There is no final interpretation (…)
because the poet’s last word is not a final word. — Octavio Paz
Lines form letters
bodies that attach
to each other
Two bodies. Two boys holding hands cross the calm Central Avenue, Rio, early twentieth century. The black and white photo, hanging in the hallway, greets whoever opens the elevator door. Rio, now a capital only of itself, and its central avenue is called Rio Branco (a diplomat who consolidated the borders). Rio, early twenty-first century. Rio Branco Avenue closed for works. I walk into the apartment with Fernando de La Rocque – an artist of the body → his paintings accumulate bodies in the most spectacular of ecstasies → his mouth creates bodies → and from the manholes he sheds light on the most clandestine of bodies. That the two of us were chosen as visual organizers for this catalogue is already enough of a clue as to the subjects that reverberate with greater intensity in the attentive eyes that stitched this private collection.
(private: not for general public use; individual, personal, intimate; peculiar, unique, special; thorough; out of the ordinary | private collection → of intimate coexistence. Cups, books, chairs, puppets, dog. Fluid, therefore, alive. Lively and well lived.)
→ bodies and letters that spread across the walls, furniture and floor. On the skull that bites the pencil over the compendiums on the shelves. Works and life mix, as it should be. Body and letters. Medicine and philosophy. Act and acting. Two bodies descending the river and its curves and streams. Touch, color and silence. The uneasy silence of the forest and its animals.