Agrade Camíz | Abusada
Your name is on judas or from suburban to suburban
The suburbs are hell, gossip, name on Judas, cable robbery, kite wax in the eyes, teasing, bullying.
- Camila, look at this outfit, this hair, this ass!
Where is self-love? Own home? Own car? Own life?
Packed bus. Packed train. Packed BRT. To the parties, men bring drinks and women bring food. Where are the art movies? Where are the art exhibitions? In the malaise, pray for the shingles, fig blessing for the pillow, dream of good luck. What the hell happened to you? It's all written on the walls. And the streets, full of leisure and bougainvilles.
The suburb raises itself; the single mother asks for help from the neighbor, the child takes the groceries of the elders, the teenagers help to push the broken car. If the roof breaks, a joint effort to place the slabs. If the daughter makes her debut, a party room for binary waltzes, man with woman, woman with man. What the hell!
But what does it matter for Agrade Camíz to spring up in the suburbs and keep up appearances? No, Camíz's paintings cross the hypocrisy of the facts, denounce child abuse, bring warning signs, make it explicit. In everything, you can see the suburbs. Dissatisfied, she can tag in the streets.... I will “firm my footing in otherness”, “mark my territory”. From the houses in the housing complexes, Agrade paints the portraits of veiled abuses: the disrespected and defied child. Whose fault is it? Dick Aquaplay. Scream to whom?
Let go of your own body, let go of your body and speak. Make a body of the painting, tattoo and inscription from ink. Writing or painting, whatever. "But a little too late." “After all, a little of each”. Make eye-catching paintings. E-y-e-c-a-t-c-h-i-n-g. Smudge, stain, drain, become intelligible, fuck the conceptual. "In this house, live other intentions or intensities".
Observing the construction of Agrade Camíz is realizing the need to cross the walls of love and denunciation, subjectivity and memory. Leave behind an idyllic and bucolic suburb that never existed. Reach other city gates, other railings. But arrive making a scene, frustrating the expectations of those who wait for the colors and write so that they can dream of self-love, as luck, pray, ribbon of faith on the wrist. “Fed up with the world”.
Marcelo Campos, 2021