Capela do Tamanduá – Oil on Canvas – 11″ x 14″ or 28 x 35 cm (2018)
The painting noted to the left, is now in the home of two collectors from Brazil: Wilson “Xixo” Ramos Filho and his wife Veridiana “Veri” Marques Moserle. I gave it as a gift in exchange for some work that Veri had done for my wife in Brazil, and as it hung in their New York apartment, Xixo lamented that he felt he knew the location of the painting. When I told him where it was, a small chapel in the southern state of Paraná in Brazil, he immediately had a reflection of a specific time and place for him. Below is that reflection, first in the translated English and then, below that, the original Portuguese.
Tamanduá (English)
Veridiana and I were given, by the couple Nivea and Greg, this beautiful oil on canvas painting of a chapel located in a remote community about 8km, on a dirt road, from São Luis do Purunã, Balsa Nova district, in the state of Paraná.
Married to Prof. Dr. Nivea Bona, Boston University, the American artist Greg Burns succeeded, when the couple lived in Brazil, in capturing the melancholy context of the old Rota dos Tropeiros, caravan route of the mule and cattle drivers, on which mules and cattle were taken from the state of Rio Grande do Sul to São Paulo and, in the opposite direction, mate tea, typically produced in the state of Paraná, was taken from the Campos Gerais region to the gauchos, as the residents of the state of Rio Grande do Sul are known in Brazil, on this side of Rio da Prata.
About fifteen years ago we went from São Luis do Purunã to Tamanduá on horseback with Mauro Auache, his sons Eduardo Auache and Gustavo Auache, Murilo Zanello Milleo with Murilo Zanello Milléo Junior and my children Francisco Proner Ramos and Bárbara Proner Ramos, and we stayed at a lovely lodge, very close to this chapel, belonging to relatives of Giuliano Bruel Recchia, who at the time studied with Fran and Bá at Escola Trilhas. At night, after dinner and roasting Paraná pine nuts on dry branches of the Paraná pine tree, in semi-darkness, we told the children some stories of the adventurers who spent months trekking on those trails, facing not only bad weather but also the wilderness that was often hostile to the descendants of stinking European Castilians who imposed their prejudices and myths, with blows of the cross and of the sword, on the indigenous peoples. We lied to the children, telling them that sometimes on moonless nights, such as that one, you could still hear the screams of the indigenous people and of enslaved African people who died at the service of the mule and cattle drivers. That
didn’t frighten them. At the age of six they were already immune to mythical stories invented by adults without any particular regard to the facts in order to impose codes of conduct upon children and upon those devoid of critical awareness. They preferred to run around in the dark to catch fireflies and make a natural lantern inside a glass preserve jar, whose lid had been duly perforated with a knife tip so as to allow the captured fireflies to breathe, while the grown-ups, complaining about their unaccustomed aching bottoms, treated themselves to large swigs of wine
served in jelly glasses borrowed from Bruel.
I don’t know if there are any fireflies left, but the chapel of Nossa Senhora da Conceição do Tamanduá is still there and can be visited during the day or even at night when the reflection of the moon’s silvery rays enables us to discern the Devonian escarpments that distinguish the geography of the place. Just avoid moonless night. You already knew that, didn’t you?
Perhaps, by reading these memories, Greg and Nivea will understand the emotion I felt receiving this beautiful gift that they gave us affectionately and without knowing these stories. (https://pt.m.wikipedia.org/…/Ficheiro:Capela_Nossa…).
Xixo, 22 May 2023
Tamanduá (Portuguese)
Ganhamos, Veridiana e eu, este lindo quadro, óleo sobre tela, do casal Nívea e Greg, com a capela localizada em uma remota comunidade distante uns 8km, por estrada de chão, de São Luis do Purunã, distrito de Balsa Nova no Paraná.
Casado com a professora doutora Nivea Bona, da Universidade de Boston, o artista plástico estadunidense Greg Burns conseguiu, quando moravam no Brasil, capturar o melancólico contexto da antiga rota dos tropeiros que traziam muares e gado bovino do Rio Grande do Sul para São Paulo e, na volta, levavam a erva mate da região dos campos gerais, produto tipicamente paranaense, para os gaúchos do lado de cá do Rio da Prata.
Há uns quinze anos fomos a cavalo, de São Luis do Purunã até o Tamanduá, com Mauro Auache, seus filhos e Gustavo Auache, Murilo Zanello Milleo com Murilo Zanello Milléo Junior e meus filhos Francisco Proner Ramos e Bárbara Proner Ramos e acampamos em uma simpática pousada de parentes do Giuliano Bruel Recchia, que à época estudava com o Fran e com a Bá na Escola Trilhas, bem perto desta capela. À noite, depois do jantar e da sapecada de pinhões sobre grimpas, na penumbra, contamos para as crianças algumas histórias daqueles aventureiros que passavam meses nas trilhas, enfrentando não apenas as intempéries, mas uma natureza selvagem e muitas vezes hostil aos descendentes de fedidos europeus castelhanos que impunham seus preconceitos e mitos, a golpes de cruz e de espada, sobre os povos tradicionais. Mentimos para eles que, nas noites sem lua, como aquela, às vezes ainda se ouviam gritos de indígenas e de africanos escravizados que morreram a serviço dos tropeiros. Não se assustaram. Aos seis anos de idade já estavam imunes às histórias mitológicas inventadas pelos adultos sem particular apreço pelos fatos para impor códigos de conduta às crianças e aos desprovidos de senso crítico. Preferiram correr no escuro para caçar vagalumes e fazer um lampião natural dentro de um vidro de compota com a tampa adequadamente perfurada com a ponta de uma faca para permitir entrar ar aos pirilampos capturados, enquanto os adultos reclamando das dores nos desacostumados fundilhos se tratavam com grandes goles de vinho servidos em copos de geléia emprestados pelos Bruel.
Não sei ainda há vagalumes, mas a capela da Nossa Senhora da Conceição do Tamanduá ainda está lá, para ser visitada durante o dia ou mesmo nas noites em que possam ser divisadas, por prateados raios dos reflexos lunares, as escarpas devonianas que singularizam a geografia do lugar. Só evitem as noites sem lua. Já sabem, né?
Talvez ao ler estas memórias Greg e Nívea compreendam minha emoção com o lindo presente que, carinhosamente e sem conhecer essas histórias, nos regalaram (https://pt.m.wikipedia.org/…/Ficheiro:Capela_Nossa…).
Xixo, 22 de maio de 2023