{"id":13787,"date":"2010-01-28T16:32:07","date_gmt":"2010-01-28T19:32:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/beta.idanca.net\/?p=13787"},"modified":"2010-02-11T17:22:35","modified_gmt":"2010-02-11T20:22:35","slug":"salto-para-o-vazio","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/idanca.net\/salto-para-o-vazio\/","title":{"rendered":"Salto para o vazio | Leap into the void"},"content":{"rendered":"

ERRATA: Ao contr\u00e1rio do divulgado na nossa newsletter, este texto \u00e9 de autoria apenas de Fab\u00edola Salles.<\/strong><\/p>\n

::<\/p>\n

Este texto foi originalmente publicado no site do GRiD-CCSP <\/a>(Grupo de Reflex\u00e3o Interdisciplinar do Centro\u00a0Cultural S\u00e3o Paulo).<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

::<\/span><\/p>\n

Reflex\u00e3o a partir do Encontro de Improvisa\u00e7\u00e3o das Oficinas de Dan\u00e7a no Centro Cutural S\u00e3o Paulo (CCSP) do dia 5 de dezembro, de dados urgentes de nosso cotidiano e outras divaga\u00e7\u00f5es.<\/span><\/p>\n

A imagem ao lado \u00e9 de\u00a0 Leap into the Void<\/strong><\/em>, de <\/strong><\/em>Yves Klein, fotomontagem de 1960.<\/span><\/p>\n

Resolvi nesta noite, domingo, n\u00e3o esperar. N\u00e3o esperar a segunda-feira. (E que estas palavras sirvam para visualizar um sentido n\u00e3o linear). Cada um desta comunidade suspensa, de um ciclo de amigos, conhecidos, desconhecidos e parentes, ciclo de pessoas que evoco diante da vela para cuidar\u2026 Cada um agora provavelmente em sua casa e dentro de sua casa: pensamentos, projetos, afazeres para a pr\u00f3xima segunda, ter\u00e7a, quarta\u2026\u00a0 Os dias organizados com a lua. N\u00f3s, como ela, presos \u00e0 terra pela gravidade. Eu, presa a voc\u00ea. Cumprir papeis? Desejo.<\/span><\/p>\n

Como est\u00e1 voc\u00ea?<\/span><\/p>\n

Estamos n\u00f3s aqui: na cidade das longas dist\u00e2ncias, do anonimato e da descren\u00e7a. Da fragilidade, do medo. Tamb\u00e9m, e principalmente, dos encontros, da possibilidade de se viver junto, bem junto, num mesmo territ\u00f3rio: especular. Ir na churrascaria e dan\u00e7ar um samba para seguir com sorriso no rosto. As m\u00e1scaras. Acabo de saber (e esta frase foi a \u00fanica escrita na segunda-feira) que no s\u00e1bado, o dramaturgo Mario Bortolotto\u00a0 foi baleado num bar de S\u00e3o Paulo, no mesmo dia em que presenciei um encontro bastante rico de dan\u00e7a e improvisa\u00e7\u00e3o no CCSP. Esquizofrenia. Dificuldade de compreens\u00e3o diante dos olhos.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

As sutilezas das superf\u00edcies dos campos: poss\u00edveis entradas. Os espa\u00e7os p\u00fablicos e os privados. Carinho e arrombamento. Momento no qual se questiona na pr\u00e1tica hierarquias e fronteiras. Vontades sem teto, sem ch\u00e3o e abertura escancarada de intimidades. N\u00e3o temos uma revolu\u00e7\u00e3o, uma guerra, e temos todas as revolu\u00e7\u00f5es e guerras em diferentes escalas. Temos o olhar de cima, o pan\u00f3ptico, Google Earth e tamb\u00e9m as p\u00e1ginas amarelas. Temos os mapas detalhados e o volume experienciado no cinema 3d. E se me permitir modelar uma argila, ainda existe este tempo artesanal que o corpo \u00e9 capaz de acompanhar\/sentir, alargado. Anestesias, sinestesias.<\/span><\/p>\n

Entre a velocidade do pensamento e dos sentidos deve existir um lugar.<\/span><\/p>\n

O tempo que a bala demorou para tocar o alvo.<\/span><\/p>\n

Onde cabe a intui\u00e7\u00e3o?<\/span><\/p>\n

Tateando minha casa se a luz acabar, moro numa superf\u00edcie rugosa, empoeirada, no domingo principalmente. Respiro gostando do gosto do ar. Lembro de uma not\u00edcia que poderia estar nos jornais: hoje. Dia 6 de dezembro de 2009. Poucas nuances s\u00e3o percept\u00edveis na medida em que se deseja o vislumbre. Critica-se o espet\u00e1culo mas deseja-se a revela\u00e7\u00e3o, o aparecimento, o tornar vis\u00edvel. Saber mais a vida. Me lembrei da bolacha de maisena. Deve ter algo a ver com isso.<\/span><\/p>\n

As imagens da inf\u00e2ncia geralmente calam por afirmarem o que chamamos de ing\u00eanuo. O nosso tempo sobre a terra. A infantilidade do artista hoje.<\/span><\/p>\n

Me disponho, sobre a mesa, numa sala desconhecida, depois de ter ingerido alguma subst\u00e2ncia, ou n\u00e3o. Eu, mais 4 mulheres deitadas. Na verdade eu n\u00e3o estava deitada, estava nua diante de um espelho. Era um espelho que me deformava na horizontal como se nadasse em ondas psicol\u00f3gicas. As superf\u00edcies das peles.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"Silueta<\/a><\/span>

Silueta Works, Ana Mendieta, 1974 a 1981<\/p><\/div>\n

Naquele lugar feito de papel, o sangue de algu\u00e9m escorria e formava um desenho. Sobressalto. Debaixo da cama, encontrei um sobrenome. Em cima de voc\u00ea estava eu em ondas. Crep\u00fasculo das hist\u00f3rias pequenas. Amantes: aqueles que devem bater o ponto todos os dias para alimentar seus filhos mais tarde. O bra\u00e7o de uma mulher que manipula objetos estranhos, infectado por uma bact\u00e9ria. Os postos de sa\u00fade e os prontos socorros. Fumo e galinha d\u2019angola. Algo para se apoiar que n\u00e3o a arquitetura nem o romance.<\/span><\/p>\n

Cadafalso.<\/span><\/p>\n

Acabo de inventar uma palavra que n\u00e3o se escreve. E se, quem sabe, invent\u00e1ssemos novas palavras para que as imagens tamb\u00e9m pudessem mudar dentro de n\u00f3s, para que pud\u00e9ssemos nos livrar dos s\u00edmbolos r\u00edgidos, dos h\u00e1bitos, para acabar com os pr\u00e9-conceitos, para desarticular a ideia de que o s\u00edmbolo se forma primeiramente por similaridade. O que \u00e9 similar? Resposta: o que conseguimos identificar a olho nu como sendo \u201cparecido\u201d. Que fragilidade e prepot\u00eancia do\u00a0 ser humano. Incapaz de perceber o invis\u00edvel. Se fal\u00e1ssemos menos\u2026? Esperan\u00e7a e igualdade social. <\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Licen\u00e7a po\u00e9tica. Pedimos licen\u00e7a para ocupar um espa\u00e7o (in)comum, o papel escrito, a tela no caso, para que a\u00ed se (des)organizem palavras que devem comunicar algo ao pr\u00f3ximo. Ou, revelar diante dos olhos de quem escreve, algo entre o digitar das letras e os pensamentos correntes. O corpo do discurso pode ter vida pr\u00f3pria.<\/em> <\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Atualmente fala-se diversas vezes em cria\u00e7\u00e3o de linguagem no ambiente das artes. Podemos abordar esta quest\u00e3o a partir de diversos prismas, passando pelo estudo da lingu\u00edstica, da semi\u00f3tica, da filosofia\u2026 Mas gostaria de colocar esta discuss\u00e3o do ponto de uma pessoa (no caso, eu mesma).<\/em> <\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Ricardo Carioba, artista paulistano, em debate sobre o projeto Zona de Risco, que aconteceu no CCSP no segundo semestre de 2009, disse que pensava n\u00e3o em pesquisa de linguagem mas em pesquisa art\u00edstica e que esta, para ele, se d\u00e1 no momento em que o artista se coloca na d\u00favida entre o real e o ficcional<\/strong>. Talvez no \u00e2mbito das artes isso caiba com o devido cuidado e irrever\u00eancia, mas na vida o perigo \u00e9 que este limiar entre o real e o ficcional se perca em quest\u00f5es graves, como a viol\u00eancia nas cidades e tantas outras discuss\u00f5es que poder\u00edamos levantar aqui. Percebo hoje, em alguns casos, um estado de apatia de pessoas diante de quest\u00f5es bastante fundamentais, vitais do cotidiano. Como se as mesmas estivessem no sof\u00e1 assistindo a uma novela: o real e o ficcional banalizados mutuamente.<\/em> <\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Muitas vezes, na atualidade, obras de arte, n\u00e3o deixam claro seu intento: tratam de processos compartilhados, bastante abertos; ou se bastam em afirmar o momento no qual discursam. Neste ambiente dif\u00edcil de incorporar a \u201cdan\u00e7a\u201d, n\u00e3o se sabe onde dan\u00e7ar, ou qual ritmo seguir, ficamos suspensos, pendurados como no momento impresso do salto\/hip\u00f3tese de Klein. Ficcional, real; real, ficcional. Ficcional, real; real, ficcional. Ficcional, real; real, ficcional. Ficcional, real; real, ficcional. Como se entr\u00e1ssemos em estado de congelamento: impossibilidade para a percep\u00e7\u00e3o\/conhecimento. N\u00e3o, a realidade n\u00e3o \u00e9 bidimensional. Precisamos sair do estado de suspens\u00e3o e nos tornar garimpeiros de sinais que gerem sentido. Ser\u00e1 que foi esquecida a s\u00edntese? Ser\u00e1 que poesia e s\u00edntese j\u00e1 n\u00e3o caminham mais juntas?<\/em> <\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Agnaldo Farias, no livro \u201cA Arte Brasileira Hoje\u201d, diz que podemos admitir como arte contempor\u00e2nea toda obra que gere algum sentido hoje, podendo esta ter qualquer formato, suporte ou data.<\/em> <\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Reflex\u00e3o e pedido para que fiquemos \u00e0 flor da pele. Aten\u00e7\u00e3o.<\/em> <\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Gosto de acompanhar os artistas em suas vidas, n\u00e3o em seus trabalhos. Quero dizer: gosto de acompanhar a vida de um trabalho que acompanha a presen\u00e7a de um corpo que o faz. A extens\u00e3o de nossas m\u00e3os no mundo, nossos gestos talvez sejam nossos \u201cs\u00edmbolos totais\u201d, nossa linguagem, complexa e hiperdisciplinar, transdisciplinar, multidisciplinar, estilha\u00e7ada.<\/em> <\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Estilha\u00e7ada, pois, as disciplinas evocam para mim a ci\u00eancia e talvez este lugar onde as fronteiras se perdem seja o lugar da intensidade e n\u00e3o da classifica\u00e7\u00e3o, da an\u00e1lise. E que a intensidade n\u00e3o seja compreendida como uma luz \u00fanica que cega, mas como uma massa complexa de rela\u00e7\u00f5es, sentimentos, heran\u00e7as, proje\u00e7\u00f5es e a\u00e7\u00f5es cotidianas. Quando uma roda se forma, como a do s\u00e1bado de tarde, no CCSP, com artistas e as mais diferentes pessoas para dan\u00e7arem juntas, me parece gerar sentido. Sim, acho que era arte. Um sentido criativo, de vida.<\/em> <\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

J\u00e1 uma bala atingir o corpo de algu\u00e9m\u2026 \u00e9 intensidade que ofusca.<\/em> <\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Imagens contempor\u00e2neas de um s\u00e1bado: a bala e a roda.<\/em> <\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Isso me faz pensar que precisamos trabalhar muito. Todos.<\/em><\/span> <\/em><\/p>\n

<\/em><\/p>\n

Fab\u00edola Salles Mariano \u00e9 formada nas faculdades de Comunica\u00e7\u00e3o das Artes do Corpo pela PUC-SP e Artes Pl\u00e1sticas pela ECA-USP. \u00c9 artista de circo desde 1998, tendo participado de espet\u00e1culos e festivais. Atualmente, faz parte de um grupo de pesquisa de butoh, al\u00e9m de desenvolver textos e outras cria\u00e7\u00f5es do\/no campo das artes performativas.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

This text was originally published at the website of GRiD-CCSP <\/a> (\u201cS\u00e3o Paulo Cultural Center Interdisciplinary Reflection Group\u201d)<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Image on the left is Yves Klein’s Leap into the Void<\/strong><\/em>, a photomontage from 1960. <\/span><\/p>\n

Sunday, tonight I decided I can\u00b4t wait. Not wait until Monday. (And expect that these words help visualize a non-linear meaning). Each one in this suspended community, in a circle of friends, acquaintances, strangers and relatives, a cycle of people I summon before the candle to care for\u2026 each one is probably at their home and inside their home: thoughts, projects, chores, for next Tuesday, Wednesday\u2026 the days organized like the moon. We, along with it, stuck to earth through gravity. Me, stuck to you. Fulfilling roles? Desire.<\/span><\/p>\n

How are you?<\/span><\/p>\n

Here we are: in the city of long distances, of anonymity and disbelief. Of fragility, of fear. Also, and mainly, of meetings, of the possibility of living together, closely, in the same territory: speculate. Going to a barbecue restaurant and dancing samba to keep a smile on our faces. The masks. I just learned (and this sentence was the only one written on Monday) that on Saturday, playwriter Mario Bortolotto was shot in a bar in S\u00e3o Paulo, on the same day in which I witnessed a very rich dance and improvisation meeting at CCSP. Schizophrenia. Difficulty understanding what is in front of our eyes.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

The subtleties of the fields\u2019 surface: possible entrances. The public spaces and the private ones. Tenderness and forced entry. The moment when hierarchies and frontiers in practice are questioned. Homeless wills, without ground and wide opening of intimacies. We don\u00b4t have a revolution, a war, and we have all revolutions and wars in different scales. We have a perspective from above, the panoptic, Google Earth and also the yellow pages. We have detailed maps and the volume experienced with 3D cinema. And if I allow myself to model clay, there is still this handicraft time the body is able to follow\/feel, enlarged. Anesthesia, synesthesias.<\/span><\/p>\n

Between the speed of thought and feeling there must be a place.<\/span><\/p>\n

The time the bullet took to reach the target.<\/span><\/p>\n

Where does intuition fit?<\/span><\/p>\n

Groping around my house, if the lights are out, I live in a wrinkled surface, dusty, specially on Sunday. I breathe enjoying the taste of the air. I remember news that could be in the papers: today. December 6, 2009. Few hues are noticeable when one desires a glimpse. The show is criticized but revelation, appearances, becoming visible is desired. Knowing more about life. I remembered cornstarch crackers. It must have something to do with this.<\/span><\/p>\n

Childhood images are usually silenced for stating what we call naive. Our time on earth. The childishness of the artist today.<\/span><\/p>\n

I place myself, on a table, in an unknown room, after ingesting some substance, or not. Me and 4 women lying down. Actually I wasn\u00b4t lying down, I was naked in front of a mirror. It was a mirror that distorted me as if I was swimming in psychological waves. The surfaces of skin.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"Silueta<\/a><\/span>

Silueta Works, Ana Mendieta, 1974 a 1981<\/p><\/div>\n

In that place made of paper, someone\u2019s blood was running and it created a drawing. Startle. Under the bed I found a last name. On top of you I was in waves. Twilights of little stories. Lovers: those who must work everyday to feed their kids later. Health centers and emergency rooms. The arm of a woman who manipulates strange objects, infected by bacteria. Smoke and helmeted guineafowl. Something to lean on that is neither architecture nor romance.<\/span><\/p>\n

Scaffold<\/span><\/p>\n

I just invented a word that can\u00b4t be written. And what if, who knows, we invented new words so that the images could also change inside us, so that we could rid ourselves from rigid symbols, from habits, to put an end to prejudices, to disarticulate the idea that the symbol is formed primarily through similarity. What is similar? Answer: what we can identify with naked eye as being \u201calike\u201d. How frail and arrogant of the human being.<\/span><\/p>\n

Poetic license. We ask permission to occupy an (un)common space, the written paper, in this case, the screen, so that words are (dis)organized to communicate something to our fellow men. Or, to reveal before the eyes of the one writing, something between typing letters and current thoughts. The body of discourse can take a life of its own.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Currently, many times people talk about language creation in the arts environment. We can approach this issue from many different prisms through the study of linguistics, semiotics, philosophy\u2026 But I would like to take this debate from one person\u2019s point of view (in this case, myself).<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Ricardo Carioba, artists from S\u00e3o Paulo, in a debate about Zona de Risco (\u201cRisk Zone\u201d) that took place in CCSP in the second semester of this year, said he thought not about language research, but rather about artistic research and for that, for him, takes place at the moment when the artist puts himself in doubt about real and fictional<\/strong>. Maybe in the arts realm this fits with the due care and irreverence, but in life the danger is that the limit between real and fictional is lost in serious issues, like violence in the cities and so many other debates that could be raised here. Today I see, in many cases, a state of apathy in people before some very fundamental issues, vital to every day life. As if they were sitting on the couch watching a soap-opera: real and fictional are mutually trivialized.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Often, in current days, art works do not make their intentions clear: they deal with shared processes, very open; or they suffice by asserting the moment in which they speak. In this environment difficult to incorporate \u201cdance\u201d no one knows where to dance, which rhythm to follow, we remain suspended, hanging like in the moment of Klein\u2019s leap\/hypothesis. Fictional, real; real, fictional. Fictional, real; real, fictional. Fictional, real; real, fictional. Fictional, real; real, fictional. As if we were entering a frozen state: impossibility of perception\/knowledge. No, reality is not two-dimensional. We must get out of the suspension state and become prospectors of signs that can generate meaning. Was synthesis forgotten? Are poetry and synthesis no longer walking together?<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

In the book A Arte Brasileira Hoje (\u201cBrazilian Art Today\u201d), Agnaldo Farias says we must accept as contemporary art every piece that generates meaning today and it could have any format, material or date.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Reflection and request to remain skin deep. Attention.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

I like to follow artists in their lives, not in their work. I mean: I like to follow the life of a work that follows the presence of the body who makes it. The extension of our hands in the world, our gestures are maybe our \u201ctotal symbols\u201d, our language complex and hiperdisclipinary, transdisciplinary, multidisciplinary, shattered.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Shattered, for disciplines for me evoke science and maybe this place where frontiers are lost is the place of intensity and not of classification, analysis. And that intensity is not understood as a single light that blinds, but as a complex mass of relationships, feelings, heritages, projections and trivial actions. When a circle is created, like that on a Saturday afternoon, at CCSP, with artists and the most different people are dancing together, its seems to generate meaning. Yes, I think it was art. A creative, life, meaning.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

But a bullet hitting someone\u2019s body… it\u00b4s intensity that blinds.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Contemporary images of a Saturday: the bullet and the circle.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

This makes me think we have to work a lot. All of us.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A partir do encontro de improvisa\u00e7\u00e3o promovido pelo CCSP, Fab\u00edola Salles escreve suas reflex\u00f5es sobre dan\u00e7a, dados urgentes do cotidiano e outras coisas. 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