Thursday, February 16, 2017

Opening of Identity exhibition at boémia caffe in Porto with a text

Opening of the exhibition with design of poster and text by Argentine artist Mister ED

 Some pictures of artworks by international artists with their selfportraits being prepared for this exhibition.

1st random picture by artists Dário Duarte from Portugal, Brian Biggs from U.S.A., Victor Puchalski and Dulce Escribano from Spain with their own self-portraits.
2nd random picture by artists Fer Calvi and Catriel Tallarico from Argentina, Nikodem Cabala from Poland, Paulo Pinto from Portugal, Joaquín Aldeguer from Spain, Bill Koeb from U.S.A. with their own self-portraits.

3rd random picture by artists Patricia BrecciaPato Delpeche, Mister ED and Colorada Majox
from Argentina, Nikodem Cabala from Poland andStefano Zattera with their own self-portraits.

4th random picture by artists Pedro EspinosaMaria M. ColuccelliJavier Gay Lorente, Santiago Sequeiros, Ruben Pellejero from Spain, Bartosz Jekiel from Poland with their own self-portraits.

5th random picture by artists Ewa Perlejewska and Magdalena Minko from Poland, Lars Erik Sjunnesson and Nicolas Krizan from Sweden, Brian Quinn from U.S.A and Eduardo Alvarado Sánchez-Cortés from Spain with their own self-portraits.

Video with British band Radiohead with their songs "how to disappear completely" and "Exit music for a Film" since I think that these songs capture the mood of this exhibition and me reciting the text that can be read after this video in Spanish since it seems that  some people don't understand me in my own country with some thoughts by myself based in books like "1984" from George Orwell, "Brave New World" from Aldous Huxley and even the magnificient Westworld tvseries from HBO  that I was watching while I was thinking on curating this exhibition.

Text about identity exhibition

Good afternoon friends and artists.
I'm speaking in Spanish, but I'm Portuguese, because it seems that in my country people don't understand my language.
 Like I've spoke and wrote in several videos and posts at (with Mourinho's words), I don't love prostitution, be it intellectual or not, but I don't judge those who like it.
I'm here at boémia caffe in Porto talking a bit about identity. I've had this idea when I started watching TV Series "Westworld" from HBO created by J.J. Abrahams, Jonathan Nolan, Lisa Joy and producer/writer Ed Brubaker that is well known in comic book industry and I do remember seeing and talking with him in Porto when he only had published his earliest comic books named "Detour" and "Lowlife" in the 90's at a comic book festival.
 This TV Series is amazing and touches a bit the particular theme of our identity.
 I remember seeing also at Facebook or in social networks with self-portraits by international artists as avatar on them.
 Sometimes, it seems that we live in a closed world, since I don't see or read direct communication in social networks (there are lots of people that only communicate with images, forgetting words that always were real important in the XXI century or any other century throughout world history).
I know that we live in a digital era and people are starving for fame in this same era.
I remember how this story began with social networks, since MIRC, Terravista, Hi5 (that was an extreme case where human being didn't knew where his emotions were and we could see in it loneliness everywhere in it), later came Facebook social revolution created by a person named Mark Zuckerberg that only wanted to see the life of his friends and mostly women that were part of his own memories, in order to fulfill his own ego.
 I think that it was in this supposed freedom/revolution that everything went wrong, people of today think that they have a greater power that the one that they had before this revolution/freedom came without any work, be them artists, pretty women, good people, actors, creators, politicians and even people related to a world dominating sport as soccer.
(We already have the newly elected American president Donald Trump that communicates through Twitter and only does a little bit of direct communication to American people).
 I thought that all this was merely a marketing busyness, but later I started seeing that people actually believe in this social networks, be them Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Whatsapp, Blogues, Smartphones and without all this, it seems that they're losing their identity.
 In my opinion, in life one must work, if a politician wants to communicate, must he communicate through Twitter? Of course that he can, but if someone asks him about something (and this is my personal opinion), he shouldn't have a speech like "Browse my Twitter if you want". 
 I started noticing also among people that I've met and know them personally telling me things like: 
"Have you seen what I've posted at Facebook?"
"Have you seen what I've did in instagram?"
"Have you seen the latest Tumblr or Flickr from me?"
"Do you've Whatsapp? We can communicate through it"
"Have you seen my blogue?" 
And all this without direct communicating with people as human beings with words (I'm not technophobic but this scares me a bit). 
 Sometimes people tell me that kids have in their own brain a real and a virtual world where they interact one with the other. 
 I think this to myself: 
"What's this? Are we mere machines or androids like science fiction writer Philip K. Dick mentioned in his books?" 
I remember other things that people tell me that are a little "sui generis" about technology like these examples:
"We don't need to have anything physical in today's world be it music, books or movies. We only need a hard drive disc and that's it" 
 This is a bit of nonsense that people tell us, because they want to earn tons of cash with physical objects and its marketing.
 We can see rich people that have lots of money and still have their physical objects.
 I understand that this world is more global due to an increasing population and people must walk in it with few belongings, because of an uncertain future in a professional, personal and memories at some point.
 Why don't we as species go to other planet and talk a bit in them about soccer? 
We're too many and we're starting to have less water in several countries in this planet and without it, we can't survive. 
 Society and economy says this to us: 
"We need oil and diesel for people to live and communicate" 
 And I think on this: 
"Nobody talks about lack of water and oxygen in this planet? 
"Am I crazy? Because it seems to me that some people don't want to talk about this"
Sometimes I think on these themes and start to talk directly with lots of people that love books, since books always gave us knowledge.
 Without books or physical objects what would communication be in social networks? 
 That a girl is pretty? 
 That a guy seems to be a good or bad guy? 
 If a girl is pretty, does she need that lots of people put a "like" in her personal pictures? 
 It seems to me that this is an example of loneliness and lack of self esteem by the girl  and the people who press "like" at a social network.
 The same should apply to a good guy in my opinion without being judged in social networks.
 Today we see lots of couple betraying one another and even divorces because of social networks (be it fault of men or women) and it seems that everybody can do whatever they want in a moral and social way, because society tell us some crazy stuff such as: 
"A couple is free to do what they want as an individual of it but we need more children in this world to be part of a consumerist society" 
I think like this: 
"We need to do this for us as common people to continue living in a world filled with capitalism for some dozens of rich people that were "elected" with divine blessing because of having lots of money?" 
So, nobody belongs to nobody, we're "wild" and we've some "freedom", but when society needs us, it tells us that we need to marry and have children in this crazy consumerist society where it seems that we don't have identity either in social networks or in real life?
  When we don't do what society wants us to do, we're pariah and society tells us again that "nobody belongs to nobody and let's all of us be "hippies" again".
I don't love this kind of social rules that are based depending on who we're or what we did in a world full of voyeurs in social networks, because fortunately I'm not amnesiac and I do keep memories of lots of people that I've met and have similar ideas as the ones that I've based on books that some of us read like "1984" by George Orwell or "Brave New World" by Aldous Huxley.
 It doesn't matter to me where they we're born in this world, because I try to search their identity.
 I know that I don't understand lots of things in this world, so I thought that maybe it would be a good idea curating an exhibition with self-portraits of international artists that seem to be observing common people in their daily life, how they eat or drink their coffee every single day in one of the best coffee shops in the city that I was born and that had already seen some of your artworks in other exhibitions that I've curated in this same coffee.
 Trying to think properly and organize ideas gives me lots of work (videos, exhibitions, trying to write a logical narrative in a world that seems to be crazy and crazy, where it seems that we're in the 60's in society terms), but I'll try to see if I can have the proper feedback of boémia caffe customers, that are common people that can be found in the streets of this city, even when they are looking at their latest iPhone or Smartphone to see if they received a mere "like" or an image in order to communicate something in social networks.
 Have we lost ourselves while communicating and also our identity with social networks and even the world wide web? 
 From Porto, hugs to male international artists and kisses to female international artists that gave me self-portraits by them with their art skills for this exhibition and let's wait for some sort of feedback by boémia caffe customers.
Manuel Espírito Santo 

Note: Some pictures of the artworks with selfportraits by international artists for this exhibition such as 
Ed, Carlos Dearmas, Colorada Majox, Rodrigo Luján, Pato Delpeche, Patricia Breccia, Fer Calvi, Catriel Tallarico, Quique Alcatena, Fernando Beltran from Argentina 
Carlos Ferreira, Eder and Gelson Mallorca from Brazil 
Bartosz Jekiel, Nikodem Cabala, Ewa Perlejewska, Magdalena Minko from Poland
Paulo Pinto, Ana Biscaia, Derrade from Portugal 
Danijel Zezelj from Croatia 
Lars Erik Sjunesson and Nicolas Krizan from Sweden 
Mattias Bergara from Uruguay 
Miguel Almagro, Pedro Espinosa, Fidel Martiñez Nadal, Dulce Escribano, Joaquin Aldeguer, Toni Benages Gallard, Javier Gay Llorente, Santiago Sequeiros, Jon Ander Azaola, Eduardo Alvarado Sanchez Cortez, Ruben Pellejero, Victor Puchalvski, Gustavo Rico, Maria M. Colucelli from Spain 
Stefano Zattera from Italy
Brian Biggs, Brian Quinn, J. David Spurlock, Wallace Wood and Bill Koeb from U.S.A.

Many thanks to all of you.
Special thanks to Daniel Castro who's the owner of boémia caffe and that supports some of my ideas, to Pedro aka MACHINE  Man that is now working in London showing Portuguese soul and skills in old England, to Argentine artist Mister ED for providing design for the poster and the text that goes along with the exhibition, to Duarte Aguiar for vídeo footage and editing and to my kitty Ilvie because she continues to be my muse and source of inspiration for some of the ideas that sometimes are in my mind, heart and soul.

Later, we'll record another video with myself talking a bit of this exhibition while trying to do some direct comunication with the memories that I've from the excellent artists that are exhibited in it.
Below you can see some pictures of the exhibition that's now displayed at one of the best coffee shops in Porto where hundreds of people enter it every single day.

Da mui nobre, sempre leal e invicta cidade do Porto
Manuel Espírito Santo

Identity exhibition with selfportraits by Argentine artist ED and Polish artist Bartosz Jekiel 
Identity exhibition with selfportraits by Spanish artist Javier Gay Lorente and Swedish artist Lars Erik Sjunnesson

Identity exhibition with selfportraits of Spanish artist Joaquín Aldeguer and Argentine artist Rodrigo Luján

Identity exhibition with selfportraits by Portuguese artists Dário Duarte and Paulo Pinto ,Spanish artists Miguel AlmagroFidel Martínez NadalJon Ander AzaolaToni Benages Gallard, Polish artists Magdalena MinkoNikodem Cabala, Croatian artist Danijel Zezelj, Argentine artist Pato Delpeche, Uruguyan artist Matías Bergara, Brazilian artist Gelson Mallorca , American artists Bill Koeb and J David Spurlock 

Identity exhibition with selfportraits by Spanish artists Pedro EspinosaEduardo Alvarado Sánchez-Cortés,Maria M. Coluccelli, Brazilian artist Arte Do Eder, Italian artist Stefano Zattera, Argentine artist Fer Calvi and Polish artists Nikodem Cabala and Ewa Perlejewska

Identity exhibition with selfportraits by Spanish artists Dulce EscribanoRuben Pellejero, Santiago Sequeiros, Victor PuchalskiGustavo Rico, Argentine artists Patricia BrecciaColorada Majox,Carlos Dearmas, Brazilian artist Carlos Ferreira, Portuguese artist Ana Maria Biscaia, Swedish artist Nicolas Krizan, American artists Brian BiggsBrian Quinn

Sunday, February 5, 2017

Um qualquer sentimento chamado Amor

 Do you love me, like I love you? 

Olho para as tuas fotos comigo enquanto vislumbro o teu sorriso ao meu lado.
Percorro mais de 1001 fotos em mais de 1001 noites passadas contigo.
Observo meticulosamente todas as memórias, toda a felicidade, toda a alegria, toda a batalha num amor que sempre tivemos e sei que ainda temos.
 Sinto frio e não me interessa, o meu cigarro apaga-se e vejo somente cinzas espalhadas num cinzeiro ou na rua levadas pelo vento.
 Chove torrencialmente nas ruas da mui nobre, sempre leal e invicta cidade do Porto, estou sentado numas escadas a olhar para as estrelas e a ver a chuva a cair, não pensando em nada, pois quando se escrevem cartas de amor, o pensamento deixa de ser razão e passa a ser sentimento.
 Lembro-me com exactidão quando meio a brincar/meio a sério me diziam na tua presença que eu não era nada.
 Sem qualquer tipo de equilíbrio, procuro palavras no meio de fotos numa qualquer gaveta do meu coração enquanto me recordo de quando estava para morrer, me foste abraçar e fui sobrevivendo e construindo um sentimento chamado amor contigo sempre ao meu lado nesta coisa chamada vida.
 Fico pensativo, enquanto olho para as horas a passarem e o meu relógio de repente fica estático (quase como fosse somente um mero objecto que não marca datas ou horas).
 Sempre em discurso directo, tento não me esquecer desse sentimento.
 Penso em ti e em mim, penso numa garrafa de água deitada ao vento, continuo a pensar na chuva que inunda as minhas roupas, infiltrando-se no meu corpo, nos meus ossos, na minha face e em como a tento beber para limpar o meu espírito para encontrar o nosso amor.
 1001 palavras vêm-me à cabeça, 1001 actos de amor, carinho e orgulho em ti inundam o meu espírito.
 Em bares quase desertos, olho para todo o lado sem medo do amor que tenho por ti, enquanto te vou visualizando na minha mente e no meu coração.
 A imaginação nunca substituiu a emoção, a razão nunca substituiu o que vai no meu e no teu coração.
 Penso numa chama acesa, o meu corpo não existe, o teu também não, o nosso espírito, a nossa alma entrelaça-se num imenso abraço que é mais que um mero laço.
 Por vezes falam-me de coisas que não entendo desde que era somente uma criança e lembro-me com exactidão de todas as minhas e as tuas memórias, enquanto sou guiado sempre com o meu coração ligado ao teu.
 Leio livros, vejo filmes, escrevo narrativas e narrativas para livros, faço exposições numa tentativa de me interrogar quem sou e quem somos nesse sentimento chamado amor.
 A sociedade maltrata-nos como se fossemos meros cães vadios sem dono a quem tentam retirar a felicidade de um e a liberdade do outro.
 Percorro páginas e páginas de livros escritos e mesmo sonhados onde as palavras descrevem sentimentos. 
 Sonho contigo e quando acordo o meu coração grita numa calma aparente e não sei para onde ir ou o que fazer. 
 Tudo interessa, tudo sempre interessou, pois num sentimento maior que a vida, nunca buscamos ou procuramos nostalgia ou melancolia, mas sim o amor que temos um pelo outro dentro dos nossos corações e das nossas almas.
 Um momento, não é somente algo lançado ao tempo, uma vida nunca será uma razão para a dor existir numa qualquer ferida.
 Continuo a pressionar botões e botões, enquanto na minha imaginação/razão e emoção busco sempre o meu e o teu coração.
 Tento ser a luz do teu rosto quando uma bandeira é somente um posto num qualquer pensamento guiado sem lamento.
 Não descrevo a poesia fonética, pois para mim e para ti o amor é algo mais que mera ética.
 Penso numa mero foto com palavras escrevinhadas, penso em sensações, paixões, emoções numa vida nunca dada por perdida entre dois seres que se amam como a cobra Ouroborous que vai mordendo a sua cauda até á eternidade ou de como esta descreve um amor sem fim.
No meu coração sem dor, mágoa ou rancor, não entendo palavras como ódio, raiva ou ira, pois sei que a manipulação de uma mente, espírito, alma, coração e corpo nunca será algo nado morto.
 Volto a escutar o meu coração, ele bate, bate e bate (quase com a sensação que irá explodir a qualquer momento), tento sonhar num amar nunca perdido.
 Tento imaginar-te, sem sequer saber ou me interessar o que o mundo me quer dar ou o que possa estar a acontecer no mesmo.
  Posso viver no inferno, posso passar por 1001 purgatórios, posso pensar que este sentimento não passa de uma ilusão longe da razão.
 Irei amar e amar até á exaustão, a chuva continua a entrar pelos meus ossos enquanto perdido nas palavras procuro as chaves do meu e do teu interior.
 Podem 1001 tempestades abaterem-se sobre mim, podem 1001 demónios lançarem-se ao meu corpo para o despedaçarem, podem 1001 pessoas numa sociedade atroz me dizerem que de repente não tenho voz.
 Vou procurando á noite sinais de ti, num mero papel onde a essência da tua alma se vai misturando com a minha.
 Por vezes, falam-me de papéis lançados ao vento, de notícias de um qualquer tempo e eu nem sequer esboço um lamento.
 Em contínuo discurso directo, não penso em Valquirias vindas de Valhalla ou anjos para me iludirem a mente ou a emoção até á exaustão.
 Ele continua a bater e bater e a bater (como se fosse um vulcão em actividade), os meus dedos são guiados pelas tuas palavras, pela tua essência, pela tua imagem.
 O sentimento de estética pode perder-se em sentimentos, pois o amor não é dor, pavor ou um favor.
 Os dias passam e recordo-me de uma caixa de fósforos com a qual tentava aquecer o meu corpo num dia gelado e no qual o meu espírito te escutava e escuta enquanto sorrio contigo desde aqui até á eternidade, sem  raiva, ódio, ira, rancor ou dor, mas sempre numa palavra chamada amor.
 Olho para o calendário, penso em rasgá-lo e deita-lo ao lixo como um mero papel numa qualquer lua de fel.
 O meu corpo continua agarrado ao teu, a minha alma continua agarrada a um mero papel numa lua de mel.
 Dizem-me que o coração é uma artéria perdida no labirinto que é o corpo humano, enquanto sem sequer pensar ou imaginar vou somente escutando a chuva que continua a cair vinda do céu, enquanto vou tossindo e tossindo num discurso que continua a ser directo, pois neste pequeno cantinho do Universo, podem falar-me do novo presidente dos Estados Unidos da América, podem tentar maltratar-me, podem inclusive matar-me ou recordar-me de como o mundo está de pernas para o ar com todos os valores da humanidade trocados e onde o que é branco por vezes é preto e vice versa.
 A chuva continua a cair, eu olho somente para um candeeiro e vejo o teu rosto observando-o com acutilancia, ainda sem pensar em nada, volto a pressionar um botão, volto a tentar escutar o meu coração que vai batendo e batendo por ti.
 Uns chamam-me guerreiro, outros chamam-me de louco enquanto me faço de mouco.
 Num sentimento jamais esquecido 1001 palavras escritas em meros papéis, fazem com que uma luz se baloice sobre mim.
 Olho para o céu e já não chove, caminho numa qualquer direcção sempre com emoção, pois sei que uma palavra escrita não é somente uma mera imagem tirada ao acaso com o novo telemóvel da moda, mas sim um sentimento que sempre foi, é e será eterno.
 Por vezes dizem-me que as roupas demonstram o que um homem ou uma mulher é enquanto vou lendo na estrada que é um homem ou uma mulher que vai escolhendo a roupa que quer vestir numa simples questão de identidade onde esta palavra chamada amor não tem idade.

Para a minha princesa 
Manuel Espírito Santo