"We better not go there" . It was the answer I got when I asked if I could learn more about the neighborhood for the creation of the painting. "The red marks on the wall signal the limit," they explained. I insisted a little more to be able to register the landscape portrayed in the work. "Only up there" I said. And we went . Some elements of the landscape I saw enchanted me. The curvature of the Igarapé that hides between the irregular houses. The mangabeira tree invading the bed creating a refreshing shade in the heat of Manaus. The bridge . The improvised and dangerous wooden bridge joining the two sides of the river carries so much meaning that it could not fail to be part of the work. She is my symbolic protagonist .
With the records in hand, we returned to REUSA, sustainable construction, home to countless workshops and unexpected meetings. I stayed on the second floor (out of three), while the women braided fabric downstairs, creating beautiful cachepots and rugs. A few hours later we shared a delicious Jaraqui for lunch, accompanied by rice and yellow flour. There were four of us sitting at the table. Dona Cris, the creator and leader of the movement, shared with me some stories about how, during the pandemic, they, the REUSA artisans, worked tirelessly, producing and donating 20,000 masks, saving thousands of lives. He told about the death of his son in 2019 that until today it is not known how or why it happened. He remembered the beautiful lunches he promoted at REUSA, bringing together Manaus and refugees, each bringing a typical dish from their land. He confessed one day that he was afraid to welcome the Venezuelans, but today they are part of the family.
As the plates were emptied, more women arrived and sat down at the table for the sewing workshop that would start shortly. They would work on reusable pads, a new movement for the group. I resumed painting, with a few visits during the process. Because they all have the creative side and advanced craftsmanship, we exchanged valuable stickers about different art styles. In the end, one of them, Maiara, accompanied me to the nearest street to call the Uber.
At the time I write this report, the work is not yet ready. I brought it to the studio, all packed inside the suitcase. Now it hangs on the wall, waiting for more elements of history and creation to dress it. Waiting to record this moment, this place, this story, these women.
