Ruins and Erosion: Reflections on the CasaDuna project

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Edited by Alison Sperling

Marlon Miguel with Julia Naidin and Fernando Codeço

CasaDuna/DuneHouse is a center of art, research and memory created

in 2017 by the philosopher Julia Naidin and the visual artist Fernando Codeço. The center is situated at Atafona, a district of the city of São -RmRGD%DUUDORFDWHGLQWKH6WDWHRI5LRGH-DQHLUR%UD]LO$WDIRQD used to be a seaside resort town, but it has been experiencing a very powerful process of erosion in the last decades. As a result of rising sea levels, the landscape has been radically reshaped—as a consequence, part of the coast was swallowed and several buildings slowly became ruins and are now partially submerged. For this reason, the main beach ZDV QLFNQDPHG ´$SRFDO\SVH EHDFKµ 7KH SURFHVV RI HURVLRQ WDNLQJ place in the region is in part a natural one—it is also largely due to the encounter of the Atlantic Ocean with the Paraíba do Sul River —but it seems to have been accelerated by the massive industrial process that took place in the region. The river traverses the three most industrial UHJLRQVRI%UD]LOQDPHO\6mR3DXOR5LRGH-DQHLURDQG0LQDV*HUDLV The CasaDunaSURMHFWKDVLQLWLDWHGVHYHUDOORFDODFWLRQVVXFKDVDUW residences, cineclubs, exhibitions, theater, and performances. CasaDuna is a center for art, research, and memory, and is shaped by the physical and psychological processes of erosion that have transformed the landscape and people in the region.

Julia Naidin researches action methodologies in contemporary

art as a postdoctoral fellow in the Post-graduate Program in Social Policies at UENF. She has a PhD in Philosophy from UFRJ with a PDSE scholarship at EHESS—Paris, developing works on Michel Foucault’s ethical-political philosophy. Since 2017, she has coordinated and produced CasaDuna in São João da Barra, and is an actress in the Erosão Group. She was a teacher at PreparaNem, a pre-college education collective focused on transgender experiences in Rio de -DQHLUR6KHHGLWHG´0DUNLQJVDQGPRELOL]DWLRQVLQ%LRSRZHU WLPHVµIRUWKHCollège International de PhilosophieMRXUQDO6KHKDV taken part in several international symposia such as Untold (Hi) stories at HFBK in Hamburg, Germany, and the 1st Biennal by Philosophie Practice in Roedes, Greece.

Fernando Codeço is a visual artist, researcher, and theater director.

He currently lives on Atafona beach, a municipality of São João da Barra, where he coordinates the CasaDuna—Center for Art, Research, Paradoxa, No. 31 ©2019-20

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and Memory of Atafona. He also directs the Erosion Theater and Visual Arts Group. He is pursuing a PhD in performing arts at UNIRIO in

FRRSHUDWLRQZLWKWKH83-9$PLHQV)UDQFH,QKHKHOGKLVÀUVW VROR H[KLELWLRQ ´9rQXV QRV (VSHOKRVµ DW WKH Índica gallery in Rio GH-DQHLURFXUDWHGE\5HQDWR5H]HQGH+HKDVWDNHQSDUWLQVHYHUDO H[KLELWLRQVDQGDUWIHVWLYDOVLQ%UD]LODQGDEURDGDQGKLVZRUNKDVEHHQ shown in important institutions such as M. Bassy (Hamburg), ICI-Berlin, La Centrale 22 (Paris), MAM-RJ, CCBB-RJ, Centro Cultural Calouste Gulbenkian, Casa França Brasil, and the Museum of Sexual Diversity of SP. He was a member and founder of the video-performance collective

Projeto Cérbero. He was an evaluator of the CAIXA Cultural Programs

notice in 2016. He worked with art education at CCBB-RJ, MAM-RJ, Casa França Brasil, and SESC-Copacabana.

Marlon Miguel: I would like to begin this short conversation by asking you to situate a bit the history of Atafona and your own place in it. How did you get to Atafona, where did the idea of inhabiting a place marked by ruins, erosion, decadency come from? What does it mean to take a position in this landscape, and as artist and philosopher to leave the capital? And what were your initial aims with the CasaDuna experiment?

Former Pontal of Atafona in the 1970s Unknown author, photographic collection of CsaDuna CasaDuna: These are central questions. First: How did we get to Atafona? Part of Fernando’s family comes from Campos dos Goytacazes, which is the region’s bigger city, located 38 km from the beach. In fact, his

great-grandfather arrived in Brazil with a theatre troupe in São João da Barra. Fernando spent part of his life in Campos and, for many years, would go often to Atafona. So there was already a relationship with the territory, an understanding of the local dynamics and a desire to develop at some point some work there. In 2016 we met, and I was ÀQLVKLQJP\3K'LQ3KLORVRSK\0\GRFWRUDWH,EHOLHYHKDGDJUHDW LQÁXHQFHRQWKHFRQVWUXFWLRQRIWKLVSURMHFWEHFDXVHLWZDVDZRUNWKDW led me to think a lot about practices, in the sense of effective public actions in life, in lives, in different lives, and for different lives. In this context, we made a trip to Atafona and began to draw the project of an art residence dedicated to working with the issue of local memory and the environmental problem of erosion, in a broad sense. I would VD\WKDWURXJKO\VSHDNLQJWKHUHDUHWZRPDLQD[HV7KHÀUVWZDVWKH question of how to do it? This question was preceded by that of how to create conditions for it to be done? This meant searching for a local action methodology, which implied a relationship with the local means of production. At that point we created action strategies, which were GHÀQHGWKURXJKRXUSHUFHSWLRQRIWKHWHUULWRU\DQGE\HYDOXDWLQJRXU resources—as artists, researchers, and cultural producers.

The other question relates to erosion, which manifests a very strong aesthetic force. We understand erosion as an aesthetic phenomenon, and beyond this implicit expression of loss, beyond its destructive character, both of which are evident, it is interesting to think of erosion as a power, as an agent, as a motivating and constructing force of life and imagination. So, erosion always has these two guiding impulses.

Intellectuals, cultural producers, artists, we are spread all over Brazil. And when you arrive in these peripheral spaces you realize that it is not that they don’t exist—they exist, but they are few, with little interurban articulation and little value in their pedagogical, emancipatory, and FULWLFDOSRWHQWLDO,WKLQNLWLVLPSRUWDQWWREHPRUHWKDQVHOIUHÁH[LYHDQG self-referential; it is important to be part of a movement of dispersion DQGFROOHFWLYHFRQVWUXFWLRQGHVSLWHWKHGLIÀFXOW\WRGRVR2QO\WKHQ can the work become that of building relationships between parts that have different contexts and backgrounds. And you start to learn to live and work with fewer resources, less attention, and less integration. In reality, our goal was to see what it would be possible to do.

00 6R LQ \RXU VSHFLÀF FDVH KDYH \RX PHW ORFDO DUWLVWV ZKR ZHUH tackling questions related to the territory? Or maybe not self-declared artists, but people who nonetheless were producing material with what you saw as having artistic value? If I understand, you also collected photos that had been taken over the years by the community and exhibited them, right?

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CD: Yes, there was research being done already by local artists and they had works that had already been developed in the region before we arrived. But I think there is an earlier question embedded in your question, and that is who is “the artist.” This is a question that concerns the market of art and not the experience. I’m not a collector and I don’t deal with works and artists from a commercial perspective. The kind of production we develop is more about producing aesthetic practices rather than restricting them via credentials. Who is the artist? Is it the doctor in the operating theater or is it the survivor? Who is creating epistemic, symbolic, and aesthetic transformations through political action against a system of extermination? I think it depends, and I’d love it to be both. ,QWKLVVHQVHZHDUHPXFKFORVHUWRÀJXUHVOLNH+pOLR2LWLFLFDRUHYHQ Paulo Freire, because we are interested in building an experience that has potential for transformation, experiences that are not restricted to the Museum and to the University. Who can take part in this? Artists and non-artists. In fact, abolishing this distinction, in our work, only enriches the practice. Many of the images we work with are even of poor technical quality. But they are very powerful “objects for mediation,” or materials for art-education work in our relations with the community, with groups of artists, and with students from the region.

MM: Let me go back to the notion of erosion, which is indeed very productive. There is of course natural erosion, the erosion of the landscape that would occur without anthropogenic forces. But also, as you often mention in your works, there is the erosion of a world, of a world-view, of a way of life. Atafona used to be, until the 1970s, DW\SLFDO´%DOQHDU\µFLW\ i.e., a more or less luxurious seaside town with spas and hotels. And before that, it was a region inhabited by LQGLJHQRXVSHRSOH³LQSDUWLFXODUWKH*R\WDFD]HVZKRZHUHH[SHOOHG exterminated, and converted by religious missionaries. It also became later an important location of the slave trade because of the sugarcane URXWH6RWKH´EDOQHDU\µLWVHOIZDVEXLOWXSRQWKHVHVHYHUDOVWUDWDRI YLROHQFH,WUHSUHVHQWVDW\SLFDOSURFHVVRI%UD]LOLDQVRFLHW\LQSDUWLFXODU RIWKHFRQVWLWXWLRQRIWKHERXUJHRLV%UD]LOLDQHOLWH,VXSSRVHWKDWWKH notion of erosion and the way you work with it are also addressing these problems and trying to re-activate these memories and processes?

CD: Yes, indeed. I think part of our job is always to answer the question ´KRZWRGRLWµ$QG\RXUÀUVWTXHVWLRQ´KRZGLGZHJHWWR$WDIRQDµ also points in this direction. We work by researching methodologies for action. And each result is always circumstantial, depending on local agreements that have been worked out for each case. In our case, this

means that we make an attempt to understand the question of what it means to do a territorial, or contextual job. We arrive with a project, but also with full openness and a willingness to listen. For example, we KDGDSURMHFWLQPLQGDQLGHDEXWLWZDVUDGLFDOO\UHFRQÀJXUHGZKHQ ZHDUULYHGGXHWRDQHQFRXQWHUZLWKDKRXVH,WZDVWKHÀUVWKRXVHZH inhabited, and from which we took the name for this project. We were already thinking about that name, but when we got there, we saw a literal CasaDuna, a house invaded by a dune. And it wasn’t any house. This is a curious story that illustrates the issue. In 2017, we were looking for a house that was big enough to serve as a base for the project and house people, provide space for workshops, and to produce cultural events of different kinds. In other words, a “big house.”

View from the CasaDuna. Photo: Fernando Codeço, 2017

00<RXPHDQ\RXZHUHORRNLQJIRUWKHUXLQVRID´ELJKRXVHµ(casa

grande) which had been, in the time of slavery, a house that was called

WKH´PDVWHU·VKRXVHµLQRSSRVLWLRQWRWKHsenzala, the slave quarters)?

CD: Yes, and there was already a concern about that symbol, because we knew we were coming to work in a territory with few resources and an inherited context of deep colonialism. In this sense, the meeting with that residence was impactful because, curiously, the house belonged to a traditional family, heirs of the Cambahyba sugar mill. The house was built in the 1970s, in the middle of the military dictatorship, with the wealth coming from spurious relations with the federal government. :LWKWKHEDQNUXSWF\RIWKHPLOOWKHIDPLO\ORVWVLJQLÀFDQWHFRQRPLF

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and political power, but their reputation remained in the imagination of the population. We knew that for this reason the use of that house could increase the visibility of our cultural actions in the local media, which actually did end up happening. But the determining element in our decision to choose the property was the fact that shortly before our arrival, this large sand dune had invaded the land, knocking down a wall that protected the house from the view of passers-by, from animals. Sand did this … it was quite funny! The image of the dune invading the mansion was especially emblematic for us and everything we did in that house had, in some way, this symbolic charge.

We accomplished many actions that year: we received artists, we created a theater group, we held performance experiences that were important to the group, we had parties, fairs, a cineclub and an exhibition WKDW ZH PRXQWHG RXU ÀUVW ´$WDIRQD 0XVHXP LQ 3URFHVVµ ZKLFK also served as a rehearsal for a “museum” experience. And we also accomplished educational work with school groups. We used the main hall as a gallery, we used slab trusses to create light, we exhibited part of the collection we had recently acquired, a set of historical images of the area affected by erosion, images of a territory now submerged, and we also began to build our own collection. The work in this house lasted a year and went through a radical transformation. We encountered political, LQVWLWXWLRQDODQGEXUHDXFUDWLFEDUULHUVWKDWPDGHWKHZRUNYHU\GLIÀFXOW

MM: What kind of barriers?

CD: An intricate and costly bureaucratic plot that forced us to acquire permits that would allow us to produce events. We even tried to produce parties and shows by charging admission. It was one of the advantages of that space, but it proved unfeasible. And it allied us to a provincial and protectionist political game. So we decided to change the focus of our actions. We realized that we could only reach the local public of Atafona and São João da Barra if we held our events in the street or in those cultural places related to the city hall. So we moved to a smaller and less expensive house and began to develop projects that could be held in those spaces.

Theatrical procession “Tempontal” with Grupo Erosão 2018 e 2019. Photos: Grupo Erosão.

MM: And this had an impact on your aims and methods, I suppose?

CD: I think this was an example of us listening, both upon arrival and until our departure, and of constant availability and evaluation, QRWFRQVLGHULQJRXUSODQQLQJÀ[HG7KHUHLVWKHTXHVWLRQRIUHVHDUFK methodology, which I sometimes call action-research, but which we could also call creation-research, cartographic-research; there are some contemporary action methodologies whose nomenclature varies DFFRUGLQJWRWKHYDULRXVÀHOGVEXWZKLFKXOWLPDWHO\VHHNWRGHVWDELOL]H ÀHOGVDQGSRVLWLRQV)RUH[DPSOHWKHVXEMHFWREMHFWVWUXFWXUHVZKHQ your subject cannot be treated as independent of the production you operate in it. It must be changed depending on the effects of your actions. Research as a living body.

MM: CasaDunaLVLQWKLVVHQVHDQDUWLVWLFUHVHDUFKSURMHFWRUDV\RX SXWLWD´UHVHDUFKDFWLRQµEXLOWORFDOO\ZLWKWKHPDWHULDOSURYLGHGE\ the territory. You aim at a mode of intervention that mixes aesthetic, political, and social elements, and you seem to deal closely with a certain language and a set of symbols that refer to the apocalypse, the ruins, the destruction. How do you deal with this imaginary? Is there not a danger of fascination with these symbols? And what role does ÀFWLRQ³WKURXJK\RXUSHUIRUPDQFHVWKHDWHUQDUUDWLYHFRQVWUXFWLRQ³ SOD\LQ\RXUSURMHFW"

CD: We refer to a way of doing research that takes the work in a direction RI VRFLDO SROLWLFDO LQWHUYHQWLRQDO DHVWKHWLF DFWLRQ7KLV LV D ÀHOG RI

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PLFURDQDO\VLV DQG FRQVLVWV RI UHVHDUFKLQJ FDVHV IURP WKHLU VSHFLÀF FRQÀJXUDWLRQVDQGFLUFXPVWDQFHVDQGQRWORRNLQJIRUODUJHULVVXHV7KLV is research understood in its local dimensions, practical, creative, and committed to a real situation. Of course, this “real” is problematized, but not in terms of discourses formulated on what is and what is not, what should be and what should not. It is in stepping apart from an action, from the production of experience that we will see what kind of problems can DULVH:KHQDFRQÁLFWDULVHVDVXUSULVHDFRPPRQHPRWLRQVHPDQWLF transformations, new productions of meaning.

$QGLQWKLVVHQVHÀFWLRQSOD\VDYHU\SRZHUIXOUROH%RWKLQWKHVHQVH of activating an imagination with which to compose the real, and in the sense of legitimizing this discursive place, that is: keeping different discourses cohabiting and producing effects of this discourse. For example, the question of erosion itself. There are different discourses about this phenomenon: you have the Protestant apocalypse, you have WKHVFLHQWLÀFDSRFDO\SVHLQLGHDVOLNHWKRVHRI$QWKURSRFHQH\RXKDYH WKDWRIWKHÀVKHUPDQZKRWKURXJKKLVDQFHVWUDOZLVGRPXQGHUVWDQGV the changing dynamics of the coast in the region, you have that of the geology researcher, of the politician, etc. What we are calling real, because it is to be problematized, is also composed of these different regimes that cohabit and inter-circulate. “Jesus is coming back,” “The sea is taking back what belonged to it,” “On a geological scale, the silting up of the soil is a recurrent phenomenon in coastal plains,” “In WKHQDPHRIGHYHORSPHQWZHGLYHUWRIWKHÁRZRIDULYHUWRVXSSO\ agribusiness and the great industrial centers.” These different discourses cohabit. Some elements of one discourse can even participate in others at the same time.

7KLVLVLQWHUHVWLQJWRWKLQNDERXWKRZÀFWLRQLVDOZD\VDOVRFRQVWLWXWLYH RIUHDOGLVFRXUVHDQGKRZWKHVHGHÀQLWLRQVRIÀFWLRQFDQYDU\DORWLQ the same community according to who you speak to. And I understand that I’m in no place to judge them; on the contrary, I understand myself as one more voice, or as an agent in this multiplicity.

00<HVGHÀQLWHO\,DOVRWKLQNÀFWLRQDQGLPDJLQDWLRQFDQEH³VKRXOG be—a powerful tool of critique. But they can also open the path to URPDQWLFL]LQJ IDVFLQDWLRQ DQG HYHQ IHWLVKL]DWLRQ RI WKH GHVWUXFWLRQ How do you deal with these dangers?

&',WLVLPSRUWDQWWRVD\WKDWWKHUHLVDÀJKWDJDLQVWIHWLVKL]DWLRQLQD broad sense. Fetishization, by the way, is a practice that Brazil produces masterfully. Now, as I write in May of 2020, we watch the fetishization of death, the staging of a negative cunning against COVID-19, but this is another matter.

It is certain that ruins can very easily take part in a fetichization discourse. But I believe that at this point, our work implies a multiplication of the senses that are usually attributed to the erosive phenomenon. We do not have control over the way that artists act; on the contrary, we seek an opening to different artistic expressions, but in the dialogic curatorial process we seek to involve the artists in dynamics that go beyond a mere aesthetic experience of the landscape in ruins. We want to make available a mediation whenever possible with the community. This has been expressed in different situations GXULQJ PHHWLQJV GHEDWHV DQG ZRUNVKRSV FRQWULEXWLQJ WR UHÁHFWLRQV on the phenomenon. And this is undoubtedly one of the fundamental political points that our work aims to accomplish. That is, to foster and expand local and global perceptions of the phenomenon, to contribute WRWKHJHUPLQDWLRQRILQLWLDWLYHVRIOLVWHQLQJUHÁHFWLRQDGDSWDWLRQWR the transformation and memory of this complex socio-environmental phenomenon that is the erosion of a city, and that will likely become a more and more frequent occurrence.

Marlon Miguel is currently FCT Researcher [Fundação para a Ciência e a 7HFQRORJLD,36WLPXOXVRI6FLHQWLÀF(PSOR\PHQW,QGLYLGXDO6XSSRUW CEECIND/02352/&3&7@DWWKH&HQWHURI3KLORVRSK\ RI6FLHQFH8QLYHUVLW\RI/LVERQ&)&8/DQGDQDI¿OLDWHGIHOORZRI WKH,QVWLWXWHIRU&XOWXUDO,QTXLU\,&,%HUOLQ+HKROGVDGRXEOH3K'LQ )LQH$UWV8QLYHUVLWpGH3DULV9LQFHQQHV6DLQW'HQLVDQG3KLORVRSK\ )HGHUDO8QLYHUVLW\RI5LRGH-DQHLUR+LVFXUUHQWUHVHDUFKIRFXVHVRQ WKHLQWHUVHFWLRQEHWZHHQDUWDQGDQWLSV\FKLDWU\