“Pirajuçara is the name given by the Tupi people to the river around which they lived until the beginning of the 20th century and where part of the city of São Paulo, Brazil, is located today. Pira means fish and juçara means palm tree. The Pirajuçara River basin occupies an area where part of the city of São Paulo is located today. Since the beginning of the last century, the Tupi people no longer live in its surroundings. The Pirajuçara Valley began to receive the surplus population of São Paulo. The urbanization process was chaotic, neglecting comprehensive plans and studies for the entire basin. Several stretches of the riverbed were narrowed and straightened and began to dump garbage and untreated sewage from the entire region. The river has undergone so many important transformations over the years that, in response, it has become a furious enemy of the population. During the rainy season, it invaded homes, knocked down sidewalks and walls, and even swept people away with its violent current.

Since the 1970s, Pirajuçara has been invisible, as it was channeled, buried, and its riparian forest destroyed. While in many parts of the world rivers are integrated into the urban landscape, serving as spaces for recreation, transportation, or supply, in Brazil our rivers are mainly used for electricity production or as sewage. The social catastrophe is compounded by the environmental catastrophe.

In 2011, while I was studying visual arts at the University of São Paulo, I discovered that the building intended to house the general library of the University City had been devastated by the waters of the Pirajuçara River during a flood in 1988. While waiting for the experts’ assessment, the public administration closed off the building and its surroundings. A large fence was erected and the place remained hidden and forgotten for more than 20 years.

I went there and came across a huge fence surrounding a forest. I jumped over the gate and went inside. The scene was incredible: a ruined building, overrun with dense vegetation. A large round staircase right in the center indicated another floor below street level. The difference in light between the dark interior and the bright summer day outside dazzled my vision. Despite this, what I saw was wonderful. There was a river down there! The interior of the building in the darkness contrasted with the bright green of the vegetation, and the river reflected everything like a kaleidoscope. Unable to see properly, I felt like my feet were stepping on water and stopped going down. I picked up my camera, but looking through the viewfinder, I saw nothing. I adjusted the camera empirically and took the photos shown here. The difference between the areas of high and low light made it difficult not only for me to see, but also for me to photograph the scene. I would have to go back with a more powerful camera and a tripod.
I went up to the other floors, quickly writing down what I saw in photos and drawings. I was scared.
I suggested to my professor that I do a site-specific project. While I was thinking about my project and its viability, and waiting for official authorization to carry it out, a serious accident during an illegal party led the authorities to demolish the building.

The government, finally realizing the fragility and ecological importance of the place, closed it permanently. I could no longer enter.

The Pirajuçara River charged for the invasion of its lands and the destruction of its ecosystem. The explosion of the pipeline under the USP library showed that the river was still alive. The accident that released its waters and the isolation of the place allowed the regeneration of the riparian forest. Its seeds remained in the soil for decades covered with concrete. When the waters of the Pirajuçara broke through these structures, wetting the earth and allowing light to enter, the seeds germinated, performing the great miracle of life. The vegetation that swallowed the building belongs to the Atlantic biome, one of the most devastated in Brazil.

Today, the area remains closed, awaiting the regeneration of plant, animal and mineral life.

The metaphysical architecture of modernity was based on the idea of ​​”nature” as something external to man, which allowed its exploitation and domestication. We no longer inhabit the Earth, we exploit it. In this context, it is revealing and extremely symbolic that some members of nature destroyed the library of the largest Academy in Brazil.

My work borrows the name that the Tupi people gave to the river: Pirajuçara, to tell its story. It is an inspiration and an example.

Through the recovery of photographs taken in 2011 and the painting created in 2023, this work is a tribute to an ecosystem that has surpassed human culture.”

Presentation:

A selection of five photographs taken in 2011 will be presented in approximate dimensions of 160 x 240 cm, printed or projected. Their precise dimensions and the choice between printing or projection will depend on the conditions of the exhibition space and the possibility of using projectors adapted to it.
In photographs where darkness predominates, black is synonymous with information and not emptiness. To achieve this, it is enough that they are correctly printed or projected and illuminated.
in the first case, the printing will be in pigmented inkjet on cotton paper.
All the images from the photographic archive created in 2011 can be explored and presented printed in a display case, on monitors or projected.

Painting made in 2023 in charcoal and oil on linen. Dimensions 240 x 180 cm