As children we walk in transubstantiations.
Here I refer to ethical-aesthetic transubstantiations.
As children we are free to draw, paint, sing, dance because we live in celebratory bodies that even in physical limitations are transmuted into imaginary creations.
But it is as a child that we have transmuted our free aesthetic existences into subaltern, or subordinate, or suffocated behaviors by anesthetic aesthetic judgments.
It is as a child that a person becomes a spectator of life, and forgets how to speak, speak without verbalization, draw, sing, paint, dance, in short, represent senses, sensations and feelings.
With each grade that progressed, the number of people who drew in my life diminished.
In order to survive, as a child, in the classroom I started a process that I took with me throughout my life: I was transmuting myself inside out .
Instead of writing notes from the teachers' speeches, he ostensibly drew in notebooks, text margins, printed verses. I focused on an atmosphere in which I absorbed the voices in the environment and transubstantiated their rhythms and themes into lines and grooves. That's how I started my daily transubstantiations .” Ventura, manuscript, 1994.
Matthew and the Angel - Study No. 1. Detail.
Transsubstantiations will pass through these corridors. Projects, fluid studies of moments of introspection necessary to expand my concentration in pedantic or interesting hours, in moments of conversation, meetings or collective or solitary waiting.
I present as the first transubstantiation Mateus and the Angel - Study No. 1, as a study that led adrift, to the painting Angel, where are you Mateus?
Matthew and the Angel - Study #1.
Ballpoint pen on paper, 1996,
The second transubstantiation work I chose to open this page still needs to have its studies in ballpoint pens found. The conception of the senses and sensations transmuted in this painting took place during my memories of a reading I made, in a printed newspaper in Monte Claros, about "disrespects" and negligence towards the catopes of my hometown. Already living in Belo Horizonte, the storms of those memories of events, which I even witnessed, only left me after the painting Catopê or colorful self-portrait among passersby in the Capital .