[The image at the top is a photo performance titled "Debris Beach" by Glauco R. Gonçalves, with recordings by Henrique de La Fonte, participation by Berta Valentin, and contributions in editing and filming by Luiz da Luz. The setting is the old Celg building.]
At Avenida Anhanguera, number 7171, take a seven away, you already know. Nazareno Confaloni passed away in 1977. But I'm not here to delve into cabalism, maybe some cannibalism, considering the end of unique urban forms and the very notion of the city, happening as it is chewed, bitten, and shattered. This gives it identity or soul (to please the more metaphysical or even “Frei Confa,” perhaps).
Still, in one of those preambles of an ever-lurking desire for text that is chaos in its form, it’s worth noting that you shouldn't expect one of those nostalgic defenses of the most conventional and needy architectural form (all clean and lifeless). If all goes well here, I'll kick speculation to the curb and offer some praise for urban form in a state of chaos, as a living portrait of a somewhat dead time.
I even think this text can only be written here because of the theme that structures it—a deserted building with a destroyed million-dollar mural inside—could only exist in a city with its own erasures. I invite readers to check out a text I wrote titled "Internal Colonialism of the Rio-São Paulo Axis." I’m not even sure if that’s exactly the title anymore.
But the fact is, if a super-famous modernist artist from São Paulo or Rio had been abandoned and left inside a building by an architect and artist also very interesting in their time (Gustav Ritter), this building and mural would have had a different impact, different prices and weights, and neglect would be unthinkable. Here, beyond the erasure of the SP-RJ cultural axis, which sees everything since it’s within it, lives a superb potential because it is within this erasure that other dark and renegade corporealities have resided for the past two years. It is within this disregard in a state of history that we have been playing, creating, cataloging, watching weeds, mud, and fungi grow, and seeing cut Bavária cans proliferate. Only because of the disdain and ignorance of Ritter and Confaloni in the (epi)center of Brazilian culture, are we and the “nóias” enjoying some creative or destructive appropriation, or both, in this masterpiece of Goian and undeniably Brazilian architecture.
This is a short text, and I won’t cover everything I’d like. It’s meant for some parts to fall, others to hopefully stand, and I won’t have the time or patience to dive deep into the debate on preservation. But at once, I defend a thesis: the old Celg and later Seduc building, designed by Ritter with a Confaloni mural that was set ablaze so the building could be demolished, is a museum of collapses. Not the first in chronological terms, perhaps the first to be claimed as such due to its potential, and here I do: let the building collapse and fall slowly, for it is a center of interaction. It is not abandoned; I, others, and many artists, the “nóias,” the plants, and the remains of marmitex are there.
As it stands, slowly falling, the building is a vigorous product of studies in the constructive power of Goian-Brazilian modernism. Inside it, plaster and glass fall, but the structure impassively looks at those passing by on the main avenue, Anhanguera (rebranded by us as Avenida Maria Grampinho).
Let’s take it as a field for experiments and uses that have been deemed unviable and unfeasible so far. A center for practices on the fall of the sky. A fertile laboratory of exercises to live in the cities that are approaching in time, a future that is here. The first preservation that involves letting it fall. The preservation that defies the beauty that attracts speculation and kills the soil with the dollar sign.
Before discussing the mural, it’s worth mentioning/measuring that the building is really something! [There’s still time for debris tourism. In partnership with CVC¹ and 123 Milhas, we’ve been taking groups on Sundays.] It showcases the basics of modernist elements but displays fine specificities in its style. It has no windows; it’s completely filled with gaps on its two long, almost infinite sides. Light abounds, and the cobogó weaves across the front of the building, creating patterns on the floor and walls. In fact, the only wall on both sides of the entire building, I’ll say again: the only wall on both sides of the building is where the once-beautiful, now-demonized mural by Frei is located.
Confaloni’s mural was defaced with paint in 2020. It was created in the mid-1960s, almost a decade after the building. Obviously, the ones who damaged the mural were the owners who thought this would allow them to bring the building down. Little did they know they would create a unique piece, the only Confaloni Conflagrado. The masterpiece of the violence that extirpates speculation.
Now, in August 2023, the building’s owners have paid, they say, 500 thousand reais to a company to remove and restore the mural, yes, to remove the wall with the painting they themselves vandalized. They cut it into eight pieces of Confaloni with black paint on top. Each piece weighs about one and a half tons. What weighs the most is the black paint full of demons that was thrown by the speculators onto the Frei. Frei taken by demons could also be the title of this text.
The paint thrown by the owners to kill the building became beautiful as the leaks spread, fungi, moss, and micro-life covered the mural, creating another one, in interruptive movement.
The owners cut the Frei into eight pieces not out of love for art, evidently. They removed the mural to exterminate the building. On top of that, they realized they could come out as good guys saving the work they violated and defaced. There’s a risk we might applaud them when the work is restored. There’s a risk they might even sell the restored mural to the state for a higher price than they spent restoring the work they deliberately sabotaged.
The building remains there, and while it doesn’t fall, we continue to make our beach in it. Many lives from different realms also continue. We miss Confaloni under demons, but we won’t pray for him.
Originally published on Ermira Cultura - Confaloni Conflagrado: Notes on the Extirpation of/within Speculation | ERMIRA (ermiracultura.com.br)
¹: I kindly request that the term "CVC" be accompanied by the note below:
"The artist Cássia Nunes has been developing a performance work titled 'Guided Tour of the Goian Arts Complex' over the past three years. Initially, the work took place as live performances broadcast on the internet, where the artist follows a route on the GO-080 highway. These actions establish a performative game with elements of Goian culture, urban landscapes of the Goiás capital, and institutional practices in the art field. Wearing a mask from the traditional Cavalhadas festival in Pirenópolis-GO and a red cape, the artist transforms into a cow-hero-educator, guiding the viewer in telepresence. Photographic records of these actions make up a series of postcards created as a strategy for circulating the performance. Currently, the artist is exploring the continuation of the work through guided visits for groups interested in exploring the circuit located on the GO-080. To facilitate these visits, Cássia creates advertisements based on the aesthetics and language of CVC Viagens. It is noteworthy that the mention of the invitation, although fictional, to visit the Confaloni conflagrado has a notable influence from the conversations and experiences, from many populating and creative interludes I shared with Cássia. The guided tour she conducts fosters and nourishes ideas that also intersect with my own debris tourism. So don’t be surprised if you encounter, even invisibly, a figure with a Pirenópolis cow mask in this text, walking among debris and GO's of the city that shines blue, like the horns of the mask used by Cássia."
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