Beyond the red line

Critical text

Mario Gioia Maio de 2013

Index / Mario Gioia

Through the wandering of the protagonists in her performances, with torn clothing and hollowed-out symbols, Beth Moysés is gradually building a very particular political oeuvre in Brazil, drawing on the stridently charged palette of her paintings and the ironic gaze embodied in her three-dimensional works. Despite being recognised and represented in major collections in Spain, and having been invited to participate in exhibitions and biennials on several continents — thus helping to compose powerful female landscapes of diversity, from the pale faces of Irish and Spanish women to dark-skinned women from Panama and Brazil, for example — this São Paulo native seems to find little resonance in her home territory. This neglect is understandable in a country that has coined a term as contradictory as “cordial racism”. “Brazil is refractory to the discussion of differences in the field of art: women, men, Black people, Indigenous people, white people, Japanese people, Jews, Muslims, homosexuals, internal colonialism, cultural plurality, class structure. Rejecting them out of hand is seen as cool. In this respect, the Brazilian art system is not ‘politically incorrect’, but anti-democratic,”¹ notes Paulo Herkenhoff in relation to the group exhibition Manobras Radicais (2006), which he curated as one of his rare incursions into this discussion of gender in the visual arts in Brazil.

Moysés’ approach moves between almost Baroque excess — the soundtracks in many of her videos; the use of strident colours, especially red, across different media; and the repeated use, in many forms, of symbols drawn from an overly sweetened vision of reconciliation between men and women, such as the bridal dress — and a quieter development, evident in the hushed, orderly wanderings of the somewhat phantasmagorical participants in her performances and in the dissolved, incomplete and permeable formalisation of elements from these actions. These include written fragments that fade away after washing, or the clothing worn by the women in Diluídas em Água [Diluted in Water], for example. In this latter work, presented in Mi Pueblito, Panama, in 2013, one of the most interesting versions of her oeuvre unfolds through a performance centred on a public fountain, originally intended to adorn a folkloric site for tourists in this Central American country.

Between dissonance and whispering, the specific situation of women who are victims of violence remains a disturbing phenomenon at the national level. Protective legislation has been introduced, such as the Maria da Penha Law (2006), and institutions advocate for women’s rights. There are shelters, women’s houses and other places serving similar purposes, yet many victims still fail to report the violence they experience. “What is worse than suffering in silence is going to a police station and hearing the chief officer say: ‘I’ll apply for a protective order. You can go home now.’ She goes home, and the order is never issued,”² says Eleonora Menicucci, head of a federal agency for Women’s Policies.

Beth Moysés recorded this agonising wait in a series of drawings titled Mulheres Divididas [Women Divided] (2004), in which slippers and flat shoes overlap in lines and volumes, as if bringing into focus the zone of discomfort being depicted. She returns to this technique in a series produced for the exhibition Hilo Conductor (2013) in Seville, Spain. In this latest group of works, the artist initially appears more placid, using graphite, with seams, stitches, darns, tears, holes, thimbles, needles and similar images dominating the surface. However, this calm is deceptive. It soon seems that something is about to be hurt and that this apparently stable structure is on the verge of collapsing.

The video and photographs that make up Coral Celestial (2013) also convey this tense stillness. By collecting statements from priests who regularly hear confidential accounts from women suffering domestic violence, Moysés combines images of the victims’ lips, the wooden screen separating priest from penitent in the confessional, and the priest’s off-screen voice, which constantly encourages them to seek official assistance to put an end to their distressing situation. Even if members of the Catholic Church have become more progressive — one cannot help recalling the Inquisition’s vigorous persecution of women in the Iberian countries — the persistent sense of discomfort remains as we finish viewing her works.

“One must take into account that issues related to the body and female sexuality are still very sensitive subjects in the politics of international relations. Why? Because gender inequality persists. The body and female sexuality are constantly polemicised as the main battlefields for conservatives and progressives worldwide,”³ argued Canadian-born Françoise Girard, president of the International Women’s Health Coalition.

If the facts corroborate the unease felt by the most attentive observers — as does the uninterrupted sound of hospital equipment in the performance Huecos del Alma (2008), perhaps one of her most successful incursions into this language — it is a pleasure to see a new generation of artists, pursuing very different lines of enquiry, engaging in dialogue with Beth Moysés’ work. The battlefield remains open to sensitivity, even if there is still a long way to go before reaching the final outcome — hopefully a positive one for women.

Mario Gioia, May 2013

Mario Gioia holds a bachelor’s degree from the School of Communications and Arts at the University of São Paulo (ECA-USP). In 2013, he coordinated the event Zip’Up for the third time. Organised at Zipper Galeria, it showcases works by emerging artists and new curatorial projects. In 2012, he curated Ela Caminha em Direção à Fronteira [She Walked Towards the Border], featuring works by Ana Mazzei and marking the first solo exhibition in the Zip’Up series. Other exhibitions held that year included Lugar do Outro [The Other’s Place], by Julia Kater; Transmission, by Geraldo Marcolini; Íntima Ação [Intimate Action], by Carolina Paz; Planisfério [Planisphere], by Marina Camargo; Requadros [Re-frames], by Mariana Tassinari; and the group exhibition Imagem Mi(g)rante [Migrating Image].

In 2012, he also curated Incerto Limite [Uncertain Limit], by Shirley Paes Leme (Bolsa de Arte, Porto Alegre); Miragem [Mirage], by Romy Pocztaruk; and Distante Presente [Distant Present], by Gordana Manic (both at Galeria Ímpar). In 2011, he launched Zip’Up with the group exhibition Presenças [Presences], followed by Já Vou [I’m Coming], by Alessandra Duarte; Aéreos [Lofty], by Fabio Flaks; Perto Longe [Close/Far], by Aline van Langendonck; Paragem [Stopover], by Laura Gorski; Hotel Tropical, by João Castilho; and the group exhibition Território de Caça [Hunting Ground], all accompanied by his curatorial design.

In 2010, he curated Incompletudes [Incompleteness] at Galeria Virgilio; Mediações [Mediations] at Galeria Motor; and Espacialidades [Spatialities] at Galeria Central. He also reviewed works produced at Ateliê Fidalga, presented at Paço das Artes. In 2009, Gioia curated Obra Menor [Minor Work] at Ateliê 397 and Lugar Sim e Não [Yes and No Place] at Galeria Eduardo Fernandes.

From 2005 to 2009, he worked as a reporter and writer covering arts and architecture for the Ilustrada section of the daily newspaper Folha de S.Paulo. He currently contributes articles to various media outlets, including the magazines Bravo and Bamboo, the UOL internet portal, and the Spanish magazine Dardo and Italian magazine Interni. He co-authored the book Roberto Mícoli (Bei Editora) and is a member of the critics’ group at Paço das Artes, where he provided critical accompaniment for Black Market (2012), by Paulo Almeida, and A Riscar (2011), by Daniela Seixas. Mario Gioia was also a guest critic for the 2012–2013 Photography Programme at Centro Cultural São Paulo (CCSP).

¹ BUARQUE DE HOLLANDA, Heloisa and HERKENHOFF, Paulo (eds.). Manobras Radicais. São Paulo: Centro Cultural Banco do Brasil, 2006, p. 17.

² ARBEX, Thais. “O crime contra a mulher está mais cruel.” O Estado de S.Paulo, Caderno 2, 25 March 2013, p. D2.

³ SAYURI, Juliana. “Não ande sozinha?” O Estado de S.Paulo, Aliás, 10 March 2013, p. J5.