Chico's and Vik Muniz's Brazil

Chico Science has a lot in common with Vik Muniz. Born in the same period, they managed to emerge from the most barren scenarios, from the seedy surroundings of big Brazilian capitals, to recognition - of such proportions that critics agree to call international. Vik had more luck. He'll soon celebrate his 40th birthday, at the same time, opening an exclusive showing of his work at New York's Whitney Museum, one of the world's most respected museums. Next, Vik will have two no less important showings: next month at the Rio de Janeiro Museum of Modern Art and, in June, at the São Paulo Museum of Modern Art - the very land from whence he came 17 years ago with no money or perspectives.
Chico, in turn, watched from a higher plane the homages that celebrate the fourth anniversary of his death, in a stupid accident on the way from Recife to Olinda - a death that can be summarized in much the same way as his life: a loud, final crash. Chico and Vik are contemporary versions of a story that repeats itself over and over in Brazil. Brilliant individual talents that arrise in face of seemingly unsurmountable opposition, who end by seducing and charming the whole World. An unique metaphor to Brazil, Vik left Pirituba, a São Paulo suburb, moved by one certainty: that by remaining where he was, he wouldn't even get close to what life had in store for him. Though he conquered a much more comfortable lifestyle that his humble parents could provide, it wasn't exactly material comfort he was chasing, but what every human being should be looking for in this dimension: total realization of his potential.
Chico followed the same path. It was as if he knew the meaning of Vik's definition on art: the ability to look at one thing and see another. Chico looked at the mangrove and saw life. A special life, that may seem ugly and dirty at first sight, but reveals personality and strength made even more exciting by the confrontation with the place where they came from. Chico had less time than Vik. Even so, before he died, he could see the world start to bow before the rhythm, the looks, the lyrics, the new emotion that, without limits, his music brought to all kinds of people. Something that needs no explanation, that's two meters above the critics. Right where the heart is.
Vik, who fortunately still lives to enjoy the repercussion of his work, will taste a similar sensation, in a stronger dosage, in a matter of time. It's not the whole-page stories in the New York Times, or the showings at the world's most important museums, nor even the late, though great recognition in his country. I'm talking about the sensation of seeing his work-drawings in chocolate, his pieces with macaroni leftovers, his amazing works with dirt, hair and dead cells picked up from vacuum cleaners of a New York museum - reaffirm in an unquestionable way Brazil's the strength - a land that should look with more interest to its self-taught vocation, to its irresistible harlequin calling, creating laughter and tears from buffoonery mixed with the most serious feelings, to its inquestionable ability to turn garbage into gold: to its incorrectible calling for happiness. Even so a great part of the World seem to conspire against this. This, may be, is Vik's and Chico main contribution to Brazil. To teach, with their art, that we don't need other nations' permission to understand and value our best things. And more: that the ideal role-model to follow, wondering almost without hope, might today be somewhere between Pirituba and Recife.

Paulo Lima
editor