batuque do ventre - PhMuseum

batuque do ventre

Cecilia Sordi Campos

2020 - Ongoing

Australia; Brazil

I am haunted by skin.

Below the scars, the tissues that grow, the tiger's lines, something is hidden.

The uterus is the only organ besides the heart that expands. It can expand up to more than 100 times its size. It also throbs, pulses, dances. The first time I was silent enough to hear it, it reacted to my touch, a language so ancestral and primitive, that I still don't fully grasp and that I still I'm afraid of. It was through the contact with my womb that I began to have access to life memories that I didn’t previously remember. It was through the contact with my own skin that, feelings previously buried, started to surface. It was through the pulsing of my uterus that I began to understand that I in fact needed catharsis. I needed to mourn the loss of the rational autonomy, an autonomy that I didn’t have over my own woman's body. I also mourn for the loss of my fertility. But therefore, start to embrace a primitive knowledge that is not generated by logic or reason, but it is visceral. With the making of this project, I intend to understand, through a ritual that mixes contact with my womb and being under a meditative state, the knowledge that is actually visceral and generated through the body. batuque do ventre also acts as a catharsis, in which I mourn the loss of my fertility caused by endometriosis. I also mourn the loss of the choice that I was unable to make rationally, the choice my own body took from me.

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  • Matamba Clareia, 2020.
    and when she touched her womb, she felt all of her body pulse. the throb of an ancestral, savage, and primitive language. a dance. the beating of a distant drum. she entered through the den, and near the fire she saw the woman. the one she never met, but knew who she was just the same. her face was covered by beads. Ora Yê Yê Ô! he doesn't come back my child, neither does the beguiling one. the tide has now changed. the other one is on his way. near.

  • a toca, 2020.
    she entered the darkness. a new moon. the rhythmic throbbing, a cadence. a dance. she has already died, but she will die again, he said. it is covered in scars, she said. scratches. your body, your female body was not made to perpetuate the species. not in this lifetime. barren. a choice I did not make, not consciously. made for me, decided. did I want the choice in the first place? it grows tissues instead. the pain of giving birth, to itself. cyclic. the body knows. she will die again. she does. every month. then, she is reborn. in the den, to the sound of the beating drums.

  • Diptych Lunação #3 - Cyanotypes with ranunculus and menstrual blood.
    Buried on the 7 October, unburied on the 28 October.

  • ascensão, 2020.
    the sun should have never risen. but it did. you touched my back, ran your fingers on the half moon that was not there. the same way I now run my fingers on the sheets where you slept. I sit by the lake, in reverie, while the lights dance on the surface. I close my eyes and see the man I once was, the man from another lifetime, stare back at me. the two bodies hung. I ask myself and the crow that flew past. bad omen. it is better luck to have two crows flying. I looked up, and she was there, mamma. and I cursed you. I asked mamma to show you my eyes staring back at you every time you closed yours. mamma tells me you are not coming back, because you never left in the first place. the grapes remain uneaten, rotting. we danced by mamma’s light. the bee came. the dog barked. the bat flew. the waves broke. he is, finally, near. coming back.

  • Lunação #5 - Cyanotypes with ranunculus and menstrual blood.
    Buried on the 7 October, unburied on the 1 November.

  • Diptych Lunação #1 - Lumen Prints with poppies and menstrual blood.
    Buried on the 22 August, unburied on the 12 September.