A first glance...

(Except for the comments on Reflections, the texts are by C.M.)

 Instituto Anchieta Grajaú (IAG) – Zona Sul, São Paulo, Brazil

To improve society and help youths in difficult conditions in São Paulo's Zona Sul, Instituto Anchieta Grajaú (IAG) provides meals, educational and cultural activities and health services. The urban grounds of the NGO Institutoinclude nursery, classrooms, library, tech facilities, dining hall and recreational areas. The Instituto engages social challenges, itself, as its spacious, kempt grounds historically, and occasionally anew, have weathered occupations by dispossessed people seeking space.

Youth from pre-school through high-school are nourished with skills for achieving a living and accomplishment. Founded in 1988, the Instituto lists its aims to awaken in children imagination, curiosity and critical outlook in order to develop ideas about the world, its diversity, and overcoming difficulties and limitations. Attention ranges from local life to awareness of global environmental protection. 

IAG is a team of educators daily offering service, exchanges and reflection. Older kids work with the younger, and little kids fashion toys and playthings, themselves. Daily workshops include story-telling, writing and reading, art, drawing, music, theater, toys and games, capoeira, gymnastics and numerous team sports. Personal agency is celebrated and birthdays and play, as well!

African Burial Grouind National Monument 

The African Burial Ground, marked by an outdoor National Historic Landmark memorial, stands not far from Broadway in downtown Manhattan. The architecture is a beautiful contrast to the origin of the site, where from the middle 1630s to 1795, African Americans, denied the right to lay in rest in various otherwise public and church cemeteries, were buried. Except for Charles Town, South Carolina, New York’s enslaved were the most numerous of the Thirteen Colonies during the late 1700s. The burial ground was built over as the city expanded but re-emerged from obscurity when, in 1991, construction was started for a federal office building at 290 Broadway. To comply with federal regulations, archeological digs were carried out and, about 30 feet underground, skeletal remains were discovered – part of what, in its time, had been known as the “Negroes Buriel Ground,” an area of about six acres which were, back then, on the outskirts of town. 

Today, along with the memorial, there are a research center and library.  From soil of troubled times, things of beauty on occasion grow and become monumental reminders to investigate and improve.

Reflections

Over and over again, images of ourselves are reflected. Objects, too, reflect images that make connections to other parts of other entities. Bodies and surfaces project light, heat and sound without absorbing them.  "The reflection of light" figures into studies of  science, of theories of sound and the visual, of formation of objects, in mathematical equation, and can evolve even into 3D—not to mention reflections of daily sights. In our usual routines, reflected images sometimes go unperceived, precisely because of their easy availability.  But with a little concentration, reflections can come to our awareness, be noticed and show themselves to be a presence, a bright gift, that can form a perception for our life.  A closer look.

            © Marina Lins-Martin 

Cloud Mania 

Free of fixed routines creased into day or night,

Clouds, unpatterned, unfold without schedule, no timeline,

unlike the sun and the moon,

and haunt or delight, unpredictable, any hour—

Spread out or compact, near solid or diffuse, 

wispy threads and feathers, or blooms and hefty blocks,

massive and murky, or translucent and beaming,

colorful signals of tone and hue,

foils to light—shaping, baffling, reflective or luminous.

Shifting through abundant formations of spectacle and shade

the clouds insinuate themselves with trees, fields, ridges 

and engineered achievements and errors, 

overrunning them, sometimes; dwarfing or wrapping,

adorning or standing alone.

In clouds, nature asserts itself unmoored in city and country, alike.

Anytime, anywhere: Clouds

Night 

Nothing so complex as Paris by Night, by Brassaï, or the London of Bill Brandt, the photos here are a few from New York, Montréal, São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro.

Niemeyer

Thanks to the 1992 National Endowment for the Humanities Institute, “The Encounter of Cultures in Brazil,” in São Paulo, Ouro Preto and Bahia, I spent days of classes, in SP, at the Memorial da América Latina, the sprawling complex designed by Oscar Niemeyer. That was the beginning of my fascination with his architecture which I saw, later, in a housing unit in the city, also in the Parque Ibirapuera and, in Niterói, his Museu de Arte Contemporânea. On a recent trip I went to one of my favorite places, São Luís do Maranhão, and there I saw another of Niemeyer’s works, a public plaza. In 2009 on the other side of the ocean, a grand opening event for the Second Pan African Festival (PANAF) of Algiers, Algeria, was staged in a huge auditorium that called to my mind the Niemeyer style. I was quite surprised to find out that during a period of exile from Brazil, he lived in Algeria and there built, aside from the sports stadium, two universities—one in Algiers, the other in Constantine, in the east, which, a few years later, I visited. 

The Oculus

Designed within a year of the 9/11, 2001, attack on the World Trade Center’s twin towers, and fourteen years in the making, the Oculus was built to house a transportation hub where several subways pass, as well as trains between lower Manhattan and New Jersey. A great appeal of the Oculus is its design, geometrically interesting forms and space where natural and electric light continually play amid reflections and shadows that unfold, high and low, day and night through its spacious glass and metal construction. Although the Oculus arose amid ashes of destruction, the work, by Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava, is a worthy successor and stands independently as a striking success. In addition to its life as a transit station for trains and home to many shops, the Oculusis a spectacle of visual impressions endlessly unfolding through the architectural space. Alongside the rebuilt One World Trade Center, the Oculus, itself, is an immense practical jewel expansively faceted in spirit.

Ibeji – Twin Towers 

The demolished Twin Towers of New York’s World Trade Center were a piece of architecture that I loved and a location that I often went to. It was mesmerizing to me that there were two towers, twins or, in Yoruba, ibeji (who are thought of very specially in that culture). From different points of the city and nearby New Jersey, the twin towers were not only visible but offered different perspectives. At a distance, they could be small, seemingly dwarfed by surrounding architecture. Close up, they were giants.  From some vantage points, they appeared side by side, while from others one tower would be ahead of or behind the other; facing directly or at angles. According to the lighting of the day, they might be shimmering, almost mirrors, or, in contrast, they might be shadowy. In some weather, their tops would be out of sight above the clouds. From the viewing platform atop the towers, the sights were amazing of the city and beyond. In the plaza below the towers, there were daytime free concerts, often of jazz, and at night the area was mostly quiet. The atmosphere, most times, was generally relaxed. Until the first attack on them. After which I went there almost never, convinced they were a target.

I photographed them often and looked at them all the time. 

Ferryboat 

The soothing ride of the ferryboat creates a dreamlike reverie across the flat harbor waters and, for the duration of the ride, hushes the overloads and annoyances that flood so much of city living. The boat’s wake of churning bubbles breathes repose and moments of relaxation into New York Harbor adjacent the rush of Manhattan. Suspending the city’s strenuous pace, the jaunt across the water is a short leisurely cruise, immune to rapid transit. Slow and trance-like, the ferry’s schedule is steady but unhurried. The boat departs from the dock with a sluggish heave. A blast of its horn silences the city’s noise and stills the velocity of the usual metropolitan rush, left behind for the interval of the ride, beautiful at any time of day and no matter the weather.

The Staten Island Ferry, for daily commuters and for tourists, alike, can be a year round, round-the-clock pleasure cruise.

Making Carnival 

Carnival in Brooklyn, New York, is perhaps the city’s largest event, and reportedly draws from 1 to 3 million people. With the possible exception of the Thanksgiving Day Parade put on by the Macy’s Department store in November, nothing in the city matches the size of this carnival, which also is called the West Indian Day Parade. “West Indian” is the term coined by Europeans upon their first arrival to the new world.  Put on by the Caribbean community, Brooklyn’s carnival calendar, unlike most others, is not a lead up in February or March to Lent, but, instead, falls on Labor Day—the first Monday of September—while  the temperature in New York is still hot. If it were held at the usual time, like Mardi Gras, its New Orleans cousin, the New York affair would be chilled by the region’s usually freezing February and March—the dead of winter.

Three main events make up Brooklyn Carnival. First is Kiddie Carnival, for children, on the Saturday before Labor Day. Next is J’ouvert, a nighttime, early hours procession, costumed but without bands, that starts after midnight, Labor Day morning. The main parade starts as J’ouvert ends, and many of those who take part in J’ouvert don’t stop, but keep going right into the carnival events, making J’ouvert and carnival one continuous long stretch from just after midnight Monday until nightfall, when everything ends. J’ouvert’s origins are said to have been in the carnival of Trinidad and Tobago, from where it spread to other Caribbean nations and to the community in New York. J’ouvert, as a word, comes from the French “jour ouvert,” the opening of the day. It is spoken, in English as “jouvay” (“djuvé”).

Parade-goers wind through Crown Heights’s neighborhood streets and along the grand Eastern Parkway, a landscaped thoroughfare that leads to the parade’s end: the grounds of the Brooklyn Museum, where the costumes and bands are judged and prizes awarded. Calypso and Soca music predominate, and much attention is given to the music of the steel pans—originally garbage bins hammered so their surfaces provided varied tones of musical scale. The Brooklyn parade has inspired songs even from Calypso greats such as the Mighty Sparrow whose lyrics of the song, “Mas in Brooklyn, “ talk about “ Labor Day in Brooklyn” and “Every West Indian jumping up like mad/ Just like a carnival there in Trinidad./ Yankee and all listening to the steel band beat.” Brooklyn he says, now is home!

Along the parade route, Caribbean food vendors offer dishes of the Caribbean—meat patties of goat, beef, chicken; jerk chicken, fried fish, fried plantains, peas and rice, cakes and pies, punches of rum, and ginger beer. People who live along the parade route receive friends, who go from home to home visiting, feasting, making merry and toasting the day. I was introduced to Brooklyn Carnival that way through friends originally from Trinidad & Tobago and transplanted to Brooklyn. They were not costume revelers, although active observers. During one such carnival, I photographed someone who invited me, for the following year, to take in not just carnival day, but preparations leading up to it.

The photographs of Making Carnival are of people at home and on their way out to 

J’ouvert. There also are some of Mas Camps that prepare, well in advance of the main carnival parade. Mas Camps are events—parties and gatherings in public places such as social clubs, cafés and restaurants where costume designs are shown and orders for them are taken. A carnival group will have a certain number of costumes, of different ranks and in various numbers, and the costumes are for sale to whomever would like to take part in the carnival group’s procession. Preparation begins months ahead, sometimes shortly after the conclusion of the current parade. Most of the costume designs are local, but some are from creators in Trinidad and Tobago, too. In that case, the first showings are not of the actual costumes, but of drawings and designs for them.

Carnival goers are both local and from abroad. Those from Caribbean islands often have friends and family in New York, so the carnival for them is an occasion of reunion, as well. Also, as people are from many countries, they often can be observed asking about where each other are from. Some visitors come just for Carnival, itself, and that has included theater groups from England who’ve taken advantage of West Indian Day Parade as an opportunity to enact costumed theater in the street and spread renown in New York.

The West Indian Day Parade grew out of costume parties in Harlem, in clubs and social spaces that catered to the Caribbean community. Observance, then, was the traditional pre-Lent time. But with the desire to move to larger, outdoor festivities—a genuine parade—the date was changed to September, and the first parade, still in Harlem, took place in 1947 and continued until the 1960s when public parade permits were denied due to violence that had occurred along the route. At the end of the 1960s, the parade was started again, permits given this time in Brooklyn’s Crown Heights where it has remained, despite having occasionally been tarnished by fights and violence that have broken out among the revelers and broken more than spirits. Covid-19 caused the cancellation of the parades in 2020 and 2021.

Carnival is said to have been brought to Trinidad and Tobago in the 18th century by French plantation owners who had masquerades—“mas”—and balls. The enslaved people were not part of this, but responded with their own events, sometime in imitation, sometimes in ironic mockery of the French affairs, and with their own music and rites. The end of enslavement in 1838 allowed the events to grow public and in scale.

Nowadays in Brooklyn, Carnival, as the Mighty Sparrow and others have sung, is a time for millions to jump up and dance, and cavort in costumed parade. Making Carnival looks at its opening moments, J’ouvert.

Path Brazil 

Locations here include São Luís do Maranhão, Salvador, São Paulo, Ouro Preto and a spot in the interior passed during a three day ride from the north to Rio de Janeiro.

Ed Clark 

Ed Clark, abstract expressionist artist, was a great friend. He made it a point to come to my exhibitions, and often he dragged along his good friend, Adger Cowans, photographer. Aside from the shows in New York, Ed saw two of mine in Paris. In New York, often after I’d finished teaching classes at Queens College-City University of New York, I would drop by Ed’s place, around the corner from the Flatiron Building. Usually I would at some point have a look at the studio in the back to see what he was painting. One day I asked him if anybody had ever done a movie about him. He replied that someone was always saying they were going to, but no one ever did. I told him I was going to do it, he said okay and suggested people who might be interviewed. I convinced a director, for whom I had once shot stills, to be the cinematographer for the project, and though he initially thought it odd to be directed by his former set-photographer, the documentary was made: A Brush with Success.

The photos here are Ed at work, but not from the film.

Ed and I met in 1992 in Paris, which was a special place where he spent most summers painting before returning to New York for the rest of the year. I presented a paper, “Coloring Books: Black Ideas of Europe,” at the African-Americans and Europe International Conference, at the Sorbonne Nouvelle, February 5-9, organized by Michel Fabre, a professor who wrote a biography of author Richard Wright. On another trip, a following summer, I showed photographs to Fabre, and one of them, taken in New York, was of  poet Ted Joans. Fabre asked if Joans had seen it, and I said no. He told me that Joans was a regular at Café Le Rouquet, gave me the location, and suggested I go there to show Joans the photo. When I did, Ed Clark and some others were at the café with Joans. Ed and I became friends and he said I should stay in touch when we were both in New York.

Emanoel Araújo

In the summer of 1992 while in Brazil for the National Endowment for the Humanities Institute, “The Encounter of Cultures in Brazil,” I was introduced to Emanoel Araújo, artist and curator, who had just been installed as the new director of the Pinacoteca do Estado de São Paulo museum. While talking, I mentioned that I was especially looking at varieties of public space—areas designated or claimed as public. Emanoel responded that the museum was public space and invited me to photograph there. I did so, from the exhibition spaces to the corridors, nicks, crannies and staff.

On subsequent visits to São Paulo I would see Emanoel, including at the museum he went on to created, and which now, in memorial, has added his name: the Museu Afro Brasil Emanoel Araújo. The photos here are portraits taken over the years up to the last time I saw him, 2022, shortly before he suddenly passed away.

Storied People 

Portraits of someone unfamiliar to you offer a look at a gesture or an appearance. A portrait of someone whose appearance is familiar also offers a chance to compare the image to the way you already think about the pictured person. How does the image conform to or deviate away from your preconceived idea? 

Sometimes a portrait is a tug of war between the photographer and the person on the other side of the lens. Edward Weston produced portraits to the approval of his sitters, but reserved his signature for the portraits that were his choice, thought of as his art. The others he saw just as jobs. Robert Mapplethorpe at some point was known to do commissioned portraits with the condition that the sitter would see the finished print only when Mapplethorpe delivered it without any input. My group of portraits was done by access and fortuitous chance, encounters with both friends and strangers, improvised and carried out quickly. 

Of many possible meanings for “portrait,” the photo portrait for me is primarily a record of an encounter, a moment of complicity: the person sees that the photographer is taking a photo, and the person allows the image to be. There is a story that goes along with the portrait and, taking in the images, you can judge for yourself if the story and the image go together as you would suspect. In that sense, these photos all are of “storied people.” 

Angela Davis, activist 

I had a meal once, a dinner, with Angela Davis, before she spoke in New Haven on Yale’s Campus. I was visiting the school and was informed that she would be speaking later that day. Most of my youth years, she was in both the Black Panther paper and the ordinary press, but I had never seen her speak and decided to go. I don’t remember the event or occasion, but when I got there before hand, someone said I should have dinner with her, and ushered me to the unoccupied chair. Whatever we talked about, it was pleasant, and I asked her if I could photograph her. She said okay, and when I took out my little Leica from my waist-pouch, she fondly said she had had one, long ago.

Toni Morrison, writer

Toni Morrison came to a retirement celebration for her good friend, Professor Clyde Taylor, at New York University. They had been friends for a long time, from their days as professors at Howard University beginning their careers. Clyde and I became friends on an academic research visit to Brazil.

Marie Dutton Brown, literary agent.

In Harlem, as Brown was going into a small restaurant, I was seated outside with two friends, one of them a friend of hers. The friend called her over to say hello.

James Baldwin, writer

After a talk in New Haven, I managed this picture of him whose name we now know pretty well.

Octavio Paz, writer 

Paz spoke to a group of graduate students, many of them in the Department of Spanish and Portuguese at Yale. I am not sure, but I believe the invitation came from, among others, Emir Rodríguez Monegal.

Wole Soyinka, writer 

Soyinka had just given a talk at Yale, in Timothy Dwight College. He directed one of his plays at the Yale Repertory Theater, and I photographed it.

José Nascimento Morais Filho, writer, biographer 

Like his father, his namesake, Nascimento Morais Filho was part of the Academy of Letters of Maranhão, Brazil. After a chance meeting and his finding out my visit to Brazil was to look for instances of black culture, especially in literature, he told me I had to get to know the work of Maria Firmina dos Reis. He took me to the Benedito Leite library—where I gave a talk a few days later—and showed me the facsimile copy there of Úrsula, dos Reis’ then virtually unknown novel.   

It was republished a few years later in 1988 (Presença Edições, Rio de Janeiro), with an introduction that I wrote, situating the work in a global context regarding, especially, the amplitude, breadth and central influence in the novel of its black characters. 

Paule Marshall, writer 

This photo is at a conference in Paris. I had met Marshall a few months before at West Virginia University where I was teaching, and where she took part in a conference.

bell hooks/Gloria Watkins, writer and professor 

bell hooks, who I knew as Gloria Watkins, was a professor at Yale University while I was a graduate student there. This photo was a crossing of paths in New York City.

Nancy Morejón, writer 

While I was in graduate school there in the Department of Spanish and Portuguese, the Cuban poet visited Yale and gave a talk.

Paulo Colina, writer 

Colina was a poet, short-story writer and translator. We met in São Paulo in 1992, and he introduced me to Emanoel Araújo. He said that Emanoel, at that moment assuming the reins of the Pinacoteca do Estado de São Paulo museum, would soon be too busy to meet many new people. So he called him right then. This photograph was in the neighborhood of one of Colina's writer friends.

Cecil Taylor, musician 

Freddie Waits, the drummer, was playing at a club in the Village, with Cecil Taylor. I knew Freddie from having studied with him, and asked him, when the band took a break and exited the stage, if he thought I could photograph Taylor. Freddie said he would see, went backstage and returned saying that Taylor would come out in a few minutes for a photo.

Ornette Coleman, musician 

A mutual friend took me to Ornette’s house. The musician was an avid billiards player, which I am not, and he demolished me in several games of eight-ball.

Cesária Évora, singer 

Cesária performed in Algiers during a festival I attended, and she was friends with a Cape Verdean who I had gotten to know.

Jack DeJohnette, musician 

One of the finest of drummers, working with, among others, Miles Davis and Charles Lloyd. An accomplished pianist, as well.

Ciclete com Banana, musician 

A few moments in the aisle on a flight in Brazil.

Arman, artist 

This is running into Arman somewhere in New York, probably downtown.  My brother, Henry Martin, wrote a book about Arman and suggested it would be good to meet him since I was going to France for the summer after freshman year in college. Arman lived in Vence, southern France, with Corice, his wife, and his son, Yves. I was staying in Juan-les-Pins.

Arman invited me to spend my last week of the summer trip at his atelier and home. He named a café where I should meet him. I went there and drank a soda, at a table on the sidewalk. A little later, a silver Rolls-Royce with Pennsylvania license plates pulled up, stopped, and the electric window went down on the passenger side next to where I was sitting. The driver leaned toward the window and asked, “Mr. Martin?” It was Arman, and he joked that he had chosen the car with Pennsylvania plates in case I was homesick.

Later, back in New York, from time to time I visited him or went to a show of his.

Duane Michals, photographer

An evening walking along Washington Square Park, I saw Duane Michals, whose work I love but who I had never seen. 

“Duane Michals!” I said, and he answered, “Do I owe you money?” “No,” I said, and laughed, then asked he if would mind my taking a picture. “I will not take off my clothes,” he said, and more laughter. 

I asked him to face the other direction, so the light would be better, and instead of simply turning around, he held close to the lamppost on the street and walked his way around it until facing the other direction and into the light.

Sam Shaw, photographer, film producer 

Probably best known for being involved in setting up the famous photo shoot of Marilyn Monroe with her skirt flying up as she stood over a vent of the New York Subway, Sam was also a documentary photographer for Life magazine, the producer of Paris Blues, and also films of John Cassavettes. I got to know him when I was assisting a director for a short, and Sam was the producer.

Malik Bowens, actor 

Malik was visiting me at the apartment I had in Brooklyn, and the chess set was an old one that had been my father’s favorite. I met Malik at Phebe’s bar/café in the East Village. For some reason, I went there instead of the nearby jazz spot, the Tin Palace. Someone I knew, the actor and theater director Duane Jones, saw me and invited me to join he and, as he described Malik, a member of Peter Brook’s often experimental theater company. When I joined them, it might as well have been a café in Paris: everything was in French. I joined in. I mentioned that, years before, I had the luck to see Brook’s staging in London of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and that I might see the new work, too. Malik was happy to hear it, but pointed out that the current production at La Mama, Conference of the Birds, sold out before it arrived in New York. But he added that he could get me in, and a few days later I saw it. We became very good friends, both in New York and in Paris.

Zózimo Bulbul, director, actor 

Zózimo was visiting New York and got in touch with me. He was staying in an apartment in Harlem. When I first visited Brazil, I met him at the Ford Foundation offices in Rio de Janeiro, and then ran into him several times. Ten years later, again in Rio, I met a photographer, Vantoen Pereira, Jr., who, hearing of my interests, said I should meet his uncle. When he named Zózimo, I laughed and told him that Zózimo was one of the first people I’d met in Brazil.

Agnès Varda, director 

For a class that I taught on autobiography, I became very interested in Varda’s film, The Beaches of Agnes, since it is autobiography and, as a film, is obviously a group project. Autobiography almost always strikes me as a group effort: stories are used that involve other people, comments from others are incorporated about things that one does not personally remember, and there is the involvement of editors and advisors. An autobiographical film underlines those collaborations.  One day quite by chance, I got an e-mail announcement that Varda was doing a workshop or something in Brooklyn. I went and, knowing she is as much a photographer as a film maker, I gave her a book of mine. She was as entertaining as she is in her movies.

Spalding Gray, actor, monologuist

Gray had stopped along Houston Street, I think it was, and I was walking by. I very much liked his monologue movie, Swimming to Cambodia. I asked to photograph him, he said okay and did not move, remaining in profile. I asked him if he would mind looking at me.

Roger Robinson, actor 

Permission was given to me to photograph Wole Soyinka’s A Play of Giants at the Yale Repertory Theater. At an early rehearsal. I sat on a side of the room in a folding chair with my camera on a tripod in front of me. I put my camera bag on the chair next to me. Roger, who I didn’t know, must have been one of the first actors to enter the room. He walked up to me and in most unfriendly manner pointed to the camera bag and asked if it were mine. He then went on: that the room was actors’ space, and he needed the chair to be empty. I don’t remember saying much other than the playwright had given his permission, as well as the Yale Rep Artistic Director, Lloyd Richards, but I took the bag from the chair and put it under the one I was sitting in. Roger was slightly satisfied and went away.

During the rehearsal I was using a quiet Leica, that I  triggered with a cord held behind my back. I didn’t make many motions while taking the pictures, and I only shot during dialog, so the quiet camera gave few signs of being in use. Afterwards a quizzical Roger approached me again and announced that he had been photographed by the best photographers of stage and film, and that never before had he been photographed without being able to tell when. He said it was very impressive, and he insisted he introduce me to his friends in the New York theater world. Roger was a regular in the television show, Kojak, and a film actor. He won a Tony award in 2009 as lead actor in a Broadway version of August Wilson’s Joe Turner’s Come and Gone.

Henry Threadgill, musician

Years ago I used to love going to see the band Air, led by Henry. We would run into each other from time to time over the years and occasionally I have taken his picture.  The Pulitzer prize has been given only three times to musicians of jazz, and he is one of them.

Angela Bassett, actor

While Angie Bassett was in Drama School and I was in the Graduate School, we had a few mutual friends. One day, among them, our paths crossed, and I took this picture with an old and battered medium format, fold-out camera that I got in a thrift shop for $5. Focusing was guess work except in exceptionally bright light. It was stolen from my car a few years later, as I was getting a slice of cheesecake in Brooklyn, and it was so hard to use that I was almost relieved to see it gone. This is one of its fond memories.

Danny Glover, actor 

Danny Glover went to the same festival that I did in Algiers, and I saw him a bit at a few concerts and exhibitions due to mutual friends from New York University who had gone, as well. 

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Speak Up 

At times people speak up, sometimes writing on the walls.

Reform of the Pinacoteca do Estado de São Paulo

Emanoel Araújo, artist and curator, became director of the Pinacoteca in 1992, reforming and transforming it before moving on to found the Museu Afro Brasil.

Still Life

Sighted objects, small and large.

          — Charles Martin