DE JULIO BITTENCOURT
CURATOR OF ISABEL AMADO
DE 30 OF JUNHO A 12 AUGUST 2012
Aprincesinha sea goes to another girl from Ipanema beach and that even further, after the turn of the fort. In Ramos beach are some other standards of beauty, feminine curves drawn not just to the beat of fashion, but abundant curves, succulent, asking to be tight, and displayed with pride for the woman looking at the camera and it seems to be saying “have people like”.
Here there is no hierarchy triggered between what is cool and what is tacky, all concepts mixed in a single desire to live life and bring broth to ward off heat. Here is the MMA, adoidada the cornucopia of pleasures not yet standardized by Shock Order and the distant square attitude of those who live under the eyes of the City and tourists from all quarters. Here come the only natives and all speak the same language, the same signs that close or white, fat or thin, the important thing is not doing well in the photo, but feel the sun on your skin, beber us Goro, try your luck with someone and kick away the time.
We are in Palm Beach, with a single Coqueirinho giving shade and the rest is that disposition of desert sun, the cliche African loose the dog days and enjoy the delights of grilled, spend a creamy white skin and discolor by the body to, Deus is quiser, that special someone look and say "it was cool".
Viva paradise without photoshop belly stuffed with beer, bicycle without gear, the subject enfarofado bikini and used since the early summer of the millennium. Here is the beast loose, the valley that is written and no one has anything to do with it.
The jocks lift weights with dumbbells and then improvised, worn by exercise, recover the energies with a full plate, one where we can find a jumble chunks of onion, one cat meat, one farofada, a tomato, and the rest is culinary improvisation from a chef who has nothing to say about the cordon bleu. He is Flamengo, has a negative call Teresa and this goddess is precisely that there butt rounder, the dog funkeira a thong well into the parts, and talking to the guy in white trunks.
E-sta is the Palm Beach, frequented by the normalistas Carmela Dutra, the bookies of the Alemao Complex, pagodeiros of the Cacique de Ramos, the reserves of the Pottery, the drummers of all Afroreggae and more mythical gang of suburban Rio. It is the only beach in town where you can not see the Corcovado, the Redeemer, that cute. No maximum, logo in front, is the Church of Our Lady of Penha and she, even though swimmers prefer the guard Iemanjá, Bless everyone and drop sprinkles of faith, the only clean water area.
Éa Ramos beach of sambas Dicró, where GPS is indicating that is just behind the bus stop, the walkway and popcorn wagon, pose without the bathhouse where the codes of behavior, in and out of, not been decided at the meeting yesterday in editorial fashion magazine some funky. Is beach without sponsorship, little plane without passing through romantic message for the kitten and no jet-ski pissing who want to take a dip to take sand and caipirinha's dizzy.
Real Life in the raw, the dirty sand that continues Avenue Brazil and there is no trick retouching lab. Is everything as it is in photos, without talc played the lens to soften the world, because glamor is just the meat marked for life and willingness to be happy anyway. Life unretouched, sunscreen and keeps sem-sol alugado. Relax and soak belly. Enfarofe in the sand and inflate the tire float because no one is watching. The Christ is a guy in the towel and the paparazzi are far, on beaches elsewhere, lurking the first kiss of the seven actress with her new boyfriend this week. Here is the great novel of real life, where no strip surge wave because there is simply no.
Joaquim Ferreira dos Santos