The warm humanity. The charm of Bahia, the island of Boipeba, and its animated, colourful landscape with their daily struggles and hopes. Their genuine humour, the wealth that sweats through the adventures of their stories. They live, absorbed in their smells, their senses, in contradictions and pains; immersed under the shade of palm trees, protected by the coral reefs, among a thousand types of mango, fragrant, sweet — redeeming, at least in some small part, the echoing sufferings of the ancient colonialism.
The human race, beyond all, that work of God conceived in a week. The human race — always alive as a burning wound, a beauty, a rot. An eternal fire, death and resurrection, the human race like a diamond, a drop; the human race is the mine of loneliness. The human race is a scratch, a doodle, the face of desire — a grand divine synthesis.
A subtropical tradition, veiled by the flavour, authenticity, vivid tones, strong accents, an intrinsic narrative power.
Rapid sights, smothering heat, moving images. Animated, turgid variety.
The mind’s nobility, the baseness ranks, hunger, thirst, disease, sex, so much sex, it climbs wet everywhere.