memento | lucassoares

Exhibition held at the UFJF Culture Forum, Juiz de Fora, MG

Memento

There is something extraordinary about thinking of a living room as a room made especially for being, after all, what does it take to be present? Time? I write to make sure I am, but I still don't know if what I bring in this letter has more of me or what I see here.

If in crochet, to complete a stitch it is necessary to go back two, before proceeding, I would like to return to the word that gives name to this exhibition. From here, Memento is also a meeting ...

Photography

Sergio O. Izzo

Curatorship

Isadora Matos and Larissa Brandão

Thanks

Bia Penna

Expographic Project

Production

Paula Lopes

Franciane Lúcia and Saulo Machado

Ties Series. Mixed Technique. Crochet, rust, archival photography. 2018

Pointers. Installation. Nail and rust on greaseproof paper. 2019

Findings. Assemblage. 2018-2019

Memento. Memory fragment

Strange fruit. Sculpture. Torn trunk and white cement.

There was no clock to wake up, or even a simple rooster that announced, like a foreshadowing, that a spark of red or even orange spreads across the sky on the horizon of that place. Zeca had left us.
I met her passing through the chapel—resting on her swollen legs; with a bag of something she stuck to, which she said made very good tea for the joints. He picked up his bag, looked into the chapel, and said, “Do you know why the deceased is never buried on his back, my thread? When we see someone face down, we see ourselves and we see ourselves in the center of the spine... And that is why Miltinho, when people are buried, they are not placed face down”.
I started to connect the dots. At night a rooster crowed.

Exhibition view. Series Findings, Pointers, Engenho-moinho-terra and Strange fruit

There was no clock to wake up, or even a simple rooster that announced, like a foreshadowing, that a spark of red or even orange spreads across the sky on the horizon of that place. Zeca had left us.
I met her passing through the chapel—resting on her swollen legs; with a bag of something she stuck to, which she said made very good tea for the joints. He picked up his bag, looked into the chapel, and said, “Do you know why the deceased is never buried on his back, my thread? When we see someone face down, we see ourselves and we see ourselves in the center of the spine... And that's why