…continued

(Rio de Janeiro, Brazil)

Alone with a rush of adrenaline, I take a left at the sign to Corcovado. I follow the arrow to the Christ and shortly after I stop short at the gate finding it closed and locked. With a stab of disappointment I am faced with another set of options. I can still catch my friends if I run down the hill or I can look for another way. I believe that if a door is locked there is usually a window of opportunity open somewhere. I spot the tracks of the tram and know they must lead to the statue. With a pang of loneliness and the thrill of independence I set off up the steep mountain. I wish my friends were with me but the track pulls me forward.

The steep and winding tracks leading to the top of Corcovado

I hike along on the wooden slats of the tracks through the chattering jungle for over an hour, counting my steps, sweating, breathing deeply, racing the sunrise. Toward the top, the jungle gives way to a view of islands and open sea. An elegant black bird circles above. All is quiet except the soft noise of buzzing insects, a subtle wind and the far off hum of a helicopter. At the end of the tracks I hop onto the platform finding the station and ticket kiosk completely empty. Not a soul is in sight. I walk through the turnstile, paying the early morning fare of $0. My pace quickens and I can see the back of the Christ as I scale the stairs. I walk onto the platform made of smooth granite and stroll to the end, his face to my back.

The sleepy ticket booth - 6:45am

Time stops. The clouds float in utter stillness at the mountain peaks surrounding me. The sun appears out of the mist and slowly illuminates the beautiful city of Rio de Janeiro. The endless expanse of ocean dissolves into a sweeping sky and my heart unfolds into eternity. I linger in the sensation for eons and finally turn around to see the great statue towering over me. My eyes roll up and my head drops back with reverence as I take in the size and the magnificence of the Christ. The expression of serenity on his face imbues me with a deep feeling of peace and I sing silent praises to all of creation. Orange and pink light travel up the mountain warming my face.

Something makes me turn around in time to see three white doves fly off into the ether.

It is midnight.

Perola waits for us at the bottom of our hill and five of us pile into her tiny car.

The other seven hire a collectivo (communal taxi) to take us up the steep mountain of Corcavado. Near the top, on the way up to the statue of the Christ sits the abandoned Paineiras hotel.

The hotel has been abandoned for over thirty years. The original Paineiras was built by Pedro II the Emperor of Portugal in 1884. It was created as a rest stop for wealthy travelers on their way to the statue of the Christ, the symbol of Rio de Janeiro. Visitors would board a train from Paineiras to continue the rest of the way up to the famous monument.

Corcovado mountain and the curvy road and near vertical railroad track leading up to the Christ

Our car strains up the mountain road, engine smoke trailing behind us. It slows to a stop at the top of the bluff. The taxi pulls up behind us and we gather under a weak street light with dense jungle all around us.

We argue with the driver over price eventually giving way to his demand. The taxi pulls away and we investigate. The place is huge, its façade peering out from the jungle. Ariel is the first to disappear through a ground level window and we quickly follow. With a few flashlights we take in the sight of the main room. Its high ceilings supported by tall ornate pillars suggest a faded splendor. Beautifully tiled floors obscured by dust lead us to grand doors opening into different hallways.

We take a quick inventory of options and decide to climb the spiraling, decayed staircase to the top. Wandering down obscure, spooky corridors we peer into forsaken rooms full of peeling paint and decrepit, shattered furniture. Perola and I sing in the dark, our voices high and harmonic, the sound waves fluttering like angels and ghosts down blackened hallways.

Perola sings

We enter a far wing of the hotel with broken windows overlooking the lights of the city glowing white and yellow far below. We decide to stay for a while and sit down in a courtyard on the cool tile floor. We light little orange candles and I pull out  some bread and peanuts for us to share. Hours pass and cold creeps in. I hope we can make it through the night to catch the sunrise at the statue of the Christ. I notice my friends getting tired and cold. I rub my hands together to warm them.

Birth of the bonfire

Ariel embeds matches into the hot wax of the candles and we watch them ignite with a fiery hiss. The flame grows higher and I add some pieces of the cardboard candle box to the fire. The warmth from the little flame gives us some relief from the frigid breeze and some of the guys run off to scavenge some wood from the rooms. They throw in the wood and we cultivate the flames. Now we have a real fire, a tall, crackling hot fire that leaps at us with the shifting of the wind. I am warm and happy. We sit around the fire telling stories. Emboldened by the dim light of flames, we let our guard down, building an intimacy the light of day does not allow. I ask a question and we take turns answering them. Time passes quickly and the sky begins to show signs of dawn. It is 5:30am and I am excited that we have made it through most of the night. Sunrise is one of my favorite miracles to witness and I only have the opportunity to see it when I’ve stayed up all night. We were so close!

Just as the dawn creeps closer, one of the crew says she feels like going home. Then another joined in and soon the whole group was ready to leave. With my best argument I try to convince them to stay. But they want beds and blankets, the comforts of home. Water is poured onto the fire and the last of the coals are stomped out. The group wanders out and heads back to the car. Perola takes a load of people down to base of the mountain to catch a taxi and the rest of us walk down the hill waiting for her return. I linger behind walking the slowest, my thoughts still back in the old hotel. I think of the beautiful fire and the special intimacy it stirred within us.

We amble down the hill, passing the crossroads with the sign pointing to the Christ. My body freezes. Missed moments and the colors of sunrise flash in my mind. Memories of times where I parted with my desire because it wasn’t the inclination of others pull at my chest. I felt a mental juncture. If I leave with the group there would be some regret for sure. If I go on to the Christ there is open possibility with unknown results. After two minutes of inner struggle and very slow walking I ask my friend Rico to tell the rest of the group I had to go. I turn around and start back up the hill with a flutter in my stomach and a skip in my heart.

To be continued…

My eyes are tired from a long day of painting and I have to fight them from closing. It’s 4am and everyone is asleep as I sit on the balcony of my hostel in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. The lights of the Santa Marta favela twinkle on mountain in front of me and a cool breeze brings freshness to my face. Maxine, my FlutuArte co-conspirator and I updated our boat inventory this evening and we were happy to count 35 boats in progress of being painted. We also learned that instead of about 65 boats in the harbor we have now counted 75…

That’s a lot of boats!

We want to paint all of them. Some have damaged rooftops which need repair before painting is possible. We are raising money to fix about 15-20 broken roofs. If you would like to help us purchase building materials please donate here.

Many artists are in the process of painting their boats. Here are a few-

Suav, Rio de Janeiro

Shalak Attack, Montreal, Canada

Bruno Smoky, Sao Paolo, Brazil and Mike Makatron, Melbourne, Australia

Pazito, Bogota, Columbia

Barbara Pereira, Rio de Janeiro

FlutuArte is growing fast. Last week we had a paint jam at the harbor followed by a BBQ boat trip. Johnny Boy, the owner of the first boat we painted, took us out on a cruise and we counted twenty five people from twelve different countries aboard the boat.

The project is in full swing and I am happy for the opportunity to be working with so many talented people from around the world.

Tomorrow we will meet up at the harbor in the afternoon after the fishermen come back from the sea. Then we plan to check out an abandoned hotel near the top of Corcavado mountain near the Christ the Redeemer statue. The building has just been purchased for renovation so it may be one of the last chances we will get to explore it before it’s transformed into a posh hotel.

Photos and more to come~

Continued…

After the last chant came to an end we sat silent for a time, I opened my eyes with a new clarity and crispness as we all came back from the worlds we had visited. We sat marveling at the nature around us, whispering, laughing and enjoying each others company on the floor in the crown of the castle. We gazed up at the sky from our place in the shadow of the great Corcavado mountain, its glowing blue light shining down on us.

 

It might have been late, it could have been early but I savored the idea of moving on. After a quick check in we all decided we wanted to see more of what could be found in Parque Lage. We wound back down the rocks piled up around the castle tower making our way through tall grasses and back over the barrier to the rock paved path. We crept through the darkness, every far off noise bringing with it a slight shudder in my chest. Perola led us up a long curving stone staircase at the edge of a pond that shimmered in the night like smooth black glass. Surrounded by the sound of rushing water we reached the end of the stairs, ducked another barricade and scrambled up the precariously slippery moss covered stones to the top. We rested there, on the large stones at the top of the falls, the sounds of traveling water lulling me into a deep contented peace.

It was awhile before we moved again but eventually we came down from the falls and followed the dark pathways of the gardens to the opening of a cave. I could hardly believe my eyes as we walked through the mouth of the cave and into a vast cavern. The air was moist and smelled of minerals and long stalactites hung from the ceiling as we walked slowly into a world far away from any that I had ever known. We rambled through long winding corridors and along paths cut into the side of the cave that overlooked an abyss of rock formations. Our wandering led us to a cave formed underneath a giant boulder supported by two other massive stones and we all crawled in and found our places on cool damp rocks and sat comfortably silent. In the stillness I felt such love for all my friends, I could not see them but their presence was near and tangible.

 

Fired by curiosity we explored further, discovering more caves. We crossed mossy bridges over trickling streams, climbed over the gate of the aquarium to catch a glimpse of the fish in their off hours and scaled walls onto the balconies of the old Parque Lage mansion. On our way out of the gardens we passed by the castle that we had climbed in the beginning of our journey. This time we went inside the lower chamber and I felt a sense of the magic that we had conjured there hours before. A flashlight was shone into the top of the inside of the tower revealing three bats hanging like pods from a cocoa tree. Perola started to sing, her angelic voice stirred something in me and I began to sing with her. Our voices weaved a melody. Mica, who came with us, added the bass and made the walls of the chamber resonate. The sounds reflected off the walls of the towers and returned back to us with the fullness of a choir. The harmonies awoke the bats and they began to fly in circles above our heads. We all stood looking up, mouths slightly open, watching them dance in the stale air of the tower.

Before we left Perola led us to the old wash house where th

e slaves used to wash clothes. There was a long washtub and above it, carved into the side of the mountain was a water chute about a square meter around. Four of us, pulled by an intense desire to know where it led, climbed into it, army crawling into the black hole until we could come to our knees further in. We had no idea where it would take us and it was in this moment while crawling up the stone chute in the dark full of a shivering excitement that I remembered the moment hours earlier where we were sitting around after dinner pondering the evening’s activity. In each moment, I thought, choices present themselves. Each choice leads to many others and the sum total is what, in retrospect, we call our lives. What if I had stayed home that night and watched a movie? What are the choices I am making now and where will they lead me?

If I follow my heart and passion, I will be on to the next adventure.

Climbing up the water shoot

Check out this video about FlutuArte!

It’s the next best thing to being here:)

Enjoy!

Stay tuned for Choose your own Adventure part 3…

The Parque Lage in Rio de Janeiro is an old mansion from the 1800’s that’s been turned into a visual arts school. It sits at the foot of Corcavado, with the iconic statue of the Christ at its peak. Below, lies the Botanical Gardens, rich with mystery and the voice of nature. I was excited to go back… but this time at night.

                                                        

Within five minutes of hatching our plan to sneak in to the Parque Lage, our crew had grown from three to ten, accumulating a few near-strangers from our hostel. We filled an entire collectivo van and made a beeline for our destination. For weeks our hostel veranda had been transformed into an office and every waking moment was devoted either to the harbor or our computers, connecting worlds to create a new one in FlutuArte.

So I was excited to take a night away from our work for a clandestine mission and explore the unknown.

Our van zoomed along the dark streets of Rio under the canopy of massive trees, roots dangling like giant dreadlocks from their sturdy branches. Suddenly we slammed to a stop in front of the old stone wall of Parque Lage. We piled out and waited for a lull in the traffic so we could make our move. One by one our group disappeared from the street as we took turns leaping over the wall. Once over we were instantly transported into a secret garden. I felt a flood of excitement and childlike glee that I felt had been missing lately. I could feel my heart jump at the sound of small twigs snapping under our feet. I could hear my breath, heavy amongst the sounds of jungle as we walked along the cobbled paths in the dark as quietly as ten people could.

No one knew what to expect. Were the grounds of Parque Lage posted with guards? What could happen if they discovered us? Our wide eyes danced with shadows and silhouettes as we were guided by our knowledgeable friend Perola. Her unfaltering stride made it clear she knew her way around the gardens. She and I clutched each others hands as we marched boldly in the direction of the abandoned castle that I had recently visited during the day. Perola knew the way to the top.

Stars shimmered in the night sky and the statue of the Christ glowed like a ghost far above us on the top of the inky black mountain of Corcavado. Century old imperial palm trees hovered over us as we climbed up a steep pile of stones and over a barricade, hugging the side of the old castle turret climbing higher and higher until we made it to the circular roof where the ten of us sat in a close circle on the inside of the castle cornice.

I lit a single candle in the center of the tower on a beautiful old tile made of stone inlay and we all fell silent. We invited the sounds of the jungle to fill our ears and we listened as they became intricate, revealing the cries of wild monkeys, the songs of birds, frogs, insects and dark utterances of the unknown.

Then I made a sound. A long round shape of sound and Perola joined in. Soon the circle was chanting together in unison and we all dissolved into the harmonies, ten friends connected by a weave of hands, hearts and voices. Perola guided us to listen to the sounds, to feel the wind, to become part of the nature around us and I fell into stars and carbon dust. Our singing ended, silence fell once again and time reappeared. We were faced with our next set of choices. Should we move on to the waterfalls, stay here on the top of the castle, or head back home?


To be continued…

I still feel the rush of excitement as I lay in my bed reliving the memories of last night’s trespassing excursion in the expansive jungles of Parque Lage in Rio de Janeiro.

Adventure is in my blood. It is life at its fullest. I want to know this world intimately and explore as many of its mysteries as I can in my short time here. When I am on an adventure I feel most alive, my heart beats louder, my vision seems sharper, and my mind more alert. I feel a surge of unspeakable wonder when I am confronted with open possibility, exotic imagery, and new, unfamiliar situations.

The thrill and wonder beckon me.

When I was a child I lived in a house with a big yard that wrapped around it. It was a playground for fun and adventure with a vast front lawn, gardens full of flowers, vegetables and bugs, a climbing tree in the back (perfect for spying into the neighbors living room), an old canoe full of stagnant water with it’s own ecosystem of squiggling mosquito larvae and other tiny water creatures, a greenhouse that my father built for his plants, a clubhouse he built for us kids, the tool shed full of wide shelves to lay on, and the big wood pile which served as a way to climb onto the rooftop.

Our favorite activity was the monster game. My brother and I would go outside after dark and ring the doorbell over and over until our dad had no hope for silence but to come out and engage in our sport. He became the monster and we ran from him, sneaking through the bushes, hiding in the trees, climbing the woodpile onto the roof to escape his grasp. Sometimes my dad would conceal himself under a tarp in the garden and snarl as we approached, causing all hairs to stand on end as we fled shrieking. Sometimes, with a deep growl, his face would emerge over the fence we were hiding behind causing us to drop everything and run for dear life.

The spirit of adventure has stayed with me as I’ve gotten older. It has been the times I’ve strayed off the beaten path that make up the best experiences of my life.

One of my favorite memories is meeting up with seven adventurous strangers from all over the world in Beijing. Connected by the Internet we concocted a plan to spend the night on the Great Wall of China. We met up early on a brisk, and misty fall morning and hiked Jiankou, the “Wild Wall,” an extremely steep, crumbling and forbidden section of the wall. With not a tourist in sight we made our way along the endless path overgrown with plants. Snaking along the top of the Huoyao Mountain we came to settle on the tallest peak in the “high-flying eagle watch tower.” We gathered wood to construct a fire inside one of the chambers and huddled close together to generate warmth in the chill of the frigid fall night.

                                                               The Great Wall of China

                                               Inside the “high-flying eagle watch tower.”

I love the intensity of my heartbeat when I am thrilled with fear like the time I climbed the Brooklyn Bridge. It was a tranquil Thanksgiving night and while most people (and we hoped most cops too) were sedated by their big turkey dinners, my friend and I swung around the suicide gates far above the ground and walked up the long, steep cables of the iconic bridge. At the top of the cables we climbed a final ladder bringing us to the top platform where the American flag stood, gigantic, flooded with light, and waving in the wind. Breathing deeply, we were filled with a sense of triumph as we enjoyed sweeping views of lower Manhattan, Brooklyn and the East River glistening with lights under the foggy sky.

                    The cables of the Brooklyn Bridge leading up to the top of the towers

                                        Walking down the cable of the Brooklyn Bridge

I have never felt more alive then on the chilly night I spent alone in the Mayan ruins in Palenque Mexico. Prompted by a desire to see the ruins in a different way than the overpopulated tourist trap that it had become, I disappeared into the jungle during the day and hid out for several hours waiting for the park to close. Night fell and I snuck back onto the grounds under the cover of darkness to spend time in solitude on the ancient pyramids and in the courtyard of the great palace where the Mayans held their ceremonies. Surrounded by ceaseless lightening flashes, I passed the night counting shooting stars and imagining the ruins around me in its finest hours. I listened to the wild sounds of howler monkeys, birds calls and strange bugs while doing rounds of yoga to warm myself and reflected on my life in far away NYC. In the early morning, without a wink of sleep I made my way to the Temple of the Sun and watched the sunrise over the horizon, giving light to the expansive jungle. Shortly after, I retreated back into the tangled undergrowth. I fell asleep on an old tomb before I rose again and reemerged,  dissolving into a mob of tourists after the park had reopened.

                        Sitting on the Temple of the Cross at the Palenque ruins in Mexico

Now I am in Rio de Janeiro working on FlutuArte, an art project I started with my friend Maxine Nienow. Rio is a city rich with potential for thrill and wonder. Lush nature is present everywhere and coexists with the urban landscape. Late last night as the FlutuArte team and I were finishing dinner we were talking casually about making plans to go out or watch a movie. I suggested the guys have a boy’s night and go out to Lapa to find some live music. Maxine and I were toying around with the idea of watching City of God and then the spark of adventure ignited our hearts.

“Let’s sneak in to Parque Lage and explore the Botanical Gardens!” I said.

An adventure in Jardin Botanica would entail hopping the wall dividing the city streets from the feral jungle. Once inside we could explore abandoned castles, waterfalls, caves and untold mysteries. It was a plan filled with endless potential. We had to do it. The excitement was contagious and soon there were ten of us ready to go, equipped with water, snacks and flashlights.

With great anticipation, we filled an collectivo van and made a beeline to the jungle.

To be continued…

I am so moved by words right now that I have no words. I will try to conjure some~

The fishermen inspire me everyday at the harbor. Today the FlutuArte crew and I held a series of interviews  to find out what life is like in their Havianas.

We asked Americo, one of my favorite pescadores “When did you decide to become a fisherman?” He replied without hesitation, “It was never a decision, I was born a fisherman. I am married to my boat, and the sea.” We asked him how he wound up at the harbor? “Because life is a circle,” said Americo.

I have been thinking a lot about the fishermen. What is it about them that fascinates me? Beneath the surface their waters run deep. Their life with the sea connects them with the currents of nature and dissolves time. Days drift into darkness and thoughts flow unobstructed. Some of my earliest memories were on a boat in the middle of the ocean with nothing in sight but natural green islands, water and sky. I felt that I was one with everything. A small part of existence, both insignificant and profound.

Poetry is the language of those who live by the sea.

I will leave you with a translated poem from Johnny Boy aka Joao Silva, the owner of the first painted boat of FlutuArte.

The Last Romantic

Do not wanna be the last
Not so little the penultimate
Just come to me expressing
To wax the words of love
Report feelings of real heat
Where the heart beats strong
The thrill comes with love
Passionate and revealed
Fully interlaced
Bewitched by my muse
Woman of Light
My mistress
Queen
Ruler of My Heart

I write verses
poetry
tales
And my troubles reported
Sorrows
Joys
I declare love
Wills and emotions
I want to kiss
Caress
Regardless of drowning
For in your arms I want to be
And lose myself and give myself

Today I took a day off.

We have all been working so hard on the FlutuArte project and in great need of a recharge, so we sought refuge in the jungle.

Dan, our project manager, Federico, who just arrived from Brooklyn NY, and I took the day to visit Parque Lage, a gorgeous mansion which now functions as a visual art school located in the Jardim Botânico in Rio de Janeiro.

Parque Lage is surrounded by a dense tropical landscape filled with unusual plants, monkeys and mystery. Within ten minutes of walking around we had already found a huge cave complete with tall sloping ceilings and stalactites.

Spellbound and jaw-dropped we climbed inside them and wandered around the natural dark corridors below portals in the ceiling streaming in light from the outside world.

“Really?!”

I was astounded that this kind of beauty and adventure has been at my fingertips this whole time while I have been so absorbed in painting a harbor. A balance is clearly needed and we have declared to take a day of rest and adventure every Sunday.

We explored trails, traversed mossy bridges, and discovered castle like structures before we came to rest in a square of grass in front of the old mansion at the foot of the backside of Corcavado mountain. Far above me stood the statue of Christ the Redeemer, overlooking the marvelous city of Rio, this time facing away from me, offering me a new perspective. The soothing sound of falling water from a near by fountain danced in the background as I pulled out Joseph Campell’s book The Power of Myth.

I am inspired and recharged to return to the FlutuArte mission.

40 some boats left to go, 20 of which need their rooftops repaired. We are about to break out the skill saw and plywood my friends… it’s getting serious.

More from the harbor soon…

Parque Lage at the foot of Corcavado with the Christ the Redeemer statue perched on top

The Botanical Gardens

The view from inside one of the caves in Jardin Botanica

Parque Lage

Students sit at the cafe inside Parque Lage

I am sitting on the veranda of our hostel on a big couch squeezed between two of my favorite people in the world Maxine Nienow, my co conspirator in the FlutuArte project, and Dan Bratman, our designated writer and project manager.

The glowing statue of Christ shines down on us and the lights of the Santa Marta favela twinkle like stars in front of us within the black silhouette of the majestic mountains of Rio de Janeiro.

Tonight and every night, we are here… making the magic of FlutuArte happen.

And what a production!

Ironically painting makes up the smallest part of my life these days. Spreadsheets, fundraising, schedules, web development, artist scouting, social networking, letter writing, and meeting after meeting fill my days and hours spent away from the harbor.

FlutuArte office II, the south wing

The idea for FlutuArte was born back in February after painting the boat of captain Joáo Silva. It was a crazy idea. I can hardly believe we had the balls to go through with it. Maxine made up a vital part of the plan. She believed in it.

So much transpired in those first couple of months. The beginning of FlutuArte started very very slowly… painting one boat at a time, gradually showing the fisherman that a painted boat was perhaps nicer than a plain one. Each newly finished boat generated more interest from the other fishermen and FlutuArte began to spread gradually, like a happy virus. It was all very exciting.

Then there were the hard times. I remember the weeks that I was alone in Rio before Maxine came back to join me after going back to NYC for Fountain Art fair. I lived by myself in a small room close to the harbor in Urca and rode my bicycle to the boats every day. The days I spent painting at the harbor alone were some of the best days and some of the most challenging.

Roasting in the sun, my mood vacillated between a state of joyous rapture and sheer terror as I floated on a boat roof, surrounded by 60 other boats with blank tops, the vision of them painted locked in mind. It was a mission near-impossible… I sometimes wondered if I was crazy, could this project even be realized? What if the fishermen began to see us as intruders in their comfortably predictable world. I believed in the contagious aspect of the art, but what if they started to say no? What if they closed the door on FlutuArte?

After weeks of uncertainty and anxiety and relentless persistence Maxine came back and brought with her the other half of my faith. Together we slowly earned the trust of the fishermen, talking to them about their lives and asking them what they wanted to see reflected on their boats. We would go around the harbor every Saturday and Sunday when the fishermen came back from the sea to talk to them and see if we could paint their boat. Some said no. In the early stages one fisherwoman who initially got excited about the idea changed her mind explaining that she didn’t want to be the only weird one with her boat painted.

Maxine talking to the fishermen

I wrote a last week that FlutuArte has brought me to experience a new level of awesome I had never felt before. I have finally seen the culmination of the last two months of hard work. After painting many boats we have reached a tipping point. Fishermen are now coming to us to see if they can get their boat painted. The woman who before was scared of being the only different one came to tell us that she wants a beautiful white bird on her boat.

The fishermen are proud of the designs. They sit on the stairs at the sides of the harbor overlooking their newly  painted boats and talk about the work. They, most of whom have never set foot in a proper gallery are now the owners of art and the keepers of a floating gallery in the works.

Maxine and I stood on the bridge in front of the harbor, arms locked together in indescribable bliss as we watched the rooftops of several boats being painted simultaneously by artists we deeply admired. We walked from one end of the harbor to the other to watch their progress with huge smiles on our faces and a sparkle skipping back and forth between each others eyes.

Now we have a movement.

But it’s not over yet. Many of the rooftops need to be repaired in order to be painted and we still need to get permission for about fifty boats. We have a lot of work ahead of us! Float on!

Marcelo Zissu paints a giant squid

Combone makes magic

Ian Blumstein and Ilana row back to shore after varnishing Pérola Bonfanti’s mermaid design

FlutuArte presents Marcelo Zissu who left Friburgo, Brazil to adopt a gypsy lifestyle. He has an impressive versatility in artistic styles and keeps an even more impressive standard of excellence for all of them. Zissu, a member of Riot de Janeiro, was living in NY, is now here in RIo, and has yet to decided on his next destination. His art is in constant movement as a reflection of his nomadic lifestyle, you never know where it will end.

_________________________________________________________________________________

I have been super busy with days full of action and little rest, but will have time to write in depth about my recent experiences with the FlutuArte project tomorrow~

Until then*********

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

After a full and glorious day of painting on top of fishing boats in the hot sun, the FlutuArte team took Maxine Nienow’s honey bee boat out to sea, making a return trip to Forte da Laje, the abandoned jail at the mouth of Guanabara Bay.

We entered the fort via rope ladder attached to a crumbling bridge

With us came many friends and local artists including the guys from Riot de Janeiro, the rebel street art crew we’ve been doing a lot of collaborating with here in Rio. It was an honor for us to share the experience of the jail with them, having lived their whole lives in Rio but never knowing the charm of this place. Rique Inglez, one of the guys wrote about the experience of the fort saying “it’s one of the most dreamy and beautiful places I’ve ever been in my life. We watched the sunset with a 360° vision of  the city, sitting on old big cannons.” 

Atop the giant cannon pod

A samba band called Pretensao that I had encountered in the Vidigal favela (slum village) a few weeks back came with us on the adventure. They drummed, strummed, and shouted with terrific energy, gracing us with a lively soundtrack to the dreamlike scenery as we cruised under the bridge of the harbor and out into Guanabara Bay. The Christ the Redeemer statue watched over us from the colossal Corcavado mountain as we weaved between colorful fishing boats bobbing up and down lazily in the sparkling water, the sun casting a golden glow over everything it touched. Sweet magic.

Pretensao, a local band, jamming out as we cruise toward Forte da Laje

Ariel, grilling up some FlutuArte flavor

Ariel Segatto, one of the core members of the FlutuArte project fired up the grill and the aroma of sweet pineapple and smoky shish-kabobs filled the boat. I spent a good portion of the ride to the fort mashing brains with Dan Bratman another core member of the FlutuArte team who had just arrived that morning from New York City. We gushed over the epic scenery and brainstormed about the FlutuArte project and how and why it could change the lives of those it touched.

When we arrived to the fort, we entered the only way you should invade an abandoned jail from the 1700’s… by climbing the dangling rope ladder up to the dilapidated bridge which leads to the entrance. Once aboard the island we made our way to the top of the fort the only way one should… by climbing up an ancient staircase, flaky with rusting metal, through the dense, dark ambiguity of the center chamber of the fort and out the giant gun shafts onto the top. There the folks experiencing this for the first time proceeded to freak out from the glorious epic-ness of it all.

Life is awesome

Guanabara Bay was all around us, the holy mountains jutting out of the sea, black as night against the backdrop of the electric orange sunset. Is this my life? ! My heart was overflowing with emotion and gratitude for the beauty that surrounded me.

As the sun crept below the horizon, we left the fort the only way one should… by gripping hands and jumping off the old bridge, screaming loudly as we plummeted into the cold, salty waters below.

Oh Rio!

I love you so.

Here are a couple recent write-ups of the FlutuArte project from CreamHotel and Meu Rio.

Enjoy!

Tomorrow we are hosting the second FlutuArte BBQ boat trip where we will catch the sunset from the top of an abandoned jail from the 1700’s on an island at the mouth of Guanabara Bay here in Rio de Janeiro. Photos to come!

I love mosiac, I especially love mosaic on the scale where it transforms space, creating a unique and colorful environment. A couple of my favorite artists, Niki de St. Phalle and Gaudi have done this so well. So has Jorge Selarón who, for over 20 years has been tirelessly tiling a very tall staircase in the Lapa neighborhood of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

Standing in front of Selarón’s labor of love, I’m imbued with a sense of awe, imagining the days, weeks, months, the years, the years, the years, he has spent there with his cement and tiles. The stair ascends over 150 meters and along side of it are old bathtubs made into planters housing tropical ferns and palms. When the public started to take notice of his staircase people began sending him tiles from around the world to incorporate into his masterpiece. It is easy to spend hours looking at all of the tiles and the detail that he has imbedded into his work. Selarón has created something that will last long after he is gone. But Jorge is not finished yet, he can still be found on his steps, working, or in his studio nearby selling his whimsical paintings.

Selarón sits on his stairs with a big smile

Like Niki, Gaudi, and Selarón I want to one day, make a giant work of art that people can enjoy long after I leave this world. Selarón’s magical staircase is a must see for anyone who comes to Rio de Janeiro.

Escadaria Selarón (photo courtesy of Everytrail.com)

A porcelain owl peeks out from Selaron’s signature red tiles

The bathtub planters on the sides of the stair

The stairs at night, a popular and magical place to hang out.

(Photo courtesy of Doug Koh)

The guys from Riot de Janeiro, one of my favorite street art crews, just sent me this video which was filmed one lovely afternoon while we were painting an underpass in San Conrado in Rio de Janeiro. Enjoy!

Rio de Janeiro-

It has been over a month since the birth of the FlutuArte (floating-gallery) project and in this time, despite my shoddy Portuguese, I have come to know the fishermen of this harbor quite well. They all have such vibrant personalities. We communicate mainly through hand signs, gestures and broken Portulez (A mix of Portuguese and English). 

Out of all the fishermen so far I have two favorites. João Silva and Americo. João was the key, the doorway to the beginning of this project, the first one to agree to have his boat painted.

João Silva (AKA “Johnny Boy) back in the day

João Silva now on one of his tour boats 

João Silva or ”Johnny Boy” (as I like to call him) is a special fisherman. He was a photographer for 36 years and traveled the world before he settled here in Urca, buying several fishing boats. João is one of the more “well to do” fishermen in the harbor. He makes most of his money, not by fishing, but by offering tours of Guanabara Bay and it’s surroundings. As of the last ten years the fishing industry in Rio has dwindled as fish have become more scarce. The fishermen suffer for this, bringing in barely enough money to stay afloat.

Here I introduce Americo, who next to João is my favorite fisherman. Americo doesn’t own a boat, he barely owns a shirt, in fact I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him do any actual work. He hangs around the harbor, deeply tanned, often tipsy and always friendly. I didn’t always like him. My first impression of Americo was that he was an annoyance, a drunk, and kind of always in the way… stepping on the wet paint, rocking the boat, staring at us for hours as we painted. As more time passed I began to know Americo to be one of the biggest sweethearts I’ve met in Rio. One especially scorching day, where the skin on my back was in danger of frying off, Americo scavenged a big red umbrella for me. He proceeded to hold it above me as I painted… shifting it along with my movements, always making sure that I was in the shade. He stood there for hours on the top of the boat with me, teaching me Portuguese words and sheltering me from the sun. 

Maxine Nienow, me, Americo and the big red umbrella on top of Johnny Boy’s boat

Through getting to know Americo better I am once again reminded not to judge people based on my first impressions of them. It’s so easy to write someone off due to your own projections of who you think they are. I am happy that I got a chance to get to know him better and to debunk my initial opinion of him. I was happy to find that I couldn’t have been more wrong. He wasn’t an annoying drunk, he was wasn’t creepily staring at us painting, he was and continues to curiously admire the process of his home being transformed.

Americo taking a nap on João’s boat, falling asleep with the heart pin I gave him resting on his chest.

There are many prejudices about the fishermen in Urca. I hope that this project can help the people of the neighborhood to see them in a different light also. I know the floating gallery will bring more interaction with them, the owners of the artwork, and I hope that with this interaction comes more awareness about who they really are, kind men with colorful souls.

Rio, de Janeiro

Earlier today I was at the harbor rowing around in a little rowboat with my Brazilian friend Ariel, paddling from boat to boat to record information for FlutuArte.

FlutuArte (floating-art) is an urban, open-air gallery that we (The Free Art Society) are creating by painting murals on the rooftops of the fishing boats within the port. This gallery will be viewable from both land and sky.

The fiery sun radiated down upon us as we logged the name of each boat and checked out their rooftops. A number of the roofs are very old and decayed to the point where they can’t be be painted. Many fishermen don’t have the money to restore their boats so we are meeting with a boat repair company to see if they will help sponsor the project by mending some of these rooftops.

Taking notes of the boats

Fishermen and construction workers take a break to watch the painting process

Some fishermen have more money than others and are currently fixing their rooftops so that we can paint them. In fact, as of December 2011 the whole harbor has been undergoing a massive renovation. They have been repairing the sidewalks and repainting the stairs that frame the square. They plan to finish the work in May, which is also when we will complete the floating gallery.

We are planning a big celebration, of course.

Quadrado da Urca

Quadrado da Urca circa 1920 (photo courtesy of www.rioquepassou.com)

The harbor in which we are painting (called Quadrado da Urca) is unique and historical. It was first designed to be a swimming pool in the early 1900’s before becoming a port to the 60+ colorful fishing boats upon which we are painting murals. It is nestled between Pão de Açúcar (Sugar Loaf mountain), and Cristo Redentor (the iconic Christ the Redeemer statue). Helicopters host aerial tours and fly back and forth from these two famous landmarks with a birds eye view of our burgeoning boat gallery.

(photo courtesy of google earth)

The harbor on the left, across from the Yacht Club of Rio de Janeiro on the right.

(photo courtesy of www.rioquepassou.com)

The humble harbor lies in Urca, one of the most expensive neighborhoods in Rio and is surrounded by luxury houses and located right next to the yacht club where Rio’s elite house their million dollar yachts.

I have heard from numerous sources that the fishermen of the square are often looked down upon and viewed by many in this privileged neighborhood to be second class citizens. It brings me tremendous joy to be able to give these colorful fishermen, who are full of soul, these gifts of art. Their port is being transformed and I hope it will inspire them and instill in them new sense of pride for their harbor.


Some of the “Pescadores” (fishermen) of Quadrado da Urca

The murals are coming along! We are starting a new boat tomorrow, I will post photos of the fresh art soon.

We are currently raising money for supplies.

~Help us realize this project!

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It’s the end of a long day painting at the harbor followed by an inspiring night in Copacabana.

Finishing a day of painting at the square. ~FlutuArte!

It’s 4am and storming here in Rio de Janeiro as I zoom down Avenida Atlantica along Ipanema beach in the back of a dark taxi van filled with empty seats and me.

I am coming from a new friends house, a girl named Perola whom I deeply admire. I spent the evening with her and a few of her eclectic friends in an apartment in Copacabana, singing, playing music and practicing Portuguese. Perola’s artwork is like something out of the renaissance era. She can sing like a both a haunting ghost and a glorious angel and she has a special spark of infectious glee. She will be painting a boat for FlutuArte, the floating gallery project which I am working on every day with Maxine Nienow among other collaborators.

We just launched the website today: www.FlutuArte.com

Check out my recent interview with AS-ISN’T about the Hearts of the World project.

Heart painted by Moon, China

AS-ISN’T CO. is an open-ended, collaborative thought experiment – an online forum for the exchange of ideas. Within the context of Information age advancements in social technology, AS-ISN’T seeks to channel the creativity of individuals toward the challenges faced by humanity at-large.