polis: a collective blog about cities worldwide
Brazil

Community Aesthetics in Heliópolis

by Teresa García Alcaraz

Heliópolis is known as one of the most densely populated neighborhoods in São Paulo, with 120,000 people living in an area of less than one square mile. Legend has it that architect Ruy Ohtake once called it the ugliest part of the city, prompting members of the UNAS community organization to ask him to help make it beautiful.

Brasilia’s Uneven Development

by Jordi Sánchez-Cuenca

The city of Brasilia took shape on a relatively isolated plot of open land in 1956, becoming the capital of Brazil in 1960. The city was planned by Lucio Costa, winner of a competition called by President Juscelino Kubitschek to fulfill an 1891 constitutional mandate to move the capital from Rio de Janeiro to a location at the center of the country. Oscar Niemeyer was the principal architect, and Roberto Burle Marx was the principal landscape designer.


Bird- or airplane-like form of Brasilia, Brazil.


Original city plan by Lucio Costa. Source: Jader Resende

Brasilia was built according to plan, with few modifications. It is a modernist dream come true, a gigantic piece of land art. It is now one of UNESCO's World Heritage Sites, and the municipal government invests in keeping its monuments in good condition. Brasilia was designed for automobile transport, with no traffic lights and few sidewalks in the center. Avenues are massive to prevent traffic jams.


Southern wing of the city — satellite view (above) and perspective (below).


Source: Arqpoli Urbano

As with other planned cities, Brasilia grew larger than predicted. It is now surrounded by smaller cities and settlements that provide cheap labor for the wealthy capital. Urban growth in the periphery did not follow a modernist plan. Most of these residential areas grew through land speculation and informal construction.


High-income Lago Sul neighborhood in central Brasilia.


Low-income Sol Nascente neighborhood in Ceilândia, 26 kilometers west of the capital.

Brasilia has the highest per capita income of Brazil's major cities. Its social disparities are spatially divided, with a wealthy center and impoverished outskirts. In Sol Nascente — one of the country's largest informal settlements according to census data from the Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics — garbage collection, sewage and healthcare are severely limited. And, as in many cities around the world, government neglect gives rise to illegal land markets and associated mafia activity.

Brasilia's metropolitan area demonstrates perhaps the sharpest possible contrast between state-controlled wealth at the core and informal poverty on the periphery.

Credits: Satellite images from Google Earth.

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Tagging the Megalopolis: Pixação in Sao Paulo

by Sergio Franco

In Sao Paulo, Brazil, a defiant synthesis of aesthetics and ethics has developed around the practice of Pixação. With roots in hip-hop culture, Pixação refers to writing one's name or alias on a visible surface without permission (a.k.a. tagging). It feeds on suppression by municipal authorities. Pixadores place their lives at risk to defy legal and spatial impediments, reaching the highest towers in the menacing metropolis.



Pixadores operate on an ethical code similar to that of soccer associations, motorcycle couriers and crime networks around the margins of Sao Paulo. However, it is not violent or involuntary. The code is known as LHP, which stands for Loyalty, Humility, Procedure — loyalty to the group without oppressive obligation; humility and restraint without subservience; and adherence to tactical procedures attuned to context.



Pixação offers each practitioner a tool to mark their identity and claim their right to the city. It is a form of resistance to social invisibility imposed by those who see them as inferior. Pixadores become notorious for traversing boundaries, including the walls of fortified residential enclaves. Few Sao Paulo residents personally know Tchencho and Di, but almost everyone knows of their existence through the markings they leave around the city.



Pixadores are not just claiming their existence. For these young people, Pixação is an opportunity to escape the entrapment of spatial, social and mental "ghettoization." It affirms that they have no fear of moving through the city, even in the face of violent repression.

Sergio Franco is a sociologist, educator and curator with 10 years of experience in the cultural industries of Brazil. Sergio’s work focuses on developing a cultural connection between Brazil and France, with research focusing on the evolution of graffiti in Sao Paulo. He has contributed to Zero-Quatre and is a UNESCO consultant working in Brazil's Historic Artistic Patrimony National Institute (IPHAN). This article was translated from Portuguese by Hector Fernando Burga.

Credits: Illustrations of Brazilian Pixadores by Paulo Ito (2010).

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Street Artists of Salvador: TarcioV

by Carly Fox, Eder Muniz and Sosseh Valentine Taimoorian



TarcioV is an artist based in Salvador da Bahia, Brazil. He rarely discusses his life and work but agreed to a brief interview as part of the Street Artists of Salvador series. The following is a sampling of his thoughts and images.

When people ask about your work, how do you answer?

My work is based on the power and expression of human figures in relation to the space they occupy. On every wall, or whatever other surface, I try to offer people a chance to reflect and let go of conventional impressions about the space.



Can you tell us about how you got started doing street art?

Around the late 1990s, I always used to draw on the way to school. I saw graffiti in the street and tried to imitate it — artists like Verme and Eder Muniz, who later invited me to paint with them.

What are your artistic inspirations?

The people have been my biggest inspiration, and I have a strong connection with faith, as well as Afro-Brazilian stories and legends that tell the history of where I live.



Why do you gravitate towards black-and-white color schemes?

I use black and white mainly because of my experience with drawing in pencil and pen. I'm also interested in its graphic contrast, its connection with the written word, photos from the past and historic engravings.

What do you try to convey to the people who see your work?

I hope they can pass through my universe and feel a wealth of things beyond aesthetics.



What motivates you to work so often with a collective of other artists?

I collaborate with artists I identify with, those who I have a relationship with because we share histories. Our works play off one another. Together they take on a different life.

How would you describe the future of street art in Salvador?

Street art in Salvador has conquered many things at its own pace. I believe its time is yet to come, but we are ready.

This is the fourth chapter of a series on street artists in Salvador da Bahia, Brazil, a collaboration between Salvadoran graffiti artist Eder Muniz and independent researcher Carly Fox, with assistance from Sosseh Valentine Taimoorian of Polis. Each chapter offers a brief introduction to an artist from Salvador based on an extensive collection of interviews, testimonials and photos. Carly and Eder are compiling this material into a book in English and Portuguese.

Credits: Photos from TarcioV.

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Street Artists of Salvador: Rebeca Silva

by Carly Fox, Eder Muniz and Sosseh Valentine Taimoorian


Mixed media: spray, acrylic and pen on wood (2011).

Art has accompanied Rebeca Silva through life since infancy. As a child she lived in Itabuna, a town in the interior of Bahia, Brazil. Her seamstress grandmother and cabinet-maker grandfather were her role models, teaching her to reinvent the world through her work.


Left: Point, line and paint (2010). Right: Paint and embroidery on fabric (2010).

After graduating from the Federal University of Bahia's School of Fine Arts, Rebeca decided to devote herself to painting, woodcutting, sewing, toy art and storytelling.


Paint and embroidery on fabric (2010).

Upon moving to Salvador, Rebeca found her place in the urban world through graffiti, an important part of her development as an artist. She realized that her art could not be separated from life experience, and that graffiti offered a way of combining the two.


Rebeca at work in Salvador.

The path of Rebeca's artwork, both on and off the streets of Salvador, is on display at her frequently updated photostream.

This is the third chapter of a series on street artists in Salvador da Bahia, Brazil, a collaboration between Salvadoran graffiti artist Eder Muniz and independent researcher Carly Fox, with assistance from Sosseh Valentine Taimoorian of Polis. Each chapter offers a brief introduction to an artist from Salvador based on an extensive collection of interviews, testimonials and photos. Carly and Eder are compiling this material into a book in English and Portuguese.

Credits: Photos from Rebeca Silva.

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Participatory Public Art in a Favela

by Katia Savchuk



Last January, five Spanish artists spent almost two weeks living with a family in Vila Brasilândia, a favela on the outskirts of São Paulo, Brazil. Known as Boa Mistura, and describing themselves as "graffiti rockers," the group said in a publication that they "wanted settle in the slum, dissect it, smell it, live it and love it." The result was Luz Nas Vielas, a public art project in which artists and residents painted words like "beleza," firmeza" and "amor" on bright backdrops of flat color across the neighborhood's winding streets. The project is part of a series of participatory urban art interventions that Boa Mistura is leading in low-income communities and will be presented at “Virada Sustentável” in São Paulo on June 4-5, 2012. Boa Mistura recently shared their experience with me in a brief interview.



What did you hope to achieve with Luz Nas Vielas? Was the outcome what you expected?

With this kind of participatory urban art project, what we are looking for is to inspire, to use art in public spaces as a tool for change. We try to uplift the environment and make neighbors believe that they can change it for the best — small changes maybe, but this small change can inspire big ones. The outcome of this project has been amazing. Now Vila Brasilândia is appearing in the media worldwide, not for the negative reasons that these kinds of settlements are accustomed to, but for something positive. We hear almost daily from residents in the streets where we intervened thanking us for what we did, and that is the best reward you can have.

Why did you decide on the particular words and concepts that you painted?

Because this is what Vila Brasilândia, its streets, its stories and its residents inspired in us. When you work in the street, you have a responsibility to the environment. You are modifying it in a permanent way. It's not like a canvas, which you can take from place to place and even trade. Urban art is anchored to a particular place, and that's why we think that it should dialogue with that place, be linked to it. We create works expressly for each site.

On our first walks through Brasilândia, we saw that the becos and vielas (the narrow alleys that we painted) were the places where all the life of the favela was articulated. These alleys were a collage of materials and textures. Some of the houses were only bricks, others had a coating of concrete — we decided to flatten all this chaos and democratize this collage, which reflected economic differences, under the same beautiful color. The words were flowing through the mouths of the neighbors. There, they say hello with words like "beleza" or "firmeza," encouraging each other, and that is something that fascinated us. We felt nothing but love during the two weeks in which we were living there. And for us, the five words painted define the spirit and the essence of Brasilândia.

Was this your first project in a favela? What do you think the role of outside artists should be in favelas or other informal settlements? 


This is our first intervention in a Brazilian favela, but not the first in this kind of area. In March 2011, we were in Cape Town, painting in the townships and the neighborhood of Woodstock. Part of that work focused on participatory and social projects like in Brasilândia.

As artists that use public space as a place to express, we have a responsibility. We have the capacity to communicate very loudly and in a direct way to the whole world, with no intermediaries. We should use this to keep attention on these areas, but not in a negative way, to try to change the perception people have from the outside — giving positive reasons to talk about them.

But the main reason why it is important to go there is because artists have the capacity to make people believe in change. When we were there, people looked at us like martians, saying "You came from overseas to our neighborhood… just to paint?" This is something that people didn't understand, because they were raised on the "you can't" mentality. Parents don't want to give false expectations to children, but at the same time, they are cutting their wings. If they see that people from other parts of the world decide to save some money to go there, just to paint, because it was their dream, they change their mentality a little. These places have a lot of energy — any small change you make can be the inspiration for big changes.

What is your next project?

We hope to carry on soon to another stage of "Crossroads," the participatory urban art project that started in Cape Town and continued in São Paulo. And many more projects — we don't like to talk about them before they materialize, but we never stay quiet!

Credits: Photos from Boa Mistura.

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Instituto Pólis in Brazil

by Jordi Sánchez-Cuenca


Favela Morumbí in the São Paulo, Brazil. Source: El País

Ever since I became interested in urban development in Brazil, I have used the Instituto Pólis as a comprehensive and reliable reference about realities and trends in Brazilian cities. The fact that our blog uses the same name is on one hand a mere coincidence, but it is also the logical outcome of our shared interests and concerns.

Created in 1987, Instituto Pólis is an NGO based in São Paulo, Brazil. It aims to strengthen civil society and governance, with a focus on human rights, public policy and citizen participation. It offers assessments and training, as well as data, reports and other useful tools for urban development professionals and researchers. Although it focuses on Brazil — predominantly São Paulo — its work is of global importance.

Instituto Pólis has been at the forefront of the development and implementation of the City Statute, the law that institutionalized the "right to the city" in Brazil and established mechanisms for implementing the concept. It has been actively involved by supporting civil society organizations and committed public officials in developing participatory municipal master plans and working with urban social movements.

Class and Race at Carnival

by Jordi Sánchez-Cuenca


View of the Carnival party in Salvador in Bahia, Brazil. Source: De Brasil para el Mundo

It's Carnival time. This is when millions leave their worries behind and go with the flow of the world's largest collective parties. Brazil's Carnival events are the most notorious. While the most famous one is in Rio de Janeiro, cities in the north of the country celebrate differently. In Salvador, in the state of Bahia, Carnival is less about costumes and more about music. The party lasts six days — from Feb. 16 to Feb. 22 this year — and it all happens on the city streets.

The parade in Salvador is dominated by the trios elétricos, densely decorated trucks with music celebrities from Bahia playing all night along the carnival route. This tradition was started by two musicians, Dodo and Osmar, in the 1950s. Following trucks are the blocos, people who paid to be inside the cordao, or area around the trio elétrico. Unlike Rio's Carnival, where different social groups and classes gather in the "Sambodromo" and street parties, participation in Salvador's parade is exclusive. It discriminates against those who cannot afford the cost of being part of a bloco; the cordao has become a socio-economic division.


The bloco Ile-Aiye parading in Salvador. Source: Osbastidores

Salvador's Carnival is not only about the massive party. This time of year is also about using public space to celebrate the origins of the great majority of its inhabitants. Some of the most interesting blocos are the "afro-blocos," which aim to recognize the Afro-Brazilian community and their African roots and music. Ile Aiye and Olodum are the best known. Another key expression of this is groups playing afoxê, a genre of music following the tradition of candomblé and its African roots. The first afoxê demonstration took place at Carnival in 1885, three years before slavery was abolished in Brazil.

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Misusing the City Statute in São Paulo

by Patricia Rodrigues Samora


Mauá Street squat. Source: Julia Chequer / R7

Brazil has become known for innovative urban initiatives, including the noted 2001 Statute of the City, which aimed to affirm the social purpose of space and property and social control of land and development. São Paulo was a pioneer in using the powers granted by this groundbreaking law, becoming the first major city to integrate urban instruments from the statute into its master plan. Promulgated in 2002, the plan designated specific urban areas as “Zonas Especiais de Interesse Social” (ZEIS, or Zones of Special Social Interest), which included some of the city's poorest areas.


Source: Google Maps

Some of the ZEISs were located in São Paulo's 13 central districts. These well-located and transportation-rich neighborhoods suffered from abandonment during the past three decades, as de-industrialization impoverished the working classes, and the middle and upper classes abandoned the areas for newer parts of the city. Many buildings were squatted, as the poor struggled to hang on in one of the most expensive cities on the planet.

With pressure constantly mounting on environmentally sensitive areas at the edge of the metropolis, a core idea of the central ZEISs was to encourage public and private investment for financing quality social housing to attract new residents. ZEISs could be built up more densely than other areas in order to attract capital, but as part of the statute’s goals of improving social control over development, deep popular participation in the planning process was required. Over the past few years, real estate developers have become aware of the profit potential of these central districts, and investment is now pouring in beyond the borders of the ZEISs.


Source: Nova Luz Perimeter

One of the most famous and grandiose projects in São Paulo is the city-led redevelopment of “Nova Luz.” The Nova Luz area is well connected to metropolitan transport services, including a new subway line, which — along with cultural spots such as the São Paulo Concert Hall — is part of a wave of public investments designed to spur interest in the area. Under a public-private partnership, the city is looking to "renovate" 45 blocks in the Luz and Santa Ifigênia neighborhoods, also in the name of “compact city” development to alleviate sprawl. To do so, the government is using "urban concession" — a legal instrument that allows the municipality to tender projects to private companies granted they serve a public purpose — to evict residents, demolish old buildings and build new ones. Only a single entity (or pool of companies) will implement the entire Nova Luz project, worth 750 million Brazilian real ($450 million), in five phases. One third of the area will disappear in order to make room for new apartment and office buildings. The Mauá Street occupation, a squat building home 253 families, is one of the buildings that will be demolished.


Drug raid on January 13, 2012. Source: Apu Gomes / FSP

These blocks and its old buildings are places of popular business and have some of the highest population densities in central São Paulo. This is due mainly to the occupation of old, empty buildings by an organized housing movement, responsible for the squatting of 44 buildings to shelter more than nine thousand families since the 1990s. Some of the streets are occupied by hundreds of crack addicts, including many children, a fact that the media has exploited to label the neighborhood "crackland." This problem is used by the government to defend the Nova Luz intervention: In a recent joint operation named “Pain and Suffering,” state and municipal police forces pushed addicts out of the area. Many hostels and tenements are being closed for the same reason, without any solutions for housing affected families.


Urban Concession Area. Source: Nova Luz

Nestled inside the Nova Luz perimeter is a ZEIS. According to the project guidelines, the ZEIS will be used to shelter part of the population evicted from the rest of area. Old buildings and squats will be demolished to clear the area for other (profitable) uses, while the ZEIS — restricted by law to social housing — will help mitigate the impact evictions. However, this scheme doesn’t guarantee that current low-income residents can remain. Many will not be able to afford or qualify for the new housing in the ZEIS. Moreover, many residents dependent on affordable rents are already being displaced, as rents rise in anticipation of the project. Activists and residents have even had to fight for their right to participate in the planning process, even though this is guaranteed by law.

Recently, some residents, local businesses, social housing activists and homeless representatives have come together around housing policy, common heritage, built environment quality, and drug and health policy. They founded a neighborhood association that is catalyzing collaborative initiatives, such as a workshop to inform residents about the five phases of the Nova Luz project, using different colored stickers to mark buildings that will be demolished. There have been some achievements, like the establishment of a ZEIS management council that forces the municipality to negotiate with residents, enhancing a culture of collaborative planning in the city.


Rendering of the ZEIS proposal. Source: Nova Luz

Nevertheless, the fact remains that the ZEIS is being used as a reservoir for the poor, a small island where a few will be allowed to stay while thousands more are evicted and displaced. Even worse, the ZEIS is being used to mitigate the impacts of a massive public-private redevelopment project and thus legitimate mass evictions, an issue that is becoming critical in Brazil's economic boom and redevelopment spurred by the 2014 World Cup and 2016 Olympics. The recent case of the Pinheirinho settlement is a strong example of this trend.

The City Statute and subsequent São Paolo Master Plan were seen as victories for the housing movement — a means to formulate projects that could change the face of exclusion by which Brazilian cities are known. But the city and state governments of São Paulo, and to a certain extent the federal government, seem to have chosen another way to build the future of our cities. This is a future in which evictions are increasingly part of “progress,” the social function of urban land is again made subservient to the demands of the wealthy, and the purpose of planning is to gentrify the core to the greatest extent possible.

This post is by Patricia Rodrigues Samora, a post-doctoral researcher at the Laboratory of Housing and Human Settlements in the Faculty of Architecture and Planning at the University of São Paulo, Brazil.

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Resisting Evictions Before the Brazil World Cup and Olympics


Residents of the Vila Harmonia community in Rio de Janeiro are being evicted as part of a road-widening project in advance of the 2016 Olympics.

As Brazil "cleans up" its cities for the World Cup in 2014 and the Olympics in 2016, many of its poorer urban residents risk losing their homes and jobs. Projects linked to the games have already displaced thousands of families in at least eight cities, and the mayor of Rio de Janeiro announced a $4.5 favela redevelopment plan last year that will tear down 123 areas and relocate 13,000 families. Street vendors have also been evicted to make way for roads and other developments, and more will be pushed out when zones around event sites are fenced off for official sponsors.

Catalytic Communities and StreetNet International are among the organizations working to reduce the games' negative impacts on low-income families and workers. Catalytic Communities is training youth from favelas to use digital media to bring attention to evictions and share local perspectives on the mega-events. The organization started Favela.info and its English-language counterpart RioOnWatch.org to publish local news online. Mainstream city papers in Brazil have mostly ignored evictions or presented them as solutions to "lawless occupation."


The municipal government of Rio de Janeiro has marked more than 300 houses in the Pavão Pavãozinho favela for demolition.

StreetNet International launched a World Class Cities Campaign in Brazil earlier this year to draw attention to the effects of World Cup preparations on informal workers, organize street vendor organizations into a national network and help them benefit from business opportunities. Read more about their work on the StreetNet blog

Credits: Video from RioOnWatchTV.

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Street Artists of Salvador: Dimak

by Carly Fox, Eder Muniz and Sosseh Valentine Taimoorian



“We don’t live off graffiti. We live for graffiti. Graffiti doesn’t sustain us. We sustain graffiti. We have to keep graffiti alive. It’s the essence that we can’t let die.”

— Dimak
Dimak is one of Salvador's “old school” graffiti artists. He has been doing pichacão (tagging) and murals for the past 15 years. His passion and imagination have helped him reach his life goals, and he has recently experimented with other forms of visual expression, including painting on canvas, illustration and tattooing.

As a child, Dimak would accompany his mother from the periphery into the heart of the city, where he could gaze upon the pichação in streets and alleyways. Among the many talented graffiti artists in Salvador, Asa and Cegonha especially captured his attention. Dimak began tagging in 1994 and met Grude, Rato, Soneca (from the PLB crew); Tom, Thor, Siri (PPL); and Marcelinho (GPCF). Dimak acknowledges that pichação is an “expression of the streets,” but he found it limiting and wanted to do more. “I already drew, so as time went by I started to get to know graffiti.”



Dimak decided to pursue a career as an artist while spending two years in Itabuna, a Bahian city south of Salvador. Working a mundane job that had nothing to do with art, he was unable to live the life he had envisioned for himself. He returned to Salvador in 2000 and decided to dedicate himself to art. “Whoever is going to be by my side is going to have to understand my situation, because I want to live by my art. Whoever doesn’t want to live like this won’t be a part of my life.”

When he returned from Itabuna he began to study in the fine arts department of the Federal University of Bahia, only to quit after one semester. “Hey, college is awesome; you learn art, cool, the support you get is essential. But the people who are controlling the university today don’t value the artist. They don’t give you freedom to create. You’re always after the grade. The university is good for certain people, and I respect those who like it and finish, but it wasn’t my thing.”



Dimak creates characters with intricate and deformed facial expressions. He describes his style as “aggressive" and "tense,” forcing the public to wonder what the character is thinking or feeling. “There are things you see everyday that make you feel anguish, emotionally torn apart, beat up," he said. "Without being obvious, I want to put out the things that are causing me anguish.”

Experience with intense migraines has fueled Dimak's work. “For me, the migraine crisis is the same thing as social inequality. Migraines are the same thing as violence. Migraines are the same thing as if you lose everything in your life; if a flood takes everything, you’re robbed of everything. Using red shows your indignation with society.”



Dimak communicates non-verbally through his characters' expressions. “I like the expression of hands. The gesture of hands, for me, is communication without words.” This is especially important for graffiti artists, as it is always a challenge to attract the attention of people passing by.



According to Dimak, there isn’t enough appreciation, value or space for art in Salvador. “The city is big; the work we should be doing should be big. People don’t understand that graffiti is contemporary art. It’s still not in people’s conscience.”

He criticizes graffiti artists who only paint for high-profile events, preferring those who go out on their own to the corners of Salvador and find “a wall that’s dirty, where you’ll appreciate the work and you’re not going to paint for everyone. You’re going to paint because you want to, for pleasure.”

Demak encourages graffiti artists in Salvador to push each other to grow and raise the bar. “As long as we don’t stop, we’ll continue to be a reference for the up-and-coming artists."


Portuguese Version
“A gente não vive do graffiti, a gente vive por graffiti. O graffiti não sustenta nós é que sustentamos graffiti. Nós temos que manter ele vivo. É a essência que a gente não pode deixar apagar.”

— Dimak


Dimak é um dos mais experientes grafiteiros de Salvador – tem mais que 15 anos pichando, bombardeando e grafitando as ruas. Sua personalidade é forte, suas idéias são muito claras e tem conseguido alcançar suas metas. Além do graffiti, tem se aventurado recentemente em outras formas de expressão visual, como pintura em tela, ilustração (manual e digital) e tatuagem.

Quando era menino, saía com a mãe da periferia rumo à cidade só para poder ver as pichações. Não havia muitas nessa época, porém Asa e Cegonha, em particular, chamaram sua atenção. Em 1994, começou a pichar e conheceu Grude, Rato, Soneca (PLB), Tom, Thor, Siri (PPL) e Marcelinho (GPCF). Ele descreve a pichação como “uma expressão da rua”, mas, “como eu já desenhava, eu comecei sentir limitações de expressividade na pichação. O tempo foi passando e eu conheci o graffiti.”



O momento crucial para a decisão de Dimak de viver da arte foi ao retornar de uma estadia de dois anos em Itabuna. “Fui la só para trabalhar, nada a ver com arte. Bater cartão, não poder ter uma vida que eu quero, não ter que dar satisfação a ninguém.” Quando voltou para Salvador, em 2000, decidiu se dedicar exclusivamente à arte. “Eu não vou trabalhar mais para ninguém. Dê o que der, eu vou pagar um preço. Quem quiser ficar a meu lado tem que entender minha situação, porque eu quero viver de arte. Quem não quer ter essas condições, não vou levar em minha vida.”

De volta a Salvador, Dimak entrou para a Faculdade de Belas Artes da UFBA, mas viu que a faculdade não era para ele. “A faculdade é bala, velho. A base, a essência é de foder, mas as pessoas que estão tomando conta da faculdade hoje em dia desmerecem o artista. Não dão liberdade para você se criar. Você corre atrás de uma nota, você não pode desenvolver um trabalho autoral. E é muito pouco tempo para você. Tem ótimos professores, eu gostei. Dou o maior apoio aos que se enquadram no perfil da faculdade e conseguem terminar, mas não foi a minha onda.”

Dimak tem o desejo de criar e recriar seus personagens, agregando expressividade e deformidade. Gosta de inserir uma carga emocional em suas criações, e descreve seu estilo como “agressivo, tensionado”, forçando o público a se questionar sobre o que o personagem está pensando ou sentindo. “Porque tem coisas que você vê no cotidiano, a gente fica angustiado, fica emocionalmente abatido, nos abala. Eu não quero ser óbvio. Quero botar o que me está fazendo sentir angustiado.” No passado, Dimak sofria de enxaqueca, uma condição que ele emprega em sua arte para ilustrar suas emoções. “ Para mim, a crise de enxaqueca é a mesma coisa que a crise de desigualdade social. A crise de enxaqueca é a mesma coisa que a violência. A crise de enxaqueca é a mesma coisa de você perder tudo na sua vida, te roubarem tudo. Então, aquele avermelhado aqui é a indignação com a sociedade. As personagens tensionadas, angustiadas.” Dimak também gosta exagerar os lábios, o nariz, os traços mais negroides, africanos. “Não pela cor, mais pela expressão. A mão, gosto muito a expressão das mãos, também. São coisas que transmitem. O gesto da mão é uma forma de comunicação sem a palavra.”



Na opinião de Dimak, não há apreço, valorização ou espaço suficientes para a arte em Salvador. “A cidade é grande, então tem que fazer trabalhos grandes. Mas não tem espaço nem mercado para a arte. As pessoas não estão entendendo que o graffiti é arte contemporânea. Ainda não está na consciência das pessoas.”

Ele critica um padrão atual em que “a maioria dos grafiteiros só pintam em evento, não um muro manjado, um muro mais escondido, uma coisa que você vai agregar ao seu trabalho, não vai pintar para todo mundo, vai pintar porque é sua onda. São poucos que pintam assim.”

Seu desejo é que os grafiteiros em Salvador se inspirem para pintar e para crescer juntos. “Se a gente vai continuar trabalhando de forma séria (poucas pessoas estão procurando trabalhar de uma forma séria), não parar, vamos acabar sendo referência para os que estão chegando. Só se a gente não parar.”

This is the third chapter of a series on street artists in Salvador da Bahia, Brazil, a collaboration between Salvadoran graffiti artist Eder Muniz and independent researcher Carly Fox, with assistance from Sosseh Valentine Taimoorian of Polis. Each chapter offers a brief introduction to an artist from Salvador based on an extensive collection of interviews, testimonials and photos. Carly and Eder are compiling this material into a book in English and Portuguese.

Credits: Photos from Dimak.

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Right to the City in Brazil

by Melissa García Lamarca


Comunidade Campo Grande Jurubatuba, an informal settlement in Santo Amaro subprefecture, São Paulo. Magic Condominium Resort tower in the background.

The right to the city is a concept employed by a variety of actors at different scales. Its use ranges from being nestled within the status quo to staunchly anti-capitalist. Although present in many declarations and charters, the one place where binding legislation on the right to the city actually exists – along with inevitable, significant tensions inherent in its implementation – is Brazil.

Thanks to decades of struggle by an alliance of social housing movements, professionals, squatters, NGOs and academics, legislation ensuring the right to the city was enshrined in the 2001 City Statute, a development law regulating the chapter on urban policy, specifically articles 182 and 183, in Brazil’s 1988 Constitution.

The City Statute defines the general guidelines that must be observed by federal, state and local governments to ensure democratic city management and the recognition of the "social function" of urban property and the city. "Social function" refers to the prioritization of use value over exchange value — collective interest over individual ownership rights — while democratic city management involves a path to plan, produce, operate and govern cities subject to social control and participation of civil society. It thus seeks to establish a new social ethic, condemning the city as a source of profits for a few in exchange for poverty for the many. It is institutionalized through various tools and forums, such as mandatory public participation in master planning processes in cities and the creation of the Ministry of Cities and the National Council of Cities, to name a few.


Comunidade Campo Grande Jurubatuba next to Magic Condominium Resort.

Yet with the entrepreneurial turn in cities in Brazil and around the world in the past decade, where the exchange value of property trumps use value, significant tensions result in attempts to implement the legislation, as values prioritizing people and social justice clash with market realities. This was highlighted for me during an IHP Cities visit to Jurubatuba in São Paul. In December 2007, Gafisa, one of the leading residential and real estate companies in Brazil, illegally offered the city's Santo Amaro sub-prefecture around $14,000 to "clean" an area in which it wanted to build a luxury housing project, the Magic Condominium Resort. The area to be "cleaned" was on the edge of the developer’s desired construction site, where around 120 people were living in 37 houses in a settlement founded over 25 years ago on what was then a dumping ground for old construction materials.


Meeting and tour with Sr. Luiz, President of the Comunidade Campo Grande Jurubatuba Association (right) and Julia Moretti, lawyer with the Escritório Modelo.

Although this settlement had been consolidated over time, obtaining electricity and water connections in 2004, on Christmas Eve of 2007, local government representatives offered residents $8,500 and gave them four days to leave the site. Sr. Luiz, our contact at the Jurubatuba settlement, went to the Public Defenders Office, who sent him to the Escritório Modelo at the Pontific Catholic University of São Paulo, a popular legal clinic that offers free services to vulnerable populations. Their case is still under way, and they have joined the larger housing movement struggle that is reigniting São Paulo, as their situation is by no means unique.



One key challenge facing settlements wishing to claim their right to the city through the City Statute legislation is a more conservative São Paulo city government, whose interests are illustrated in the cartoon above. Mayor Kessab is driving a bulldozer reading “Project Sanitize” over people claiming, “We want housing,” backed up by private interests stating, “We want real estate speculation.” The Mayor selects the heads of the 19 sub-prefectures of the city of São Paulo, almost all of whom are former military generals who were put in place largely because they knew how to take orders.

Many areas designated as Special Zones of Social Interest (ZEIS) in previous master plans – low-income areas targeted for state intervention to create low-income housing and protect them from real estate speculation – are now being re-classified as areas for development with no public consultation. These dynamics, as illustrated in the cartoon above, are being further magnified by 2014 World Cup development pressure.

These dynamics around governance and urban development in São Paulo show that having legislation to secure social rights and the right to the city is absolutely not enough. To truly transform institutions and the systems of which they are a part requires constant pressure and struggle to ensure that rights are continuously claimed and maintained.

Credits: Photos by Melissa García Lamarca. Cartoon from "Favelas in Action" protest flyer.

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São Paulo: City of Contrasts

by Melissa García Lamarca


Vila Prudente, São Paulo's oldest favela.


Cidade Jardim, a high-end residential and shopping complex.

With a teeming population of over 11 million, São Paulo is Brazil’s economic, cultural and administrative hub. As the financial capital of Brazil, and indeed Latin America, it is a booming global city with high growth and low unemployment rates. Yet UN-HABITAT reports that there is approximately one millionaire for every one hundred of the city’s poor and that São Paulo continues to have one of the highest income disparities in the world. Such disparities manifest themselves spatially, etched in the city, as depicted perhaps most famously in Teresa Caldeira’s "City of Walls."

In order to directly experience São Paulo’s housing inequities, IHP Cities visited one of its high-end gated communities and one of its makeshift squatter settlements (favelas) on the same day. The first is an exclusive residential and shopping complex named Cidade Jardim (Garden City), perhaps in an attempt to evoke Ebenezer Howard’s utopic vision. The latter is Vila Prudente, the oldest favela in São Paulo, settled in the 1950s.


Fortified entrance to Cidade Jardim residential towers.


Exploring the Cidade Jardim residential complex.

Once we got through the layers of security, including passport checks, we were met by architects employed by JHSF, the developers of Cidade Jardim. The development consists of nine residential towers with 322 apartments, the smallest being 240 square meters and the largest 2000. People who purchased their flats before construction paid $2,200 per square meter but those selling now can fetch a price of over $9,000 per square meter. The integration of the residences into the shopping mall – the most expensive in the city, with celebrity advertising campaigns from Sarah Jessica Parker and Heidi Klum – is one of the attractions for people living here. There is also a luxurious spa where membership costs $250 per month, half the rate charged to non-residents – who need to know a resident in order to become members. According to the architects we spoke to, security is one of the main motivations of the development: “People have everything here. It is important for them to be protected.”


Pool with a view to Berrini, São Paulo's newest financial district.


Claudio, ones of our guides, explains something to students as we enter Vila Prudente.

Upon arrival in Vila Prudente we were met by a resident and his colleague, both active with the Movement in Defense of Favela-dwellers (MDF). They led us through narrow corridors to visit several important community spaces MDF helped create, the first of which was the Vila Prudente Cultural Center. Founded by an Irish priest 20 years ago, the center provides art, workshops and after-school programs for children, and its work has expanded to 40 other favelas in the city. The MDF founded the Júlio Cesar de Aguiar Creche, a daycare for 65 children who live in the neighborhood, where we saw dozens of smiling bouncy kids running about. Through the MDF's decades of struggle, most houses have been consolidated and have electricity and water services. A few years ago, residents received the title to their land, finally obtaining their constitutional rights. Asked if there were one thing he could change in Vila Prudente, André, our resident guide, said it would be people’s mentality – to not be ashamed of living in a favela.


Vila Prudente Cultural Center.


Pastoral Centre in Vila Prudente.

Aside from the spatial arrangement, the active engagement and interaction between people living in Vila Prudente compared to Cidade Jardim was the starkest contrast between the two sites. In Cidade Jardim there was not much trace of its residents, and those that we did see were largely middle-aged women alone or in pairs returning from the spa. There were no eyes on the street or sense of collectivity or solidarity, as in Vila Prudente; high fences, cameras and security guards were there to ensure that safety and security rein.

Can São Paulo’s residential spaces become less segregated? Would increased income equality help bring the extremes closer together? With race, class and other structural relationships tied into the mix, change is not so easy, but it needs to happen somehow if we are to imagine a more just and sustainable city.

Credits: First picture of Vila Prudente from Marcelo Honorio Dias. First picture of Cidade Jardim from JHSF developers. All other pictures by Melissa García Lamarca.

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