Reading time: 2 minutes
28.10.2015
Observatório, São Paulo, Brazil
September 26, 2015 – October 24, 2015
Artists: Adirley Queirós, Anton Steenbock, Bruno Baptistelli, Débora Bolsoni, Graziela Kunsch, Jonathas de Andrade, Marcelo Cidade, Nicolás Robbio
Under the threatening apex of the curve, on the side of the road, sprouts a home, in a splitsecond, in the middle of the asphalt, piss soaked, blood stained, full of ashes, it quickly vanishes, leaving, however, its trail behind: residues of fabric, cardboard, wood, a breath of life that drags there, on the road, between the overpass and the fence surrounding the square, among the last remaining green spaces, squeezed, between the building and the street, soon, a wagoner approaches dumping a worn-out black sofa on the spot and it’s not long before someone else takes it over, stretches out, smokes a cigarette butt, relaxed he naps while the cars drive past just missing him, close by, the bells in a parking garage cry indicating the pick-up truck that comes out and nearly runs a pedestrian over while in the back street – the one in which banners and a fly-guy advertise great opportunities – a police officer corners a boy, another one arrives, now several units search him, hand in gun; a man watches everything from across the street, filming it all with his phone, the policemen couldn’t find anything, but decide to keep the boy against the wall, hands over the head, a window in a nearby building opens to reveal a curious dweller, while a neighboring couple dines in their tight terrace; an old lady, meanwhile, dips her hand in a bag and throws bread-crumbs around for the pigeons which arrive in no time, and like that fly away, also hungry is the kid by the street-fair, he begs the old men playing on the concrete table, he soon takes advantage of the crowds that suddenly flood the street on their way back from work, they run underground, where the packed subway arrives, people watch as the first train goes by, then the second, then the tenth, it’s finally their turn to go inside, close their eyes and wait for the trip to be over, it’s fucked up, it’s now cold outside, between the bank’s fence and the curb, the sidewalk’s leftover and the improvised blanket, people try to get warm, I doubt they’ll manage to send the cold away, elsewhere someone lights a fire, another lights a pipe and the smoke dissipates, it annoys the people that walk by but not those who drink at the bar, samba plays among the tables on the sidewalk, not everyone is a drinker, but everyone is a dancer; darkness falls, the fire is out, lights go on inside the countless windows in the horizon, but there’s not much left to see from here, the sun appears from behind the building, during the night a silver car carcass was dumped by the square, the scenes begin repeating themselves in different ways, they multiply, conurbate, creating cities within the city range, while people only relate through small change…
Text by Germano Dushá
Photo: Daniela Ometto
Courtesy of Observatório, São Paulo
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