Gente, descobram uma cidadinha no interior da Bahia, conheçam um grande homem europeu, que era um bom exemplo para tudo mundo, que dava tantas coisas para a cultura baiana e que ajudava em desenvolver o Recôncavo. Leiam a minha história sobre
Hansen Bahia :
When Karl Heinz Hansen looked himself in the mirror for the last time, on a hot Summer day in 1978, he was in doubt. In doubt whether the old face he saw was German or Brazilian. He´d been away for a very long time. Ever since the war. The war was a mistake. It'd been nothing but empty promises to the young marine soldiers, who left their hometown of Hamburg submerged in submarines. Sent into a furious battle. A few survived, many others didn´t. Young Hansen knew all along this wasn´t meant for him. He wanted something else in life. Ever since he saw the light of day, he´d always had a natural, artistic talent. Inherited from his Danish ancestors. Almost like a gift from God. He could paint and he could carve wood. Create black and white, expressionistic lithographs. Colourful, incisive portraits and detailed, wooden sculptures. He desired to develop and use his talent. Make a career of it. When the war ended, he decided to seek other avenues. Germany was defeated and in ruins, people were battled and demoralized as they were anticipating a cruel future. Hansen took the things precious to him, his brushes and carving tools, along with only a few other belongings, and was on his way to a place far far away.
Like many other German emigrants at that time, Hansen arrived in the fast developing, Brazilian city of São Paulo. In these unfamiliar settings, he quickly created a new living for himself. Very different from what the strict, German regime had imposed on people. Enticed by the Brazilian culture as well as his new liberty, Hansen adopted the exotic lifestyle of the locals. Through intense studies and hard work, he quickly became comfortable with the Portuguese language. Despite his fast adaption and naturalization, he was less productive, than he´d hoped for. His creative side didn´t produce any pieces of salable art, and soon the financial resources, that he´d brought from Germany, started to diminish. He knew he´d soon have to act upon it. The many poor and starving people strolling around the neighbourhood looking for leftovers, were a scary image of a city, where many dreams of new and better lives turned into nightmares. That was when Hansen one morning read an article in Folha de São Paulo on a picturesque piece of lost Africa further up the coast. From the pictures he could tell right away. This would be the perfect base for a young artist trying to define his career. He jumped on the first bus to Salvador da Bahia.
Hansen developed an immediate passion for the pleasant, tropical Bahia. In the early mornings, dressed in his worn out smock, he left his room at twilight, carrying only his paintbox and a few pieces of rough, grained canvas. In the exquisite environment of the big city, he sought inspiration in the historical surroundings. One morning, at the break of dawn, he would be sitting in the reddish sand of the Porto da Barra Beach, in front of the old customs house. The next he would be facing the Atlantic Ocean in the shadow of the old lighthouse, Farol da Barra. With bold brush strokes he created a simple composition and let it marinate for a while. Tried to imagine what went on in this particular setting centuries ago. See the Portuguese navigate their vessels on the fierce waves in front of the lighthouse. Change the tone of the painting by scrumbling. Imagine the black slaves being offloaded on the small concrete pier of the customs house, tired and enervated, exhausted and weakened, hungry and thirsty. Search the palette for suitable colours. Hear the slaves being counted and registered. Wipe the ferrule. Recreate a small dispute in his mind, between a rebellious slave and his dominant and violent masters. Select a thinner brush. Add details. Metaphorically, sarcastically. Feel the slave being whipped and punished. Mix up colours, create polychromatic nuances. Imagine the crowd being transported to the sugar plants of the interior of the state. Scrutinize a painting full of allusions to slave sufferings. Picture the port in its original setting. Rinse the brushes. Apply a graded wash to a fresh piece of canvas. Start all over. Visualize.
Hansen always arrived late at night, satisfied with his works, and placed them neatly in the wooden shelves of his small atelier. Each painting, side by side, would wait for a new owner. Wait for days, weeks, sometimes years. In general, people only reluctantly recognized, what his sculptures and paintings expressed, which did not come as a complete surprise to him. They were unwanted flash backs of what the ancestors of eight in ten soteropolitanos had to put up with for hundreds of years. Reminders of a cruel period in history. Something that should have been abolished earlier than it did, or better yet, never allowed. Little by little he had to accept that he would never become well off. He barely managed to sustain himself. But Hansen had a strong character and perseverance. He confidently continued to stand up for what he believed in. Took the part of the weak and loyally defended them. As a tribute to the slaves. Not a very lucrative business, but rather than compromising his beliefs, he proceeded with his strategy. Without being driven to despair. He knew the memories couldn´t be repressed. If he´d lived long enough to see the results of his merits, he would have known that he did the right thing. But his time had come.
In the tiny village of Cachoeira, not very far away from Salvador da Bahia, I sit on the sloped pavement of the narrow main street and admire its cubic, ancient cobblestones. All neatly put in place by hand. The river flows slowly beneath the wooden bridge and continues towards shut down sugar plants in the horizon. I enjoy the idyllic quietness. Some women, all dressed in white, pass by on their way to work in a nearby tobacco factory. A couple of local kids are off to school, carrying old, antiquated math books. The baker meticulously sweeps the floor of his small shop with a wooden broom. Across the street I see an old, renovated house. Its colouration blends in well with the royal blue sky and snow white clouds. An old woman steps out of the entrance and opens the shutters. I decide to take a closer look. I cross the street and read the plaque on the wall. It says "Museu Hansen Bahia".
Igual o nosso famoso escritor dinamarquês, H.C. Andersen, eu nasci em Odense. Quando era pequeno eu sempre lia as obras primas dele, como O Patinho Feio, O Soldadinho de Chumbo ou A Pequena Vendedora de Fósforos. O Andersen procurava inspiração nas viagens. Ele visitou cerca de quarenta países do mundo. Hoje em dia ainda me lembro uma cotação dele: "Viajar é viver". Igual o Andersen, eu também adoro viajar. Será que algum dia conseguirei visitar tantos países como ele ?
