What is BRA 58
Once upon a time, a few months ago indeed, Brenda, RamZ and Antonis met at Mathew' s residency. Its officially called the Lakkos Residency. Lots of artists come to Lakkos. Some collaborate. For no reason. For the shake of art, you could say.
RamZ is a French-Tunisian artist not in an urgency to leave the island. Brenda was raised in north Brazil, now residing in the suburbs of Paris playing the vibraphone, while Antonis shares his time between teaching and writing.
One night the three of us had a small party while listening to Youtube. We thought of making it a bit challenging, so we decided that each song had to be from a different country. We ended up creating a playlist of songs from 58 different ones. The next day the idea occurred to attempt do something with the playlist. That's how BRA58 emerged. Antonis would write, Brenda compose the music and RamZ create the visual part.
We were all engaged in our own stuff, so we though there had to be a deadline if we were to make something out of the idea. 58 were the songs, 58 the days we gave ourselves to work on BRA58.
In the beginning I (Antonis) thought about writing 58 postcards from the countries in the playlist. I wasn't really in the mood. The second lockdown had just started in Greece, so I ended up writing about the confinement without even realising it at the moment. 580 words. Brenda took over with her 5 min and 8 sec original music (do not forget to hit play after The trip to fully enjoy the project!) and RamZ finished it off with his 8 paintings, most of them painted during the lockdown. The project wouldn't look the way it does, if Piperi didn't take on the difficult task of putting it together. We are grateful! You are all welcome to enjoy.
We don't have the money nor the time to actually make the trip. We have the determination though, and the space, our kitchen. From time to time I remind myself that we might draw the attention of the neighbors. They will possibly call the police.
I am not scared today. Alcohol helps. Brenda and Ramsi help. Its been a month now that all I do is get online to work, without thinking, tell my students all I have to tell them, without thinking, and then spend my days in front of the screen watching a Poirot movie. What I am going to do when they finish?
Pot will also finish. It might be better, do something spontaneous. There will always be alcohol. I am scared of it. I am scared of the next day, when I only leave the sofa to go to the bathroom, the kitchen. Tomorrow will be one of those days, but at the moment I don't care.
It's five o clock in the morning in a room that feels like a soaking wet cloth, somewhere close to the river. Everything starts and finishes in the river here. How many times have you caught yourself saying something like this? Its true, they do shit everywhere.
We noticed a huge turd at the entrance of the hostel, too big to have emerged from a human body. Everyone here is so tiny, just bones, they should live forever, some of them do, on a mouthful of rice, because they have no more, and all we see is the stoic way of life and many more beautiful words.
I am not alone. Soula saw the excrement first and then she noticed the rat that I pretended not to see. I don't want to be searching for another hostel. The current one is dirty cheap, a real experience.
Soula doesn't insist and we go to sleep. I cant, its too humid, so I start smoking the remaining pot. I cant take it with me on the plane. I have to smoke it all. She wakes up at five in the morning just in time to see me complete my mission. Α kind of methexis.
"We finally arrived at the place where there is no hell nor paradise, just the sky and people who live for the moment. There are no countries, no religion, everyone is happy and the world is one. Greed an unknown word. Imagine".
"Don't be stupid!".
I am on a beach. The sun is rising and I decide to go for a walk. I don't really like being alone.
Most likely I will meet someone. There is no need for small talk, just to see, to be seen. It has been a long time.
I notice him the moment I turn. On the seaside. Dead. He isn't older than four years old, in shorts, his face in the water. Alone. Everyone else getting angry with the photo from their sofa.
It's miserable here. Time away from the computer screen isn't enough. Everything happens online now and the only thing I wish for is to open the fuckin door and stare at the sky. It's raining. It's been raining for a week, maybe more than a week, I have lost count. It doesn't really matter. I do prefer the sky anyway, even when its cloudy. I don't really know how to say it. The sky is open
Who are we
Brenda
RamZ
Antonis
Gallery
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