This is a "permanently temporary" exhibition where plants, fungi, mosses, and other beings contribute to the creation of works that make up Mudda. Alongside this, there is a collection of over a hundred pieces of pixo and graffiti. All of this exists in a space inhabited by those skilled in the art of survival.

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A deliberate act of audacity: to forge, impose against all odds, a museum by force. Thus, a collection of multispecies authorships is born, coming together in a unique spatial arrangement. A museum infiltrated and made of infiltrations, where water creates, dancing in never-straight forms. The inauguration of a museum that, once open, never closes.

Certainly, the greatest work in Mudda's collection is the absence of a specific piece. The hole left by Confaloni symbolizes the eradication of history: eight tons of memory removed, after the conflagrated panel. The hole where the panel once was becomes a canvas of sky, sky of the Cerrado, sky of the sawed panel.

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The curatorial choice to highlight works with anthropic and post-anthropic authorship aims to encompass the diverse creative forces at play. The starting point is the building designed by the human Gustav Ritter, but since its planned abandonment, it has been transformed by the brush of time and multiple agencies. A canvas for the realm of fungi and plants, and also a canvas for so-called marginal human art.

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In every second of the past four years, production has not ceased. It changes incessantly. Multiple worlds emerge. In the shrubs of the second floor, future forests announce themselves. A museum that embodies the quintessential work of Western civilization: a landscape of ruins, an incessant factory of collapses. It's worth noting that this is not one of those nostalgic defenses of the most mundane and needy architectural form currently in vogue. Paradoxically, it still points to the attack on history exposed here.

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It is within this state of historical neglect that we play, create, and inventory. Only due to the disdain and ignorance about Ritter and Confaloni is it possible to enjoy some creative/destructive appropriation of this masterpiece of Goiás architecture.

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A museum of collapses. Let the building slowly fall: it is a living gathering place. Plaster, glass, and the structure faces those passing by on the major road (rebranded by us as Avenida Maria Grampinho).

Without windows, it is entirely covered with gaps on its two long, almost endless sides. Light abounds, the cobogó entangles the entire facade of the building and casts its patterns on the floor. In fact, the only closed part of the building was Confaloni's mural.

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From the collapse springs the collection. We invented a game to find titles for the vastness of the works. Thus, we reaffirm the artistic gesture of touching materiality and transforming it into something else.

The Confa is gone. New states of matter emerge.

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Thus, we are preserving what is falling, and what hasn’t been preserved continues to fall.

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We welcome all forms of life and states of matter.