I like Ana Calzavara’s paintings.

 

In each work something is subverted; whether in the unlikely angle, in the backward, urgent or unstable time, in the stagnant space, simmered or silently expanded, whether in the palette of whom dominate the technique, or in a conversation crossed (in all meanings) with the history of painting, whether in distancing (and therein lies another experiment) from a concrete-neo-concrete Brazilian tradition. Either by not adhering to any trend or “style”.

 

It is also through commitment to the world in which it exists and, excluding narratives and pamphlets, revealing with conviction — without fear — the ordinary, the abandoned or invisible through a gaze marked by exclusion.

 

Beautiful to see life sprout between. See her breaking the cement, the prejudice, the violence, the secret, the power and her dementia, the perversion and like the Brazilian  Carlos Drummond's Rose's poem imposing herself as a flower. “Breaking the asphalt, boredom, disgust and hatred”. Or like our great writer João Guimarães Rosa, being Drummond: “Living — isn’t it?”

 

Paintings that have now arrived at the gallery and made me happy.

 

I am not going dancing because that would be ridiculous. And if I did, no one will know.

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Maneco Müller