Betraying Gestures #13

gesture-consequences (still thinking of reception gestures)

“How to write from afar?” is a question-consequence of being on a plane for twelve hours. Other consequences prompted by travelling on a plane put me face-to-face with M, whom I spent 28 hours with before planes presented another of their traits, setting people apart. The formulation of the question “How to write from afar?” derives from in-person conversations with M; she proposed the question "How to direct from afar?” for a project we think about together. Other consequences of being on a plane for twelve hours heading south are: -dry nostrils; -thirty degrees in winter; -being a passenger in cars; -two cell phones; -curdled yoghurt; -realising English has hacked into my brain; -longer nights; -a much-longed-for furred one; -charm and charisma. M and I talked about preparation. Preparing to board a plane and conditioning myself to experience their capacity to set people together and apart, I wrote that I like planes because “they take us places while pausing us aloft.” If I ask how to write from afar, I pin Betraying Gestures down to a specific place on planet Earth. I confess that Betraying Gestures moves slower than I do—as entities tend to. While I unpack, even though my head is still spinning, Betraying Gestures hasn’t yet finished packing. When I went to do a residency in Colombia, I had the same realisation during the dry, lonely months that were only possible because of another artist's dear company; these conditions produced a consequence-text-pattern-work I wrote all kinds of statements about until, rereading and rewriting it, going around it with A, we saw together that it was a work about foundations and the conditions to construct. I’m in the process of encountering the conditions to construct here. The text that composes the pattern is in Spanish: “Tenías que tener casas grandes para alojarlos a todos y tenías que tener bibliotecas para los libros y tenías que tener casas fuertes para cuidar los libros”. In English, it translates to: “You had to have large houses to shelter them all and you had to have libraries for the books and you had to have strong houses to take care of the books.” I always revive Tenías que Tener in moments like this. On the flight, only the turbulence was good because it rocked me asleep; the food was in miniature and tasted bad and my seat neighbours were awfully annoying. Other than the moderate turbulence, that day I was presented with the last page of the bildungsroman I’ve read for the last few months, whose closing was in an in-flight scene. I’ve described this project, In-flight, in Betraying Gestures #9, a collection of book pages of scenes set in-flight. Its most recent addition was close to the note on airplanes I wrote: “It was happening again now: some pieces of some larger story that I could barely make out were flying into new positions, and I was remembering things I had forgotten, and putting them together differently, and all while I was sitting still and not going anywhere or doing anything—though in another way I was hurtling north at five hundred miles an hour.” After I landed and after the 28 hours spent with M, I started working on a variation of the logo for Betraying Gestures, the one with a dog (also discussed in Betraying Gestures #9), because I’m going to order a stamp with the Betraying Gestures hotel phone logo I thought I could try another one out. The much-longed-for furry one on the list is Eva—“beloved and betrayed Eva", from Betraying Gestures #9. I consider making a logo with a plane crossing the sky or with the inside of a plane. For me, a betrayal is committed in every flight, but every time I try to put it down in words, describe, and explain what about flying is a betrayal, it sounds out of touch. If I cut betrayals to their bare minimum, I'm left with their consequences. When I list the consequences of being on a plane for twelve hours heading south and items such as “realise English has hacked into my brain” and “charm and charisma” appear, it's because of Portuguese. I had plans to write some sentences in Portuguese in this edition; perhaps I would write the whole text in Portuguese. However, I’m still thinking of reception, and English is persistent—especially in air travel. I could add to my list changing SIM cards (it is not because of SIM cards that "two cell phones" is on it); the one I usually use has no reception here. On Thursday, I woke up early. M and I shared a bed. We had breakfast together in the street; we were with Eva, and we had to buy food for her in a pet shop. We walked together down a street famous for its cinemas and nightlife, where we passed in front of a hotel called Pan-Americano, which caught my eye because it had a beautiful old and tired logo with the three Americas. Eva guided us close to its entrance so she could smell a vase next to the sliding doors that automatically opened, and I saw the ample, empty, and dark granite-mirror-wood-leather-composed lobby. On the wall, in shiny letters, was written “recepção”, Portuguese

for reception, and “reception”. While Eva smelled the base of the vase, I told M I'd been looking for reception in the world. Literally: when it means a wedding reception, hotel front desk reception, reception for means of communication, other businesses’ receptions, etc. I’m looking for reception in the world and photographing the word in small or large signs, brochures, plates, or phone notifications communicating the fact that it is, has, or doesn’t have reception. I’m collecting the photos, as I’m collecting book pages of in-flight scenes, to edit them into a publication with a text about reception that I eventually write from formulating a question regarding reception that slowly develops. M didn’t think twice and walked through the lobby to photograph it. I couldn’t walk in like that because Eva was not welcome in the lobby, but also because I would have to think twice about bearing the judgmental gaze of suspicion of my intentions from the receptionists. Tomorrow (Tuesday, the 22nd) is the vocal publication of Beliche and the launch of Sleep and Sad (happyberry). The way Aiko and I arranged (or didn’t arrange) the event in the middle of the afternoon makes it hard for people to attend, according to the answers I’ve been getting from inviting people I thought were aware of the event because of a post I did on social media that apparently didn’t get read, maybe because it is too visually polluted, people can only make it later in the evening. I reinforce the invitation. We look for reception! If you are in São Paulo, from 16h (UTC-3) at this bar, Aiko and I will be reading-publishing Beliche, at the moment a 57-page-long text (with some use of large typo and images) we have been writing since 2021, and that has been many things, including a foundation from a time we had our heads wrapped around what we had to have to practice art. I wrote UTC-3 because the official time of Betraying Gestures from UTC+2 becomes UTC-3.