In November 2024, in celebration of the 22nd anniversary of the Oscar Niemeyer Museum (MON), the exhibition “Affinities III – Whispering". Curated by Marc Pottier, artist Luiz Zerbini presents more than 44 works, including paintings, watercolors and monotypes, in dialogue with artists from Paraná from the MON collection, such as Guido Viaro, Miguel Bakun, Bruno Lechowski, Guilherme William Michaud and Theodoro de Bona. Zerbini brings a delicate and intimate look at nature. For him, "a whisper is a conversation in the open air, between landscape artists who have spent many hours alone. It is an opportunity to give voice to silence."

art!: Your last exhibition at the CCBB in Rio de Janeiro was a retrospective of how many years?

Zerbini: It was the first retrospective I did. There's a work there that I did in 1976. I was 16 years old. It's a little painting. I wasn't even an artist at that time. So it covers 40 years.

art!: What were you?

Zerbini: I was perhaps still an art student. Clarissa [Diniz, curator] said that the exhibition covered 50 years of my career, but I don't think that's very true. Even though it's true, I didn't consider myself an artist at that time.

art!: At 16 years old. And when did you decide that you were an artist?

Zerbini: I haven't decided yet. I don't know, that moment hasn't happened yet. When I entered FAAP in the 1980s, it was a milestone, but I took the entrance exam for Law and History, and ended up studying Fine Arts. At that time, it wasn't exactly a profession yet. It was very difficult to make a living from art. So, I did it because I liked it. I learned how to mix paints. I took painting classes with Jose Antonio Van Acker, a painter from São Paulo. Later, I went to his house, we became friends, and I would watch him paint, you know? Before I went to college, where I came and went several times. College was a difficult place for me, difficult to adapt to, you know? I was already doing what I do, and no one appreciated it, because there were abstract, concrete, neoconcrete artists. I was already figurative back then. It was a time of identity crisis. I got stuck. I spent five years without doing anything. It wasn't until 85 that I had my first solo exhibition at the Subdistrito gallery. 

I used to work at Subdistrito Comercial de Arte, João Satamini's gallery in São Paulo. Many artists worked there. I remember Casa Sete, for example. It was all very confusing. I thought I could make a living from art. The money was very low and I soon realized that it wasn't enough. Although I sold all the works from that first exhibition, soon after I had no more, that is, I didn't have enough production to support myself. 

art!: At what point did you feel something different in your work, a unique trait?

Zerbini: I never had this awareness, but I see that people realize it at a certain moment, at different times, each person discovers me at a different time.

For example, I recognize myself in these paintings that are here, here is the essence of what I do, since I started painting. Tiny painting, painting a landscape. There are no galleries, no museums, there is no other concern other than the pleasure of painting. It is the origin of everything, you know? 

It's kind of like the artist's DNA that then spreads to several other techniques, including engravings, large paintings or installations, but it all started with these little paintings. It all started with the fact that I liked painting, I liked painting nature.

art!: Do you feel restricted or pressured by gallery owners today, by exhibition deadlines?

Zerbini: No. I've been lucky enough to work with three very good galleries: Fortes D'Aloia & Gabriel, Sikema Jenkins in New York, and Stephen Friedman in London. They're gallery owners who work well together, so it works. I don't feel that pressure.

Luiz Zerbini, The First Mass, 2014. Cover of issue #26 of arte!brasileiros, in 2014

art!: And do you feel completely free? I saw an essence in the book Saturday, Sundays and Holidays, published by Cobogó, whose paintings are here in the exhibition that surprised me, because I had the work in mind The first Mass, which was on the cover of arte!brasileiros #26 in 2014.  

Zerbini: It's because there's something that happens with large paintings, that they're always on a scale of one to one. It's almost the real size of each thing. And my old studio was small, there wasn't much of a back. So, I was always very close to the canvas. I couldn't see it from far away. Almost everything I was doing was its original size. A bottle was the size of a bottle. Everything was within arm's reach, you know?

So, almost all the big paintings, if you look at them, almost everything is in real scale, which is kind of crazy but it sets a standard for big paintings. I can't make it smaller, I really can't. 

View of the MON exhibition. In the center, several objects that Zerbini collected on his travels

art!: But this ends up being a necessity for your work. This is the big difference, the real value of the artist's work. There is no such thing as “I want a 25cm x 80cm work because it looks better on my sofa”.

Zerbini: Oh, we don't even discuss that, right? It's another issue, I don't even think about it!

art!: What will be the next step after this retrospective?

Zerbini: I feel like I've worked my whole life to get to this point. Now I have the possibility to do almost anything I'd like, you know? Even, for example...

art!: Spend a year doing absolutely nothing?

Zerbini: No, I can't do that. That's not possible. No, because my survival is linked to the fact that I work, otherwise I think I'll go crazy. My sanity is linked to a studio routine. Now I'm living in the studio, work goes hand in hand with life, I can't stop to rest, rest from what? OK, I'm tired, I'm working a lot, but what drives my life is work, you know?

art!: Have you ever thought about leaving painting and doing some other kind of… 

Zerbini: Ah, so you asked what motivated me to do other things, I think it was curiosity. For example, the monotype business led me to research new techniques. I'm a guy who's curious about techniques, about understanding each technique I learn and delving into it. These monotypes influenced painting.

Before I started monotype painting, it was different. This type of flat color that you see here now started to appear in the paintings. The paintings came later. 

There is a contamination, I'm constantly taking things that I'm learning from other techniques and mixing them and creating relationships. I like to create relationships, creating thoughts that complement each other. And I use everything I have as material. The material is the world. These things that are here on the ground, for example, that look like trash, are my personal collection. They are things that I've picked up on the beach throughout my life. They're all catalogued there in my studio. So, each of these things has an emotional memory of where I was when I picked them up. You're kind of building a world, which is your world, like, I don't know, dreamlike.

GI like to observe things, you know? I pay attention to things, I've always liked to look at how things are, to notice myself, I like to watch and follow the ants. Watching insects, watching plants. Ever since I was little.

To observe how the plant works, how the leaf unfurls, how the root penetrates the soil. To observe things and think about them. The CCBB exhibition has what Clarissa called “ruminated landscapes,” which is kind of this idea of ​​ruminating, rethinking. It’s different from having an anthropophagy where you swallow and throw it out. I don’t actually swallow, I just ruminate, that thing that stays in my mouth, without transformation. It doesn’t go deep down, transform into something else and come back transformed, it stays kind of on the surface. You’re kind of grazing there, right? 

Luiz Zerbini, Haximu Massacre
Luiz Zerbini, Haximu Massacre

In that exhibition I did at MASP, there was a work called Massacre of Haximu. Do you remember that one? The Massacre of Haximu was a massacre that happened in 1993, when miners invaded the Yanomami land and killed the entire village. They killed all the women and children. To this day, they say it was 16 people. Some say 16, others say it was 80 people. So, the number is kind of controversial. And I did the first mass, which is the one with the indigenous woman on the cover. arte!brasileiros, commissioned by Adriano Pedrosa [curator of MASP]. I didn't want to do it because I wasn't interested in the first mass, I had no interest in the first mass at all. But then I saw the possibility of doing it from the point of view of the people who lived here. And then I decided to do this one about the Haximu massacre. But the massacre of the Yanomami, these wonderful and incredible people, we depend on them today, you know? They have the solution, they have the path to follow and we could learn a lot from them, right? And we still learn, but few people pay attention to that. When I did this painting, I wouldn't have liked to have done a painting about the Yanomami that was about the Haximu massacre. Where you put them in a victim situation, when they are the opposite, they are not victims, on the contrary they are the people, the men, the Yanomami. The man, the human being, a wonderful thing. And the entire culture is incredibly rich, so I wouldn't do that. But it was 30 years of the Yanomami TI, of the Yanomami indigenous land, and it was 200 years of Independence and 100 years of the Week of 22. So it was a date… Then I spoke to Bruce Albert, who was the one who wrote the fall from heaven with Davi Kopenagua. I said, Bruce, I don't want to do this painting, you know? I was thinking about doing it, but I was in doubt. Then he talked to Davi and they came to the conclusion that it had to be done. "You have to do it because it's the anniversary, it's important, the miners are going back there now and you have to do it."

And then I did it. While I was doing it, I was treating this theme as something that had happened in 1993. And then, while I was doing the painting, I saw in the newspaper that the person who had carried out the massacre, who had a machete, who had killed everyone with the machete, and who was sentenced to 18 years in prison had gotten out of prison, nobody knows how, and he had returned during that time to the Yanomami Land, doing the same thing, only now with large rafts.

So I was treating that crime as a crime from the past, except that the crime was repeating itself all the time. So my commitment is to… Oh, I don't know.

art!: Everything is political, but in this work you managed to express something that impacted you. 

Zerbini: Yes, and it was happening again, they were mining in the river again. Everyone was starving and the water was all contaminated. 

On that wall there are four paintings of araucaria. The smallest one is mine. I did that painting without knowing that I was going to exhibit it here. That is an example of painters who like to paint nature and who like the forest, who like life. It is a celebration, everything is about nature. Just like Michaud, Michaud's watercolors there, there are two drawings there.

One of them is the little house where he lived. He lived on the beach, so it's kind of about that universe, there's a certain nostalgia in these works. 

art!: Nostalgia for what? 

zerbini: Nostalgia for the time when things seemed hopeful, right? Or that we weren't living what we're living now. We're living the end of the world. Not the end of the world, the end of human existence. Those people, the painters of the 1950s, they didn't have that concern. There was no climate emergency, no global warming, no one thought about that. They already thought about it, but it wasn't something imminent.

art!: One thing I felt was a certain silence. 

Zerbini: Oh, yes, it is. The idea of Whisper, the name of the exhibition, comes from this. It's like it's not a dialogue for you to speak openly or do. It's not pamphlet-like, you know? It's a conversation between two painters. I'm on Bacum's side, for example, he's painting an araucaria and I'm here.

And we’re talking about painting, you know? About colors, about nature, about, I don’t know, temperature. “It’s cold,” you know? “Let’s have a coffee,” you know? Something very intimate, very everyday, right? And that’s it. I think it’s kind of nostalgic, maybe. No, nostalgic, what was the word I used?

pat: You used nostalgia. I asked you about what, because I have a bit of that feeling, faced with the absurd accumulation of images, information and permanent speeches. And this here is as if we could say no. 

Zerbini: Silence speaks. Silence provokes reasoning and thought. I think it is the most sensitive path for you to achieve something you want. You have to go through a sensitive path, you have to sensitize people. And people are sensitized by this nostalgia, you know? By beauty, right? There is a beauty in nature that is different, that is not necessarily

art!: Of the form. 

zerbini: Yes,  exactly. And there is also a memory of the time, of the place where I was and the time, and who I was with. So, for example, this little painting here with a rose, it's that branch over there, you see? So, that branch over there, I was canoeing in the sea and I saw colors on a rock, there were some plastic hanging and such. I went in the canoe, stopped, got out and started pulling it off. I thought it was beautiful, I put it in the canoe and took it home. When I got home, I put it on the table and painted it. I have an emotional connection with this intimate thing. A memory that you chose. So, I remember these things. 

art!: Have you ever had analysis?

Zerbini: As a tool. Yes, fundamental. It saved me and still saves me today.

art!: Very good. Of what? 

Zerbini: Save me from what? From myself. From what would be.

  • The paintings presented in the exhibition were published in the book Luiz Zerbini, Saturdays, Sundays and holidays. Org. by Tiago Mesquita. Cobogó Book Publisher, 2023, 

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