Tuesday, September 28, 2010

some cool links and videos

cool graffiti art interactions with humans

NY Times article about education and brazil
(thanks annemarie for the links!!!)

Terrific BBC article about women's vote in the Brazil election (thanks Michele for the heads up!)

trailer for new graffiti book: Trespass

incredible graffiti art piece in NYC by "Os Gemeos" (the twins) who are Sao Paolo-based graffiti artists. Here's their website

Recent Videos Eder made and put on Youtube
"Sem Sistema"
"O Natural da Rua"

recent art from eder:



















Sunday, September 19, 2010

Sunny Sunday

I am here on my front balcony transcribing an interview with 3 graffiti artists. It's hard to hear them over the sounds of a Sunday, which maybe you want to know about?

A pagode song plays in the distance... ("paaaah pa pa pa pa... go down to the floor, go down to the floor" and other baseless lyrics)... the kids, maybe 7-10 of them, play in the little walkway in front of our house (there's no "street" it's just a sidewalk that divides the two rows of houses). They have little three-wheelers that kids too big for them ride on, bikes with tires that are flat and the metal screeches as they ride, scooters. one kid has on one roller blade. they yell, laugh, fight, play play play. They tell me that I speak funny, "what are you - French?" they ask... "say something in English!" and when i do the laugh and scatter, resume playing, unsure how to respond to that funny language. It's 3pm, and most adults are sleeping despite all this noise. People eat big heavy meals for lunch - feijoada (beef stew), rice, meats... we always eat at Tia (pronounced cheea) Luissa's house, and she always serves the same thing - feijao, (a lighter style of feijoada, less meats both in quantity and variety), a chicken stew (to die for), white rice, farofa (a manioc flour-based meal cooked with butter and onions), "salad" (green-leaf lettuce with vinegar, salt, bit of olive oil), cod-fish with potatoes, pasta (for her daughter Tais who likes it), and a liter of coca-cola, fresh passion fruit juice, some beers. Needless to say, I'm stuffed, and should be snoozing as most are, including Zaya, but there's too much to do (blogs, laundry, skype calls, emails, dishes to wash, family visits, journal entrees, interviews to transcribe, thank-you letters to write, reserving plane reservations to go to sao paolo, etc, etc, etc) so here I sit.

I love sunday, because it's the only day that most of the people have off... they even work saturdays!! who said Bahianos are lazy? that's the stereotype in all of Brazil, there are endless jokes about a lazy Bahiano, but if you were to live here, and watch as man, woman and child carry heavy bags and sacks, concrete or anything else up and down the morro (hills) where they live, you'd be convinced otherwise. I like the family visits, they way they joke with each other (they certainly can be ruthless - a testament to the unconditional love they have for each other). I love the spontaneity of it all, how each Sunday unfolds differently. I never know which relative will come and visit when. I just have learned that I better put Zaya in a cute outfit on sundays, because you never know.

The weather has been great, slight winds, partly cloudy, high '70's... but one day this week it got pretty hot, the eve of another scorching summer has begun. When we got home that day we took cold showers (the only kind you can) to cool off... and I thought, let's put Zaya under the water to cool her off (she usually takes delicious warm baths in her little plastic bath bin I always have pictures of). Hilarious, I hand her to Eder and as soon as she's under the water (I guess we should have introduced her slowly) she's letting out a blood-curdling scream. oops.

Things have certainly developed a rhythm, a schedule, a flow... and this has freed me to think about so much of my life. I am deeply sad to not be at PAIHS this year. This sadness creeped in out of no-where, because I didn't feel it when I left last year in the middle of the year. It only hit when the school year started this year and I wasn't there. After a little nosing around, I found out that my old office/classroom is no longer mine, no longer a free and open democratic space for any and all students to hang out, talk politics, heat up their food, get some water, browse my library of books, chat on internet or their cell phones. Now it's the teacher's office. (what a slap in the face!). And my job position wasn't renewed, there is no partnership coordinator, no one nurturing PAIHS' partnership with Make the Road. Now, there's just a Student Activities Coordinator, and it's the gym teacher. I feel slighted. Did I spend the last 2 1/2 years in a position that the gym teacher took over? And finally, there IS no Puentes office on our school's floor, it's been moved to the first floor. Space and place mean everything, so out of sight, out of mind. It left a pit in my stomach, a guttural nausea, that I just can't shake. To top it all off, right now, the U.S. Congress has the DREAM Act up for a vote that is closer to passing than ever. What's the Dream Act? It's the legislation I've been working with immigrant students to get passed since 2001!!!!!!!!!!!! I know, I know, this is a god thing! While I'm ecstatic that it may pass, I cringe that I'm not going to be around to watch it actually happen. Anyway, that's minor, it should pass. it has to. if you're reading this and it's around September 18, please please take action! Help get it passed!!! http://bit.ly/NCLR_Action_Alert.

On another depressing note, as I turn my head 180 degrees from the past to the future, I wonder what the hell I'm going to do with my life? I have this masters' degree in City Planning, and have no conventional experience doing city planning except for small bouts of community organizing here and there. And in the field of education, where my resume is abundant with experience, I hold no title, degree, or certification to get a foot in the union-saturated field (I know it's a good thing there are unions, but the credentials needed to get into schools works as a gatekeeper for us non-conventionals). So, what will I do in this national "crap" economy and even crappier upstate NY one, when I show up needing a job, dirt broke after my 15-month brazil escapade? should i go back to school like so many in the unemployed pool do? could i handle school with a one-year old? The last place I need to be is depending, even more, on my parents. Speaking of that...

Returning again to the past, this time recent, I've had some time to reflect on the last 9 months of my life and realize how crazy absolutely insane it was! remember packing up the apartment, throwing it all in the back of the 22-foot truck, then driving that truck in the middle of winter all the way through manhattan to the GW bridge and up to rochester in caravan with my mini and pete's cars? at the time, i didn't know that was just the START to the craziness. What I realize now is that i think you go through it, and you survive, you just get through. But now, in perspective, I am coming to my senses. It also helps to talk to other Brazilians, young women friends, who hear my travails and shake their head and ask, "how did you do it?" One friend, who is 7 1/2 months pregnant, had 3 baby showers here and stocked up on 3000 disposable diapers (they have "diaper baby showers" here so that's pretty much what you get). She has an immaculate baby room ready, a terrific crib with an expensive cotton mosquito net, dresser, closet, bathtub and changing table. the works.

I remember when I was 7 1/2 months pregnant, how I'd squeeze out of our one bedroom on the roof of Eder's house, into the construction zone of concrete, dust, dirt, bricks, wood, construction workers (who changed every 2 weeks - as we went through 3-4 sets of them one quitting after another). I squeezed around the work with my big stomach, out the door, down stairs, to the kitchen of my mother-in-law. She gives a nasty glance, grumbles hello as I try, again, to give her a happy "Bom Dia Dona Maria!" I start breakfast, trying to wash as many dishes as I can to "make up" for the use of her kitchen. I wait for a break in her housecleaning to wash some of my clothes, trying not to step on the dog pee-stained newspaper in front of where you hand-wash clothes. At least the view is beautiful out that back room. At least my feet aren't swollen. At least today it's only 98 degrees and not 100 degrees like yesterday.

I try and get some exercise, hauling my big butt up to the main road, get on a small bus after waiting 1/2 hour for it to come. Completely car sick from speed bumps and rush-hour bumper to bumper traffic through one of the most densely packed, overpopulated informal favelas in Salvador (Pau da Lima), I descend from the bus and begin the 20 minute walk down a dusty road, down a hill and up a bigger one, to the sanctuary of a private colegio that hosts a pool open to the public for a minimal fee. I swim to my heart's content and I do say, it's the best part of my day. by 5:30 though, the sun has set and I head back, walking the dark road for 20 minutes, waiting even longer for a bus, get home. Back to the craziness... mosquitoes out in droves. The fan pulls all the dust in with it as it cools me off... and ohhhh, I long to get out of this place. Eder and I were mostly not speaking to each other the stress was so intense, our entree into living in Brazil so emotional, and when we did, it was about stressful conversations long over-due... we had to make financial decisions about the apartment we're constructing, baby decisions about the type of labor, decisions, decisions decisions. I was miserable. I cried often. I slept little. It was mid-march. My mom would be arriving, and I'd be leaving to go on a short vacation with her and pete to Chapada, get away from this place. After that, I'd pack my suitcases and move out of this house and into their rental house ... It all was too much. Even moving to the rental house didn't help settle the dust. traffic jams prevented us from getting to dr.s appointments. we got lost all the time trying to get from a to b in a city with the worst signage imaginable. there were "little" irritants in that rental house - a constant dog-barking, neighbors blaring music, dirt accumulated along the road and tromped into the house all the time, mold and dirt everywhere. nothing worked. And the rains didn't stop, so much that there was a landslide down below eder's house crushing the roof of the house below, scaring the daylights out of eder's mom and whole family. Huge damage, but only economic, no one was hurt. Then there was my torturous 35 hour home birth labor ending in a wretched transfer to the hospital, attempted epidural (4x) and then the realization that my worst fear - a cesarean - was upon me. I spent 3 days in that hospital happy to be away from everything. glowing that i was a mom, that i had a daughter, and on enough drugs that the pain didn't set in. Until i got home. the incision gets infected and i can't move from the pain. eder and i are new parents figuring it all out (which is code word language for - our relationship was extremely strained). we're living in this humungous house where, bed-ridden, my meals had to be delivered to me upstairs and on the other side of the house. it was all i could do to just nurse. I barely could make it to the bathroom that was off my parent's room, and had the biggest accident one night when, trying not to wake mom and pete so i kept the light off, I didn't see that the toilet seat was down. oops. anyway, this is what zaya was born into. chaos. we moved into our home when she was 5 weeks old, no fridge, no faucet sink, a roof that leaked, one night we flooded the whole entire apartment. more family drama with the inlaws downstairs. stressful relations with my mom who was staying here with us during her final week in salvador, getting bit alive by mosquitoes. ahhhh... how on earth did I/we all get through it? No doubt Zaya felt the stress, from the womb into the world. At some point, you lose site of what's normal. What's tolerable. I kept my head on straight by just reassuring myself I'd get through it. there would be better days. i could be much worse off. indeed. all of that is true. life feels luxurious right now... every single thing has gotten better - we have a kitchen sink that works! we have a refrigerator. we have clean fans that work. the weather is nice. we're getting good interviews and graffiti research. we know Zaya and her moods, we know if and when she's going to freak out. Well, not always, but at least its easier to handle now. As fun as it was to have so much change in such little time (quitting my full-time job at 6 months pregnant, packing up my entire apartment and putting it in storage upstate and moving to the Southern hemisphere to have the baby and research some graffiti), I'm not sure I'd highly recommend it to someone else. I paid the price for my wild and crazy ideas. I live and learn (or do I?). At the same time, I'm so glad to be where i am.

once again, so very blah blah blah of me to go on and on here.
I'll end with two things:
i'm reading parable of the sower and parable of the talents (octavia butler) and sceerd for the future!!!!!!!
i dreamt last night that i lived in someone else's manhattan apartment and they had a huge in-ground pool in their bedroom, and i walked into a university classroom and i was the professor of this fabulous course (not sure what but i liked it). ahhhh dreams.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Interview with Baga (graffiti artist)

xhere's my latest bio that i finally finally got written. it only took a couple of months i think!!! ; ) productivity is wayyy too slow.

Biography:

“The first time I saw a graffiti magazine and all that you could produce with spray, I couldn’t believe it. I became crazy about it.” This was 2002, a couple years after Baga has already started tagging. He knew and hung out with several of Salvador’s most notorious crews - DDT GLS, STI, GS, T. It wasn’t easy for him to start doing graffiti, he taught himself to draw, but wasn’t able to apply his designs to the street. After taking a class with Lee in Sao Caetano, he and others began to improve their technique. “I was dedicated to things that happened in the streets, people who didn’t value or believe in the potential (of graffiti). This is what strengthened me in my path alone.” At the time, Baga points out, Salvador’s public didn’t give the same support to graffiti that graffiti artists had in other Brazilian cities. “We faced a lot of discrimination. At the time, everything was pichacao. We were taken to the police station, they’d take our materials, hit us. We suffered because of this repression, because of the lack of information on the part of the public.”


Like most of Salvador’s graffiti artists, it wasn’t easy for Baga to prove to his family that he wasn’t going to become some “lazy ass”, but that being a graffiti artist could be a meaningful profession. Today, he tells his mother, graffiti is the source of his income. In addition to getting commercial jobs on the side, Baga has been a part of the Salvador Graffiti Project since 2005. He credits the Project for helping transform Salvador’s perception of graffiti and for supporting artists to make a living off their art. He considers his work in the project as more commercial and that the artists involved work more as decorators than artists, helping paint schools and other public buildings, but lack complete artistic freedom and discretion. Baga reminds us that the Project got started during a round of public debates with the youth Ile Aye Hip Hop Network with the intent of ridding the city of pichacao. But since the start, people have seen that it wasn’t going to be possible because, as Baga points out, “pichacao is also a culture. It might be an illegal culture, but there’s no way to eliminate it, because it’s a virus that will always be present... Lately, there’s been less pichacao in the neighborhoods, and more in the center of the city.”

Baga is also an MC and is active in Salvador’s hip hop community. He credits hip hop with helping open his eyes to political and social issues that he never would have learned about in school or from his family. “Graffiti is a way to politicize youth, to show our identity in society. (And) hip hop is a way to critically view things, to learn about my rights in society, in the government. I read literature that is important for all of us - as artists, as MCs, anyone, as normal citizens - reading is the base. It’s reading that got me to thinking in this different way.”

Baga’s graffiti is ever-evolving, he is constantly studying, changing his technique, looking for ways to improve. He started out with images of people, today he works more on letters, realism too, and says that maybe in the future he’ll do 3-d. He shares advice with upcoming graffiti artists: “You want to be a graffiti artist, you have to study, draw, paint, everything, everything that you can study, you should study. Study the environment, look at your life, what surrounds you, inspire yourself, design, it’s that, art is life. While there is life, there will be art, and while there’s art, there will be life.”

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

A day in my life...


Now that things have settled down and I'm...

oops - eder just said "Carly, she's hungry, no?" I guess this blog is to be continued.. ; )

(one hour and much breastfeeding, and then cleaning up spit-up later)...

So, that is such a typical occurrence in a typical day, and it happened so authentically, I kept it as part of the blog because it is so telling of how my days unfold. So many attempts to do something, just to start it, and then oh! she's awake, or, she's hungry. Or, some family arrives to visit... Nursing seems to take up the bulk of my time though, with cleaning and family visits coming in a close 2nd and 3rd. What research?

At least when I nurse, I can read!!! I tried doing a lot of good non-fiction research-type reading but that led to a lot less reading than I'd like so, instead, I am allowing myself to indulge in fiction! Right now, I'm absorbed in Octavia Butler's Parable of the Sower... I seem to be into futuristic anti-utopias, I also read a Handmaid's Tale a couple months back. I managed to blaze through Jorge Amado's Tent of Miracles and Into the Wild by... can't remember that author's name. Fiction is a sinch and a delight to read as I get to remove myself from my own reality for a moment. I think I use to get that fix when I went to work and became absorbed in that reality, so now that I'm home all day and I've only got my own, then it's a nice respite. I'm jumping ahead, but while we're on the topic, I have started to allow myself to indulge in something embarrassingly sinful and baseless: I top my day off not with a nice glass of wine or a fresh cold beer, but a telenovela - soap opera - "Passione." I'm thinking of it as a cultural study, an ethnography, part of my research into Brazilian life and culture, & hey, and I get to learn some dramatic vocabulary too! ("CHEGA! CHEGA!") Anyway, to say the least, its fun to jump into the lives of my imaginary friends - Melina, Diana, Mauro, Fred, Toto, Clara, Dona Bete, Danilo, etc... - and forget, for one hour, all of life's stresses so I can focus on theirs.

So that's the end of the day (the novela ends around 10:30 so I'm off to bed then unless the internet pulls me into that lonely late night abyss if I happened to have a late afternoon cup of coffee). My night is spent trying to get some sleep. When Zaya starts to make fussing sounds on the monitor, the first to hear it will jump up out of bed, oops, that's not correct here. I mean, we will crawl out from under the mosquito net trying not to let it get untucked too much, go to her room, remove her from the crib (and around the mosquito netting), and get her on the breast asap before her now crescendo of cries starts to wake neighbors. I'll nurse, nodding off as those hormones are released making me soooooo tired. she snoozes too, eats, snoozes, eats, snoozes (on the boob). But when she's done, and we try to get her to bed, she is wide-eyed and ready to party. So me, him or usually both of us will stay up hanging out with her, eat some cereal, start the tv to catch part of a late-night movie, and try to tire her out, give her a night-cap and get her down so that she'll sleep just a little bit more til around 6 am when she's up again. How do working women do it???????????????????

By 6 or 7 a.m. she is stirring, and me and eder will take turns to play with her after her early morning breakfast of milk, milk and more milk. I'm not a morning person as you know, this one is the torturous shift, and I usually end up having her lay down next to me, both of us on our sides, her nursing and me sleeping.

Once we're up and about, Eder is making coffee, I'm starting to move around to put things away, sweep floors, wash dishes, take out the garbage, clean up dirty diapers, put clothes away, start laundry and hang the wet clothes to dry, check email, prepare breakfast, try and squeeze in a shower, and get her bath going (today, Eder had already left, and I hadn't showered, so I brought Zaya down to Maria, grabbed our now-clean laundry - our washing machine has been broken so we have to wash downstairs and usually she ends up hanging it all up to dry)... so then I ran upstairs and showered etc... ran back down to get Zaya)....

Her bath is one of our favorite rituals as me and eder both dote all kinds of love and attention as we wash her hair, playing with her toys, getting her all dressed up and cute. After the bath, nurse, and try and get her down for her first nap of the day. Today that took forever, no nursing, David Gray and Eder's soothing her on the bouncing ball, nor just laying her down in the crib with things to stare at above her worked...

[30 min pause to give her the night-time bath... back now]

... so we skyped with my dad, walked outside the apartment a bit, and then after fussing, nursing, she finally went down. phew. She slept almost 2 hours, in which time I managed to accomplish diddly squat. I really wanted to write at least one bio of one graffiti artist for our book. But, I procrastinated, posted facebook statuses, replied to starred emails, browsed Pirate's Bay for new movie downloads, downloaded photos from my camera and edited some of them, flossed. swept the bedroom, back porch and bathroom. I just didn't want to write that stupid bio!!! Let me share, the bio i was trying to write - this guy's interview had been great! He was more interesting than most, had sprinkling of good quotes to boot. I spent daaaayysssssss transcribing his one hour interview. But when I read through the transcription, I had nothing interesting to say about him. urgh! So, to my delight, Zaya started to cry, and Eder's aunt comes over talking (that's Aunt Rita, she doesn't stop talking), and we decide to go the grocery store together (not a "quick trip to Wegmans for all your Rochestarians) it's quite an ordeal to go to the grocery store (next paragraph). So I quickly heated up the food that I'd eat for lunch (lunch is the big meal of the day): Beans (Eder's mom Maria had given us a few days ago, I dethawed from the freezer), rice (made with day before yesterday's meal), baked chicken (from Maria downstairs), and I managed to make a salad - purple cabbage, canned corn, tomatoes, cucumber, oil and vinegar. As you can see, we're not really doing that much cooking and it's pretty non-creative when we do. So I wolfed down that food as Aunt Rita kept saying "Embora Carly" (let's go Carly) because she had to pick her kids up from school by 4:45. It was 2:15. I'm telling you, shopping is an ordeal.

So we take off - Zaya in the Bjorn-imitation pack on my front (thanks Laura for the hand-me-down). She is happy as a clam as soon as we get in the street. Damn cute too with the dress Aunt Sandra bought her, and the shoes that Aunt Angela gave her. I love my extended Sicilian family!!! We head out of the house, down the small walkway in front of our house, to the main strip, up the hill (5-min walk) and to the garage. Unlock the doors (not easy), pull it up and open (even harder), wipe the gross dirt from our hands, situate Zaya in car seat, get in, pull car out, turn car off, get out and pull garage door down (the hardest of them all), lock the doors (urgh, very frustrating to line up the lock while pushing down the door with your foot), wipe dirt off of hands again, and get in and drive away. Yes folks, that's what it takes to jump in the car and go.

So we are off, winding through the 'hood, crossing speed bumps with care, dodging pedestrians, shooting out in front of trucks, weaving around buses, and we are at the neighborhood "bulk" grocery store called Maxxi (but pronounced "Max" by most Brazilians). It's owned by our good friend Sam Walton by the way. in fact, Walmart is the owner of not one but three chains of grocery stores here in Brazil - Bom Preco (which turned Sheekee sheekee so they opened up Maxxi as a bulk alternative as well as "Todo Dia" (everyday) which I haven't gone to yet, both in the favelas. One thing they all have in common: their infamously long lines to check out. You spend more time waiting in them than you do gathering your goods. I had plenty of time to contemplate the problem of going to this grocery store, as hundreds of people are checking out thousands of reais worth of food from these densely populated favela neighborhoods - Pau da Lima, Vila Canaria, Sao Marcos, Castelo Branco

[pause for a 30-minute nursing session. now I'm back]

So there I was, in line at the store, looking across at the carts filled with Nestle, Hershey, Nabisco, coca-cola products, pouring money into the coffers of Sam Walton. The world's poor buying their weekly ration of food, and all the profits being wired north to line pockets of north americans. Brilliant business plan. Brilliant capitalism. It made me so sad, and yet, there I was, in line with all of them. At least I was in the "priority" line for elders, pregnant women, and people with small children, so our wait was cut in half. The total, 146 reais (U$80) is roughly one months' minimum wage - 525 Reais (U$325). That's just for me, Eder, and Zaya. How do people do it? They don't! Eder's aunt made her purchase - 45 reais... I think she was much more economical about her selection. She has 3 kids, and only works once a week to clean Eder's other aunt's house for 50 reais a day. I decided to hire her to clean our apartment with me each Thursday afternoon for 25 reais... I figured it's a good happy medium - I've been vacillating about whether to hire her, whether we can afford it (we really can't) but feeling obliged to help out a bit and really could use the help, and motivation, to clean this place inside-and-out once a week. I'll let you know how that goes.

We get to the car and I drive her over to the street she lives on for her to put the groceries away so she wouldn't have to walk with them from where we live. I held Zaya in my arms, standing at the top of the hill watching her short body and extremely fit and strong legs under her jean mini-skirt descend the steep slope. Her street has been increasingly infiltrated by drug dealers, I guess she heard them on the roof one night, and they have been known to beat up people who venture there. But at the moment, it's totally peaceful, regular people getting off the bus and heading to their homes, a slight breeze, partly cloudy sky, nice music plays in the distance, some old men hang out in front of a house. Zaya and I are playing together, I nuzzle my nose in her neck and her hair and am intoxicated by her sweet smell. Everything feels right. Aunt Rita emerges from below the slope, hauling one leg in front of the other quickly to get back to me in a hurry so that I'm not waiting too long. She has a brilliant huge smile on her face, despite her racing heart. She does this walk at least twice a day, her 4 and 6 year old in tow.

We head back home, unload groceries, greet Eder who has painting a house today (no graffiti) that his aunt will be renting out soon. He is excited to see Zaya after being away from her for some hours. I decide to try and get the car washed (vacuumed inside, washed outside for U$5) but it's too late by the time I get there, so I just fill it with gas (80 reais, U$50) which will last me about 7-10 days. crazy expensive. It's 5pm when I head back home. I decide to hang on the corner where our little walkway towards our apartment meets the main street of our neighborhood. The neighbor is there with her candy cart selling sweets to kids and crocheting. She's there every day from around 4-7, and her face always lights up when she sees Zaya. The 15 year old girl who lives across the street is there too, hanging with a friend, and making goo-gooing sounds with Zaya. They comment that she looks like me. Aunt Rita shows up with Camile and Pedro her kids, Pedro in his cute Capoeira outfit (Wednesdays is Capoeira day) and Camile in her uniform. Maria, Eder's mom also shows up on her way to go buy fresh bread and asks if we'd like some too... yes! terrific, saves us a trip. I give her the money. (are you getting a sense yet how often Maria is there to help us out?) (are you also getting a sense of the abundance of community we are living amongst?)

Back at home, me and eder play with Zaya taking turns, checking email, straightening up... she gets cranky, we get her evening bath ready - a nice body massage and then a hot water splash minus a soapy sponge-down)... snuggled in her pjs she does some house-visits to see grandma and grandpa downstairs and aunt luissa and aunt tais next door and comes back all grumpy and tired, nurses, and is out. it's 8pm. i get to finish writing this and will drift into the kitchen to heat up leftovers for dinner before watching my soap opera at 9:20. I use to watch the national evening news right before it starts (that's how I got addicted in the first place - the networks are so smart!) but right now there's an hour's worth of political campaign ads on because it's election season... each party gets free air time that the networks are mandated to give them, and each party creates a new and different advertisement every single night for their candidate.... the president, governor and several state and federal deputies are running. It's actually quite interesting to watch and analyze, but that's for another blog post.

I think I covered most of it. It's a detailed and verbose email, I know, but there's a lot to say!! I'd like to write more of these "day in my lifes" because honestly, each and every day is unique... you never know quite what is going to unfold... that's the beauty of living abroad, of traveling, of exposing yourself to knew and different cultures and traditions.

please feel free to comment!!! I'd love to hear from you.

ate mais,
carly

Friday, September 3, 2010

Recent pieces from Calangos de Rua

#1: Rochester, NY - St. Joseph's House - homeless shelter and soup kitchen


#2: Escola Luiz Fernando Macedo Costa Junior High, Cajazeiras 7, Salvador

#3: Chapada do Rio Vermelho, Salvador


#4: Neighborhood - Soledade

































#5: Rua Vasco da Gama
(before & after photos)






























#6 at MAM






















Thursday, September 2, 2010

I Bienal Internacional de Arte de Rua

http://vimeo.com/7909955

I BIAR -
I Bienal Internacional de Arte de Rua
de São Paulo
A arte de rua é valorizada hoje como fenômeno digno de grande relevância no cenário da arte contemporânea mundial.