Cildo Campos MEIRELLES
Born 19^8, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
Lives in Rio de Janeiro
I am here, in this exhibition,to defend neither a career nor any nationality.
I would rather speak about a region which does not appear on officialmaps, a region
calledthe SOUTHERNCROSS. Its original inhabitantsnever divided-it. Others came,
however,who for some reason did it. Such a divisionremains to this day.
I believe every region to have its boundary lines, imaginaryor not. The line I am
referringto is called Tordesilhas. Its Eastern side you know rather well through
post cards, pictures, descriptionsand books.
I would like, however, to speak from the other side of this border, with my head
under the Equator line, hot and buried in the ground, the very oppositeof
skyscrapers,their roots in the ground, about all constellations. The wild side.
The jungle in the head, deprivedof the brilliancyof intelligenceand brains. About
this people, about the heads of these people, they who searched,or were forced, to
bury their heads in the ground or in the mud. In the jungle. Therefore,their heads
within their very own heads.
A circus: ways of thinking,capabilities,specializations,styles, all ends. What
remains is what always existed: the ground. The dance to be performedbegging for
rain. And the swamp. And from the swamp worms will be born, and again life.
Another thing: always believe in rumors. In the jungle there are no lies, only very
private truths.
The precursors. But who dared to intuit,West of Tordesilhas,other than its own
inhabitants? Hard luck on the hippies and their sterilizedbeaches, their dis
infectedlands, their plastics,their emasculatedcults and their hysterical
intelligence. Hard luck on the East. Hard luck on those who compromise: willfully
or not, they take the side of the weak ones. Worse for them. For the jungle will
grow and spread out to cover their sterilizedbeaches, their disinfectedlands,
their lazy sexes, their buildings,their roads, their earth-works,think-works,
nihil-works,water-works,conceptual-works
and so on, East of Tordesilhasand in
each and every East of no matter what region. The jungle will go on spreadingit
self over the East of no matter what region. The jungle will go on spreadingitself
over the East and over those who compromise,until all those who have forgotten,or
no longer know, how to breathe oxygen will die, infectedwith health. Cat bed.
Within its womb it still bears the shy end of the metaphor: since metaphorshave no
intrinsicvalue West of Tordesilhas
. It is not that I myself am not fond of meta
phors: I want someday all works to be looked at as hallmarks, as remembrancesand
evocationsor real and visible conquests. And whenever listeningto the History of
this West, people will be listeningto fantasticlegends and fables and allegories
.
For a people who can transform its History into fantasticlegends and fables and
allegories,that people has a real existence.
April 1970
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