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Artistic residence in Araçatuba.

Lovecraft (1890-1937), in one of his poems, wrote that a farmer of more
than eighty years tried to open a well by the door. I read the poem "The Well";
seven years ago – and since then, this image is with me.

Like many people, I was caught by the quarantine of COVID-19 in full
traffic between one place and other. When I settled down, I found myself in a
property that, in 1932, had housed four houses.

In these houses, I found many stories: in the fallen plasters, in the
children’s names inscribed in the walls, in the bolts of the doors, and also in the
garden – where is possible to find hydrangeas between snake plants, rosebushes,
aloe plant and parsley.

In front of the image of the white door of the little house at the back, the
present never ceases to reconfigure itself. This little house has two worlds; one,
with my family´s history mixed with that of so many others; the other, that
represents an archaeological field – which I dared to explore gradually.

After seven years, I had my well near the door.

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