Serenity,Serendipity,Samba,Sol,Saudade

artwork by marguerita: a study of spirals........................................


February 25th ,my birthday

my land has palm trees where the sabia sings

And like Alice in Wonderland,looking in the mirror.....

Sao Paulo_Manhattan

a la recherche du temps perdu

PIGS II

PIGS I

In the 1970's and particularly in 1975,the political climate in Brazil wasvery dangerous.Writers,journalist,musicians,artists,intellectuals,
were persecuted by the military government.
Many left the country and a number of them were murdered,like in the case of the journalist Wladimir Herzog.
Herzog,was a gentle person,with social concerns,being also a Holocaust survivor.He was framed.
He was the director of TV Cultura in Sao Paulo,when he was approached by undercover officials,about doing a freelance writing job,when in fact he was taken out from his office at the station and murdered.
The official information for 25 years or so ,was that he commited suicide.
He was strangled.
At the same time,I was asked to create ananimated title sequence for a TV Cultura children's program .
I come up with a little pig playing with a heart.
Soon after I received a visit , from an official of the military government,in my home.
He wanted to know what was the meaning of the pig.
I told him,that I just fancied to draw pigs,and that there was no
hidden message.
He was quite stern and advised me that I would be watched.

In the meantime,I was corresponding with the NYTimes editor and Mr.Herdeg,who strongly supported the idea that I should better leave Brazil and go to New York...
I thought then,that although I had already reached a succesfull position in my career in Brazil,having a proposal by a businessman to upstart an animation studio I would be risking a lot.
I was also trying to invest in a live and work place ,my dream of owning my little roof over my head.
On a sudden whim,as I did three years before,by leaving Australia,where I had returned to,in 1970 and back to Brazil in 1973,
I got tickets and brought my mother along , with me to New York.
I was certain,that I would just work , and continue on my path to become a world known cartoonist.
I love the newspaper world and did not have a single worry about facing the challenge.
My art was always my passport, opening doors for me socially and professionaly.
And I love to interact with the public.I need the feedback.
To be behind the curtain,and have my characters ,my vision,my art "talk" with the viewer.

Something scary happened to me,when I was leaving my apartment in Sao Paulo, towards the airport.
I had mentioned only to one person about my idea of going to work in New York.
And I wished I had followed the advise of the travel agent.
He strongly recommended,that I should rather take the scene,by going to the beach,meaning,that instead of Manhattan I should head to the Hamptons first.

Well so much for my anxiety.
I was too focused on getting myself started.
My mother was my dependent and I was concerned about her.mostly.

My telephone rang.

Someone ,who would not identify himself, told me that he was in the cell or the same prison where Wladimir Herzog was tortured and murdered,and that I,Marguerita is leaving the country injured ,should convey to the world about what is happening in Brazil.

So,I travelled all the way,wondering who and why that was done to me.
We landed on a Saturday,in New York ,when the Centennial week was taking place.
I ran into the ex- President of Brazil,Jucelino Kubitchek and his wife Dona Sara in the elevator of the hotel.
On Monday I dashed to the New York Times.
I figured out already how Manhattan is layed out.
Mr. Silverstein,with whom I was corresponding ,to my disappointment,was not going to be there for a week.
Concerned that I would be running out of money,as I was able to take very little from my bank account in Brazil,and considering Mr.Silverstein,my principal connection in New York,as he mentioned that I would be working with Steve Heller in his letters to me,I went ahead to work with Heller.

Pigs

I am always drawing pigs and somehow fascinated by the image of that animal....I remember a strange incident..
I was in Lahr,a little town in the Black Forest,the Schwarzwald,as it is known in German.
We were visiting and we passed a backyard where,we saw pigs.
Barbara's daughter yelled out behind us,
"Why did you bring here,these two schweinen Juden!
And then,when we entered Barbara's parents home,
my mother recognized Jewish artifacts and clothing that belonged once to Jewish wealthy women.
The breitchwanz fur.
I had brought my mother to Europe, for the first time,after the war.It was to celebrate her birthday in May,and at the same time, to exploring my chances there.
So I went to Zurich,where I met the publisher Walter Herdeg of Graphis,an international graphicpublication.He received me,after keeping us for quite sometime in suspense, in the reception at Dufourstrasse 107.
Annemarie German,his assistant come down the stairs, bubbling and effusive.She asked me if I could come up for an interview.
I could not believe my eyes.
Mr.Herdeg, apologized for having me wait...he had a wonderful surprise for me.
The layout for the interview,that was going to be published in the magazine.I was introduced to the writer and Mr.Herdeg,
wanted from me only to have my signature in different ways.
By pencil,crayon or brush.
Mr.Herdeg made a connection for me with Georges Dargaud,the publisher in Paris and Louis Silverstein,the Managing Editor of the NYTimes .
He believed my drawings would be very successful in New York and in Paris.
.
. In 1975,I went to Germany,by accident.I had an acquaintance there.
It all started when I was working as a cartoonist for the Jornal da Tarde, in Sao Paulo.
I used to work on a table close to the Editor in Chief.
One day, a man come by the newsroom, and approached the Editor with a story about a Nazi that lived on the
border of Germany and France.
He himself,a Brazilian.lived in New York,and supposedly worked for WWD and lived on Fifth Avenue ,in Greenwich Village.
Usually,I would come in to the newspaper around mid afternoon, would read different stories, and sometimes leave to
the theaters nearby,to watch concerts or plays or even go to art galleries openings,and return to sketch the drawings for the
next day,under deadline.
So,not long after that man's appearance in the newspaper,one evening on my way to an opening,I ran into this man.
He asked me if I could have a word with the Editor.
And then, at the time,in Brazil, as it was common ,this man,appeared in my home for a visit.
This time,with a young German woman.
When she greeted my mother,she screamed out,after noticing the tattood number A-26.427 on my mother's left arm.
" Germany is a beautiful country."
"We could never have done that !".
And from then on,she would correspond from New York to me and my mother.
I never found out her surname.

My mother had such a wonderful joie de vivre.
" Look at the cheese,not at the holes"...she would always say to me,when I was sad.
She loved Confucius,she was full of curiosity.
She looked for colors and Beauty.
We laughed a lot.
When I would go out from home to work,I would call her many times.
We talked so much over the phone.
I would ask her what she was in mood to eat, and enjoy bringing her surprises.
I would cross Manhattan uptown,downtown.west and east.
My mother was my little doll.
Of course,sometimes we would disagree on some things,as
I would be frustrated when I was not able to afford what I had in mind.
I had to battle as a young independent woman, in Brazil,where
a woman was chastised and looked down upon,if she worked.
And particularly as a cartoonist ,in a field dominated exclusively by Man.
Despite all I never was a feminist.
I would only stand up and will so for my human rights.
And my professional rights.
There are differences.
A Man is a Man and I like him if he is a
gentleman,with humor and love in his heart.
A Woman is a Woman.
And we should be partners,not adversaries.
Together man and woman,is so sensual and erotic.
There is no need to have Olimpic diatribes,if we only communicate our desires and see eye to eye.
I enjoyed so much my daily work in the newpaper,which was a nightly work in fact.
I felt like an owl,
and it was for me the ultimate orgasm,to see my drawings published overnight.
I would go visit agencies in the morning,and I remember Jose
Zaragoza,from DPZ, showing me a drawer full of newspaper cuts with my drawings inside.

Worse, the public loved my drawings.

I also took part in gallery shows,winning awards in art salons.
I was called by publishers and advertising agency owners an tv stations and a creative force,acknowledged.
I felt part of the world.
Ha,that was a chapter.
Each time,all was wonderful,when they knocked on my door,
asking me to come up with the creative concept for an ad campaign,to illustrate and then even place the ads in the paper.

The sour moment,was when I had to get paid.
I would get the most absurd answers and refutes and propositions and insults.

I could write a horror story about the experiences that I endured.
They are so shocking and painful.
I keep them stored, somewhere in the back of my mind as I feel ill, everytime I have a flashback.
Hitchcock,Ionesco ,Kafka and Bosch altogether.
And then , my mother's reminder, the words of Confucius:
" If you hate someone,your liver gets sick"
My mother was studying Asian Culture at the Jagiellonian University before the war.
I must have inherited from her,my fascination for Chinese and Japanese Culture as much as I am interested in other cultures.
After the war,in Zurich,destitute, my mother found in a bookstore , The Anaclets of Confucius".
She was not able to return to Cracow,for her sister in law.Marylka Lauer, who lived there,was hiding Raoul Wallenberg,the Swedish "hero",manipulated my mother's rights and wanted her to be as far as possible.

chinatown

So I went to Chinatown.I love to go around looking for different vegetables and ingredients .I am very curious about lotus.
so far I cannot get an information about how to evaluate the quality of freshness.When I ask the chinese vendors,they smile and unable to respond.
So hurrah for the Chinese New Year:

windmill,like in Dusty's singing the song....