Apagador (Eraser) is a suggestion of sculpture. It does not fill the internal space with a solid gesture that impedes our entrance, but with volumes made from white sheets draped from the ceiling. These sheets of fabric flap gently in the breeze and give way with the slightest brush. They are shafts of light, or at least lit columns, empty on the inside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The hollows of Apagador quickly drive us to the horror vacuii and to its opposite, fear of the excessively full. There is no way of knowing whether Carvalhosa erased or subtracted the internal volume of the place, if that volume simply ceased to exist as if it had never been there, or if it was torn out, leaving scars and agony. As such, we don\u2019t know if we are suffering or not. The draft in the room cannot sweep away the premonition of some misplaced weight and solidity. It makes a coffin for air. A coffin of air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Somewhere out there in the world there must be someplace where white is the color or mourning, but that place is not here. Here the visitor hurries to fill the vacuum with all manner of spirituality.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When the incidental noises of the work cease, the sheets stop flapping in the breeze and the sound of footfalls recede, we can see that there is no silence in this place. There is always some background noise, a horizon of sound. It is the noise you get in films between a snatch of dialogue and some soundtrack. Between a rumbling sky and labored breathing, there\u2019s the voice of the film spool, the whisper of something being seen, the friction between film and projector.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We are left none the wiser as to the source and meaning of this sound until we hear the rumble of a plane flying overhead. We realize that what we are hearing is actually a recording of noise that filled that same room at some time in the past. Someone tells us that it is a recording made every night and played throughout the following day. All of a sudden, that noise sounds romantic, like the memory of a lover\u2019s moans. Yet it remains a disquieting sensation. It is as if a curtain has fallen between us and the day. This extemporal night cannot impose its darkness. Simply put, the day becomes gray and sullied with sound.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
White noise contains all possible frequencies. It has no place for anything else. Its dreams and desires remain trapped within you. White noise contains all frequencies. It returns to the body what the void has stolen from it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On erasures and their beginning\u2014our eyes before an explosion, the instant at which the white and black fuse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Greeks painted their sculptures with black hair and red mouths.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We leave our plaster white.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Robert Rauschenberg erased a drawing by Willem de Kooning and presented the result as a work of his own. De Kooning was none too pleased.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In 1966 Robert Morris wrote a three-part essay entitled Notes on<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sculpture 1-3, in which he speculated on the idea of Gestalt in sculpture, a sculpture whose parts are so tightly joined that perception cannot separate them and whose scale stands between the monumental and a size measured to the body.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Cy Twombly, a well-known painter, is also a sculptor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He only works with whitewashed wood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Beatles\u2019 White Album<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Jo\u00e3o\u2019s white record<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Branco from the Tit\u00e3s<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The white teeth of a smiling Louis Armstrong<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The white of Friday<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The white on white of Malevich\u2019s cross or of Alberto Pitta\u2019s cloth panels<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The white keys on a piano<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The blanks I draw<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The white women who gave themselves to me<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The pale whitey<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The white that is invisible to itself<\/p>\n\n\n\n
White-collar white<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The white man\u2014forever in charge<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The white of their eyes\u2014fire at will<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The clouds<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Casper the Friendly Ghost<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Let the whites work it out among themselves.<\/p>\n\n\n
\n<\/p><\/body>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"template":"","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","footnotes":""},"decada":[5],"class_list":["post-4038","texto","type-texto","status-publish","hentry","decada-5"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/acervocarlitocarvalhosa.com.br\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/texto\/4038","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/acervocarlitocarvalhosa.com.br\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/texto"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/acervocarlitocarvalhosa.com.br\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/texto"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/acervocarlitocarvalhosa.com.br\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/acervocarlitocarvalhosa.com.br\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/texto\/4038\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4040,"href":"https:\/\/acervocarlitocarvalhosa.com.br\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/texto\/4038\/revisions\/4040"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/acervocarlitocarvalhosa.com.br\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4038"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"decada","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/acervocarlitocarvalhosa.com.br\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/decada?post=4038"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}