One day, in the middle of my art residency on the island of Ilhabela (Sao Paulo State, Brazil), I got a ride with a 4×4 Jeep (one of the few vehicles that can navigate the rocks and holes over the island’s central mountain which is part of the Atlantic Forest), to Castelhanos. My visit was but a few short hours, but one kind couple welcomed me into their home.
They were exceptionally sweet. We exchanged names but sadly I forgot to write theirs down. We managed to communicate somehow – me with my poor Portuguese, and the three of us with our hands. He was a fisherman who made his own nets. She stayed at home. I never asked if they had children.
The house had one small bedroom, large enough for a bed and a chair, a very modest kitchen, and an even more modest bathroom. Outside, in the back, a few chickens ran about. She proudly showed off her new washing machine to me; her life has been made easier. This washing machine matters. Shortly after that I left. If only I can recall their names.
The sequence of 20 photos in this post is a glimpse of the immediate environment in and around the two houses on the property of the Casa Na Ilha Art Residence, in Brasil, facing the Atlantic Ocean with the Atlantic Forest behind it. I have wandered in and out of these houses and up and down the grounds (the houses sit on the rocky slope that borders the forest). Since I am the only artist staying here this month, the days are my own. This gives me a chance to look at the small things and not just the magnificent landscape surrounding me. The forest is known to have a similar biodiversity to that of the Amazon. Daily, I take note of the diverse flora and the myriad of birds, butterflies, and fruit trees growing here. 60% of all of Brazil’s threatened animal species live in this forest.
What attracted me to the residency was the idea of slowness – an art residence that sits on the edge of the forest, on the island of Ilhabela, off the north coast of the state of Sao Paulo. There is one main road that runs north/south on the west coast and goes through three small tourist towns that are easy to avoid. 85% of the island is preserved. So… staying here I have the opportunity to just think and/or create without distraction. It is a retreat of sorts.
Before I arrived I had a specific idea of what I wanted to do: visit and photograph the native Caicara people and their homes in Castelahnos on the east side of this island (just beyond the state park) and on Bonete beach on the south side of Ilhabela. However, as it turns out, my first two weeks were more about taking the time to think and photographing the houses and land, here. This environment allows for reflection.
Trees bow and sigh in the wind. The ocean rolls and crashes or whispers a breath. At times, ones sounds like the other. Insects, such as beetles, ants (and of course mosquitoes) abound. The commotion and calls of parrots in the trees wake me up at 5am and later remind me that it may be time to stop working, or at least take a moment to listen to them, at around 5 in the afternoon.
My room, to date, has been a magnet for:
- a spider (non-venomous, hairy, approximately one inch long with a leg span of about three inches)
- a (dung?) beetle (about three inches long and one-two inches wide) – it sadly did what many beetles do: hit a wall or door, fall on their backs, struggle to turn over and fail, then die
- a baby tree-rat (that scared me half to death when I saw it at the foot of my bed)
- a cockroach
- a few fireflies
Of course, none of this is unusual given that most of the island is forest and the house sits at its edge.
Everything is on the move and has its rhythm and yet there is a quiet here – a stillness. In part, these photos capture this.
Since I bought a smart phone, three years ago, I have taken photos of my self (many of which are posted on Instagram). This “self-portraiture” has been a necessity of sorts – a way of seeing myself in the world as I pass through or (more precisely) live in it as a physical being. It is a way of viewing my ordinary body without a mirror. Skin, hair, creases, and folds are so utterly commonplace and things that we all share, as human beings. Despite this sameness I feel out of place and flawed. In some photographs I am dressed. However, it is nakedness that is of greatest interest to me since it is literally skin that separates my inner landscape from the outer world.
Each photograph is of a fragment of myself. It is a distorted and incomplete view – a detail. Since I hold the mobile phone in my hand there is no other way to see myself except through these closeups.
The photographs of me are not always flattering but, the only body I truly understand and need to embrace is the one I occupy. Yet, I often want to reject it since it is now a heavier and baggier form than it was in its youth. Wrinkles are now laid bare. I am not quite old but old age is a taboo in North American society. I am past the age of fifty and women, in particular, are led to believe that their shapes are imperfect and regard them with disdain (and all too often I believe this is true for myself). In fact, reshaping one’s body with plastic surgery (in an attempt to recapture youth) is widely accepted.
Some pictures are meant to give a sense of mood. Many are simply the camera (and an app, perhaps) drawing my figure. The person (me) is not the subject; it is the body (mine). I am not dealing with older age, per se.
There is something freeing about turning the camera toward me. I feel alive and empowered. My body is all mine no matter the imperfections. I intend to continue these photographs. This act of imaging my self as an evolving being is a path to self acceptance.
In my blog post, last week, I mentioned that I took a workshop with Ernesto Bazan in Chapada Diamantina, Brasil. He and I also spent much of January in Brasil with another group of people in Salvador de Bahia and Reconcavo Bahiano (in and around the city-town of Cachoeira). This mid-winter trip made me quite certain that I want to return and continue photographing in the province of Bahia so that I may proceed with work on (what is now) my project, This Miracle.
Please do take a look at the galleries of photographs from the Bazan workshop this past January, in the group we called “With Legs.”
This past February, I took a workshop with Ernesto Bazan in Chapada Diamantina, Brasil. I have mixed memories of this place because during the last three days, there, I had terrible food poisoning and was stuck in my room or tethered to the bathroom… Thankfully, most of my experience was utterly brilliant. In the end, the open and warm people and the magnificent landscape are what I truly remember; I look forward to returning there as well as other parts of Bahia, to continue work on my project, This Miracle.
Please do take a look at the galleries of photographs from all of us, in the group we called “Circles,” on Bazan’s Circles Gallery Page.