultimamente.

Imagine só... Tenho começado a ouvir música clássica no rádio. Sei lá. Música de orquestra tem um efeito calmante. Até começo a registrar compositores favoritos. Bach e Strauss entre os mais conhecidos, Samuel Barber e Gustav Mahler entre os mais raros.

Junto com isso, meus trabalhos, tanto os retratos como esta nova série de fotos e até os primeiros rascunhos do texto para trabalho de graduação têm tomado um tom psicótico, pervertido. No mais, tenho me interessado muito por coisas involvendo distúrbios mentais e desvios de personalidade. Estou cavando a fundo para tentar me diagnosticar, ver se eu realmente tenho minha tão mencionada esquizotipia. Quem sabe algum dia eu até tente um psicólogo novamente. Desta vez tendo certeza do que estou procurando. Só falta dinheiro pra isso.

E o que que um parágrafo tem a ver com o outro? Acho que música de orquestra vai bem com cenas psicóticas.

No mais, arranjei passes de ônibus para começar a ir a meus cursos pelo transporte público. O preço da gasolina tem estado um horror e acho que observar mais rostos irá fazer bem para o desenvolvimento dessa minha... meu estado mental.

Meus dias têm parecido cenas enormes e enfadonhas de filmes de suspense psicológico.

Talvez tudo isso seja apenas uma dessas manias adolescentes de achar que se está louco para ter alguma individualidade.Vinte e tantos anos e eu ainda tenho manias adolescentes... Peter Pan não cresce nunca.

Eu escrevi que ia deixar algumas anotações dessa minha "loucura" por aqui, mas logo em seguida apaguei. Não é do tipo de coisa que se torna público assim. E mais, acho que será algo bom para escrever no meu caderno de artista que, depois que este blog engrenou, tem estado coletando pó entre meus pertences...

And since Matrix: reloaded is soon to be released, my blog of the week is Matrix Essays. He has a point on most of his thoeries, but some do seem too far-fetched...

Último encontro com a Dora...
Não fiquei lá por muito tempo. Tinha uma dor de cabeça comparável à dor que senti usando aquela fantasia de carnaval. Sem dúvida provocada pelo clima cada vez mais frio e o stress de três pinturas sendo desenvolvidas simultaneamente. As cadelas mastodônticas da Dora me receberam trajando daquelas roupas caninas. Aqueles cães são tão grandes que acho que aqueles coletes serviriam em mim!

Dora gostou bastante das fotos. Mais do que dos fantasmas, obviamente. Eu achei que elas tinham uma subjetividade que seguia o mesmo caminho que as coisas do Matthew Barney que ela me mostrou há algum tempo atrás. Por isso fiz tanta questão em mostrar para ela. Sabia que isso não era o tipo de coisa que ela iria desmoralizar, como aconteceu com os fantasmas. Fez um comentário sobre a qualidade das fotos. E isso é algo que eu realmente vou ter que melhorar. Com o foco certo e a luz certa, não vou precisar da foto em close. Já vai dar pra ver a inexpressividade dos olhos na foto mais afastada. Eu queria fazer tanta coisa com este conceito... Tirar fotos em piscinas maiores com câmera a prova d'água, onde eu poderia tirar uma foto disso visto debaixo d'água, apenas o queixo e o nariz projetando-se para fora e conectando-me ao mundo real e ao oxigênio. O fundo da imagem desapareceria para o azul profundo de uma piscina larga e o resto do corpo flutuaria relaxado, sem reações. Quase morto. Ou então encontrar uma banheira mais comprida, que permitisse uma foto de corpo inteiro. Importante manter a pouca largura, para dar esta impressão de caixão, ou recipiente fabricado especificamente para acomodar um corpo.

Tá bom, eu sei que não é o tipo de coisa que você compraria para pendurar na sua sala. Mas acho que é algo que expressa mais especificamente a minha sensação de estar neste mundo. E a apatia, minha querida apatia.

Latest meeting with Dora
I didn't stick around for too long. I had a headache compared to the one I felt when I wore that carnival costume. No doubt it was brought about by the ever cooling weather and the stress of three paintings being produced simultaneously. Dora's mastodontic hounds welcomed me wearing a couple of those dog outfits. Those dogs are so big that I think one of those vests would actually fit me!

Dora liked the photos a lot. More than the ghosts, obviously. I felt they had a subjectivity that followed the same path in Matthew Barney's works, the one she had showed me some time ago. That's why I insisted on showing my photos to her. I knew his wasn't the kind of thing she would demoralize, like she did the ghosts. She made a comment about the quality in those pics. And thas something I'm really going to have to improve. With the right focus and light, I won't be needing the close-up shot. The inexpressivity in those eyes will be seen in the larger picture. I want to do so much with this concept... photos in bigger pools with waterproof cameras where I could shoot this from underwater, just the chin and the nose sticking out of the water and connecting me to the real world and oxygen. The background would fade into the deep blue of a large pool and the rest of the body would float limply, with no reaction. Almost dead. Or I could find a longer bath tub, which allowed me to capture the entire body. It's important to maintain that width, to keep that impression of a coffin or a recipient built specifically to harbor a body like that.

Ok, I know this isn't the sort of thing you'd buy to hang on your living room. But I believe this is something that more specifically expresses my sensations of being in this world. And my apathy, my dear apathy.