Fixed and flux systems

Sculpture that aims to revitalize and intensify the poetics of relations in the sensory world must be present where such relations proliferate in growing levels of complexity: in contemporary cities. This corresponds to the literal fact that they appear in urban public spaces, but also to the fact that they are made using the same materials and procedures involved in the transformation of cities, and that they explore the transitive, anonymous character of the phenomena that constitute large metropolitan centres. It can be said that cities have a physical existence as fields of material manifestations, a living tissue incorporating constructions, topography and the people passing through it. Some of José Resende’s sculptures, displayed in both public and private places, make clear their participation in this field, with the intention of questioning the conventions and vices that permeate it, suggesting to the essentially mobile gaze of the inhabitants both the charm and the limits of what they see.

The first of Resende’s work to be installed in a public space was a large black concrete plate in São Paulo’s Praça da Sé in 1979. It is a sculpture that squares up to the city that surrounds it, and this was always its intention. It was meant to be provocative: it was to be installed outside the law court, as if it were an immense black censor’s strip slapped across the building, and also acting as a blackboard for spontaneous manifestations and political graffiti. In the end it was displayed in a different way, and while it lost much of its initial impulse it retained its original strength, as served as a provocation to another of the city’s dominant orders – that of uninterrupted movement. 

In the heterogeneous structure of the city there is a constant circulation of people, just as there is a constant circulation of the money that controls their lives, and space is inevitably reduced to a series of safe and efficient trajectories. The expansion of this structure – of the urban tissue and of its socio-economic use – seems to strengthen its dependency on this type of behaviour, a phenomenon that has been studied since the beginning of the 20th century by Georg Simmel in his analyses of the mental life of cities. He showed that the development of the monetary economy was always linked to the rationalisation of human relations and the growing indifference of citizens to any phenomena that could not be dealt with using logical operations1. The reduction of communal life to its practical and measurable aspects, which became necessary to metropolitan existence as a protection against the excess of stimuli in daily life, resulted in the degeneration of people’s awareness of their environment, meaning their visual experience was continually obliterated by the over-arching importance of the practical. In a city such as São Paulo where the black plate stand, its rapid expansion led to just such a degeneration of perceptions, forged in the hurried circulation of indistinguishable multitudes. Certain urban projects seem bent on creating and perpetuating “an invisible population of the blind, eternally absorbed by the immediate purpose of their life”2.

When he created the piece Resende understood that a contemporary sculpture in the Praça da Sé would have to deal with this blindness. This may explain its abrupt presence, without concession to the comforts of recognition or the subtlety of materials easily ignored in by the eye. He created an immense plate, fashioned from dense, rough-hewn concrete, made to appear heavier by the black colouring, suspended from the ground by just four screws attached to two pairs of steel supports. The fact that it is made from materials and structural systems common to the city environment means it establishes a formal dialogue with the buildings, the pavement and the equipment that surround it. On the other hand, by placing itself between passers-by and their view of where they are going, it also creates a dialogue with these circulating bodies. The sculpture is situated in the middle of the urban landscape and is placed there not to provide an intermediary scale between humans and their urban world, but rather to question the distance and decadence that exists in this relationship, in order to “stir up the contradictions”3 that impregnate the city, according to Resende in an article published in Malasartes magazine three years before the installation in the square. Resende sought to reflect on the situation of art in Brazil in Malasartes magazine, a forum for artistic discussion, and he argued that the insertion of contemporary production in public places must be critical if it is to resist a confrontation with the dominant appeals of advertising and technology. From then on he knew that a public sculpture can only work if it manages to focus the wandering eye of the passer-by, even if only for an instant, and incite him to recognise himself in what he sees.

Thus the power of the sculpture resides principally in the fact that it is largely unsuited to the logic that dominates its surroundings; in the words of Rodrigo Naves, it is “an opposite to the landscape, a stranger in the urban circuit. In the urban context function makes all angles volatile. This black plate has no practical use since it even blocks the ultimate purpose of the gaze”4. And indeed the sculpture has many angles, angles that are alien to the horizontal and vertical rhythms that dominate the city’s geometry: they appear inclined by the asymmetrical, diagonal position of the plaque, in a latent imbalance. Its incongruity and blatant silence sabotage the utilitarianism of the urban codes by offering no information or content, nothing that can be immediately “read” in the rapid passage of passers-by.

This type of resistance can already be seen in the 1967 series of bibelots, with its polished acrylic plaques repelling any plundering gaze, ironically hindering and confusing access to its safeguarded contents. In a similar way to that series, the Praça da Sé sculpture wants to be examined by an observer who will throw himself into that interrogation, ready to give himself over to what is seen and ultimately to reflect on the act of vision itself and its interactive dimension. This plaque takes on the first of those two questions formulated in the analysis of the bibelots, namely the affirmation that Resende’s sculpture creates a syntax of elements, and as such is an experience of the structural articulation of determined materials and procedures. To profit from it implies to seek out its connections and surfaces, to dedicate a greater concentration than is usually employed in observing the city, and to discover that “the gaze can see more or less in things depending on the way it interrogates them, and how it passes over or lingers on them”5. The experience of art is an emphatic interrogation of the methods by which something makes itself seen.

Circulation is integral to the city, “a place where the World moves more; and people too”, though this does not make homogeneous “the practical experience of time, the movement of the World within each of us”6, one’s own particular time lived in the complex course of urban flows. The immensity of the city contains within it numerous experiences and diverse processes: an exponential number of bodies, things and ideas circulating amidst the interminable and almost always disturbed transformation of their environment. 

Among the many analyses that focus on urban space, those of the geographer Milton Santos are of particular interest. According to Santos, it is possible to analyse the contemporary metropolis by examining two inherently linked systems: fixed and flux systems. Fixed systems denote engineering systems that are becoming increasingly technically elaborate, such as roads, motorways, buildings, ports, factories and urban equipment. Flux systems denote groups of actions that are becoming ever broader, faster and more numerous, such as the movement of vehicles and pedestrians, and the distribution of water, energy, merchandise and information. This group of fixed and flux systems is complementary in some respects and contradictory in others. Thus not all manifestations of urban engineering favour the actions that take place within them, and not all actions that happen in a place benefit its engineering. Clearly specific group interests come into play in such agreements and disagreements: they determine the meanings and values of the actions and the products of urban engineering that are to be favoured. And it is also clear that in Brazilian cities this interplay has been dominated by the hegemony of economic, political and cultural agents who serve the interests of the global market. These agents aim to transform the city into a space of productivity and highly efficient and rapid exchanges, dominated by technical and informational systems whose functioning demands – and indeed depends on – systems with equally efficient and rapid actions. Places where exactness, calculation and certain repetitive gestures are of the utmost importance, belonging to “a despotic rhythm, an instrument for hegemony, which commands the time of others [...] responsible for hierarchical temporalities, conflicting but convergent”7.

But in spite of the efforts at rationalisation by the dominant systems, big cities are arenas where the most diverse social, economic and cultural systems meet; heterogeneous places where fixed and flux systems that oppose the logic of the reigning technocracy exist, albeit momentarily: precarious dwellings in high-rent areas, protests that block traffic, areas that survive property speculation, sculptures that upset the logic of pathways. In these cases, the current words of order – fluidity and competitiveness – are compromised or denied through non-hegemonic actions and products of urban engineering, through obstructed spaces and slowed rhythms. The implantation of contemporary sculpture in public spaces frequently aims to mobilise fixed and flux systems that are at odds with the wishes of the dominant interests and their coercive organisation. Such unsuited interventions allow the poetic subversion of urban conventions, exemplified in Richard Serra’s “Tilted Arc”, an immense plate of steel installed in New York’s Federal Plaza in 1981. This work was eventually removed – and therefore destroyed – by the United States government, due to the fact that it was supposedly unsuited to the normal uses of the area.

In fact three Resende sculptures installed in public places mobilise certain actions and certain products of urban engineering. Each one interacts with the ground and the surrounding area, fixed systems, and the movement of people and information all around, flux systems. Like the plate in the Praça da Sé, the three works seemingly seek to obstruct the automatism of human circulation – which obeys the primacy of mechanical fluidity – in order to introduce an emotional intimacy which is increasingly rare in big cities.

One of these pieces, from 1985, shows two large semicircles joined together. The shapes are arranged horizontally and the joining of the two semicircles allows the sculpture to rise off the ground slightly by means of folds and rectangular openings in the middle of the sculpture, a process clearly visible to the observer. This results in an immense disc of latent oscillation and uncertain stability, with one of the sides resting on the ground while the other remains raised, threatening to fall and invert the situation. The effect is a kind of subtle provocation in that it takes over a large area of the ground available to pedestrians. The oscillating and hollowed-out horizontality of the piece contrasts with the solid verticality that predominates in urban constructions, a verticality implied both in the opening up of pathways and in the primacy of flux systems, as well as in the use of land and the profitability of fixed systems. Such a sculpture in a public place inconveniences people in forcing them to walk around it, but also invites them to take a closer look at the ground that they normally ignore, requiring they impose a slower and more open rhythm to their aesthetic experience, and urging them to connect with the novelty of the situation. It challenges the perversity of the fast pace of competition and recalls the power of what Milton Santos described as “slow people”, namely migrants and poor people who do not move at metropolitan speed, excluded as they are from the giddy pace of city life, and who can therefore see more of the city and get to know it. According to Santos, these “slow people” have greater access to new and unexpected events, while those who operate at the fast city speed “are trapped in the webs that they have spun intentionally for their own comfort: the webs of a rationality that invades all of life’s mysteries, these regulations, these predetermined routes that impoverish and eliminate the path to the future”8. Once again, Benjamin’s link between experience and poverty becomes enlightening. The poverty of which he speaks, the “new barbarianism” desirable for the construction of modernity, is the renunciation of the rich monuments of a culture whose values and codes obstruct the experience of the present – the metaphor of glass, a transparent material, the enemy of the aura –, a type of cultural tabula rasa that opens up a fertile field for the renewed experience of the world and its possible reconstruction9.

The sculptor probes the behaviour of city-dwellers. The city’s main disposition – the fast pace of hurried walking – seems to be perpetuated by bodies made exclusively of legs set on reaching their destination. Vênus” (Venus) from 1991 and “Passante” (Passer-by) from 1996, installed in the centre of Rio de Janeiro, make a playful reading of pedestrian’s compulsion for movement. In contrast with the disc-like work mentioned before, these pieces present oscillating verticalities in dialogue with the verticalities of the passersby, who also oscillate on their untiring journeys.

“Vênus” is much slower, as it were, than most of the city’s passers-by. So much so, in fact, that it is somewhat spread out, touching the ground at many points, as opposed to those who pass by almost without touching the ground at all. It is made almost entirely of legs, though they are not transitory, and remain constantly available to those who want to step closer and touch them. The possibility that people will tread on the two parts that impinge on the pavement is not just allowed but positively encouraged. This marks a change from the normal placement of sculptures in cities that are kept out of reach and protected by pedestals, gardens, fountains and fences. This also differs from the care that most people take to avoid coming into physical contact with each other. In cities people tend to defend themselves from the excess of stimuli and differences they come across in their everyday lives. They normally feel uncomfortable or threatened by proximity to unknown people, which is reflected in “the way they hold themselves in the street: after glancing at someone they pull away to minimise the chance of physical contact”10. Closed off and hurried as they are, they appear to be fleeing from something. “Vênus”, however, is a work that encourages close, detailed observation, stimulating an emotional response in the midst of this daily flight. It is a manifestation against indifference – it is inviting and responds to contact, swaying as if it were dancing. This is certainly why it has been christened “Negona” (Big Mamma) by those who frequent the area, a demonstration of affection won through the free and direct exchange of bodily stimuli.

“Passante”, meanwhile, is a faster sculpture, touching the ground only lightly and pressing forwards. It is installed in the Largo da Carioca, a busy public thoroughfare, and it also seeks a certain emotional intimacy with those who pass it by, though it does so principally through the images it evokes. The verticality that repels contact with others, the two curved segments and the slight swaying caused by the wind that imply a walking movement, liken its presence to that of the fleeting bodies that cross the wide pavement. The sculpture captures the silent introspection of the passers-by and the compulsion that drives them ever onwards; it engages with them as a variation of themselves, and shows them their own behaviour at the time and in the place where they adopt such behaviour. The fact that one identifies with it, or at least notes the unexpected grimace it shares with urban humanity, means it allows the perception of a common drama – a rare sense of solidarity where rejection is the norm, and a rare good humoured feeling where haste and isolation predominate.

Both “Passante” and “Vênus” resist the dominant urban flows and stand up to the inevitability of controlled, predictable actions that alienate existentially dense experiences of time. In soliciting an unusual degree of attention and concentration, they merit the comments made by Richard Serra: “The inclusion of sculptural elements or drawings in a determined context makes people more aware of time [...]. This perception of time, or the sensation of time, which is always an individual experience, can only be achieved through the language of art”11.

The two sculptures in the centre of Rio raise an important question about José Resende’s figures. How can a feminine silhouette and the profile of a passer-by be reconciled with an eminently abstract language? This is a similar question to that raised by Michael Fried about certain works by Anthony Caro such as “Deep Body Blue”, which seems to allude to an embrace and to the shape of a door. In the sculptre, the opening of the horizontal elements recalls the conventional perception of two open arms while the two verticals in the same plane recall the conventional perception of an entrance. These connections are relative to determined conventions that the painted plates and tubes simultaneously reiterate and displace, changing their common meaning – which recalls Merleau-Ponty’s analogy of language as a wave that withdraws and gathers itself up to project itself further out. According to Fried, the sculpture relates to the perceived world through an “allusive logic”, with an imaginative rather than a representational syntax of the structural articulations of the appreciable environment. It can be said that the artist created a new way of corporeal involvement or spatial limit, but this was not motivated by a specific investigation of the form of embraces or doorways. The sculpture’s creative dynamic is informed by the aim of explaining that which is unformed in physical existence. If in articulating material structures the sculptor creates something that can be identified as a figure, this is not the product of a figurative work, nor is it even a reference. It is an untimely emergence that depends as much on associations from the artist and the observer as on the expansive reiteration of the language: “Whatever images one finds in Caro ́s work come last, not first; when the piece is done they simply are there. But they do not help organise the piece, even when one is most aware of them”12.

The language of sculpture is oblique – it can be deconstructed and reconstructed by a certain way of thinking, instead of intending to reproduce such thinking. This is part of its expressive autonomy, which its creator is largely incapable of investigating. The sculptor, who is not mediating any predestined meaning, faces this opacity of language head on. He feels his way around the paradox of an indefinable intuition, observing the signs it presents and giving in to its movements, until he is satisfied “with a balance whose conditions are defined by a perfection without a pre-existing model”13. In José Resende’s work the principal way he probes this paradox is through drawing. The figures in “Vênus” and the “Passante” certainly do not come before the sculptures, but nor do they come afterwards. In truth they come simultaneously, inherent in the structural solutions of the plates and inseparable from the lines of their drawings.

The shape of “Vênus” had already been elaborated in earlier works such as “Fred Astaire”, with both deriving from a similar question, namely that of how to “structure while simultaneously deconstructing”, in the words of the artist. In other words, suspending a steel plate that would best sit horizontally, and through a process of conflicting forces, making one or more cuts that allow it to stand vertically. The “allusive logic” of the silhouette arose from the formal process of the work; the plate that is divided and open against the floor and its oscillating verticality suggest certain visual clichés, memories of dance and feminine poses. This is an imaginative association that the artist decided to deliberately accentuate to humorous effect. Something similar occurs in “Passante”, with the suggestion of a figure that walks and the inevitable association with the sculptures of Alberto Giacometti after the Second World War. In this case as well, this is not a question of simple references, but rather of a plastic emergence: the equation between height and flexibility in the stable arrangement of the piece. In the choices of material and cuts, as well as the distribution of weight in its lower extremities, there is an allusion to the drawn out beings that are characteristic of the European sculptor, lanky and thin, dragged by their own heavy feet, with small heads unable to influence their movement and direction – passers-by, like urban pedestrians.

However, a sculpture does not have to be installed in a public space in the city to evoke such a place; it can evoke images of these phenomena even in a private setting. The tensions between the two large rings, some copper tubes and the steel cable that attaches them to the wall in a work from 1998 seem to conjure up the anonymous feats and rhythms of the city. The thin elements that cross the black volumes convince us of the efficiency of their subtle action on such an immense mass, which the dark colour accentuates despite the light constitution of the fibre.The visible linear framework, which is hardly in contact with its heavy load but which nevertheless supports it, makes a poetic use of the traction of the cables; a technique employed in urban architecture. Its metal course recalls the linear distribution of tension that underpins the lightness and structural support of certain urban constructions and equipment. This piece and another sculpture, completed in the same year, are almost material metaphors of the indissoluble interlinking of fixed and flux systems. In both, the steel cable starts from one point in order to repeatedly cross a larger element – a fibre ring or a steel bar – while a second element, analogous to the first, forms a contrast as a climax to the zigzag’s path. The copper tubes act as separators, guaranteeing these paths are visually intelligible, true lines of power to conduct the eye along the sculptural components. Two groups of fixed systems whose integrity and meaning derive from the connecting action of the cables, embodiments of the perceptive flows of an urban observer, imagined as “always (...) in motion even if that motion is only the constant micromuscular adjustments that are the corporealised condition of bifocal vision”14.

Movement is intrinsic to the inhabitant of a contemporary city and conditions him on various levels – from his body’s vital functions to his various relationships and activities. It is intrinsic to the structure of the city, to the untiring transformation of its physiognomy and of its continuous redesigning in demolitions and constructions. As numerous and troubled as its inhabitants, a city’s formal meanings are not to be found in specific regions or objects, but can be perceived in diverse experiences and fleeting forms.

José Resende’s work frequently alludes to the transitive character of urban forms and to the wide range of spontaneous or planned actions that intervene in the city in order to make it a constantly changing place. In fact, his art cultivates a certain “affinity with the anonymous methods of construction”15, as can be clearly seen in the photographs chosen in 1976 to accompany his text “Ausência da Escultura” (The absence of sculpture) in Malasartes magazine. The photos by both Miguel Rio Branco – piles of wooden boxes, superimposed materials, cut asphalt – and by Resende – various cargoes being transported by trucks  – show a particular fascination with the visual result of these interventions. Resende wrote of his own photographs: “the modulation of the cargo in a truck entails simple constructive processes but produces a great variety of structures and designs. Certain cargoes being moved around the landscape create unexpected relationships”16. The combination of the trivial and the unusual, often present in the anonymous space of the street, is a constant motivation for Resende.

This is plain to see, for example, in a work from 1988. The two large tubes, one of copper and the other of brass, folded and placed side by side, have the simplicity and disconcerting plastic strength of some of the manoeuvres and arrangements typical in building sites. It was carried out following the same formal principle used in “Vênus”: it is fashioned thanks to the action of cutting, pressing, folding, grouping and supporting, which structurally alter the tubes. Actions which, together with others like twisting, tying, stretching, fitting together, piling up, piercing, squashing, soldering, melting, covering and moulding, figure among the procedures that the artist has in common with the day-to-day tasks of construction workers. All of these verbs – which recall Richard Serra’s Verb list – confirm an attraction to the transition of human actions to materials, by which forms are produced. This transitive quality refers to the fleeting connection and mutual exchange of forces that happens between a verb and its complement in speech, or between an act and the material on which it is performed. It refers to these transitory “betweens” of formulation that, meanwhile, remain latent in the words of a phrase and in the surfaces of a sculpture.

In the reclining tubes and in the perception of the actions that transform and arrange them there exists the latency of a “meaning in transit” which is basic to all phenomena of language. Here, in particular, there is a “between” taken to its maximum instance in the space that separates the two elements and accentuates the transitive condition of the sculpture. This space exposes, with a light trace of ironic didacticism, its differences and similarities: one has a slightly yellow shine to it while the other is slightly red; one is higher than the other while both are metal tubes with the same diameter. The meaning of the work emerges exactly in this distance and proximity between the tubes; in that which distinguishes them and makes them look the same. It is a meaning that Merleau-Ponty might describe as “born on the edge of a sign”17, inspired by the linguistics of Ferdinand de Saussure, for whom the expressive meaning of a verbal formulation takes place in its intervals, since each word expresses not so much its own meaning as a variation of its meaning compared to the others. The linguistic signs are essentially diacritical, and have meaning only through their lateral relations and by the way they define the transitive connection of their “betweens”.

One sculpture from 1995 made from steel bars with hoops on the ends also derives material force from its structural syntax, from the juxtaposition of elements that individually are anonymous and inexpressive. Their meaning says more about the intersecting relations between the bars and the way they are attached to the fixed hoops than about the value of the individual components. They act as interactive signs whose meaning circulates in the structure’s articulations, in a latency that evokes the transitiveness of the city, whose meanings are evident more in its circulation than in its fixed elements; more by the dispersion of daily movements than by the places between which they take place.

Permanency and unity are concepts that modern sculpture and modern life itself question ceaselessly, and that are addressed brilliantly by two ephemeral works by José Resende. The first was the installation made for the Arte/Cidade project of 1994, when a crane was used to pile granite blocks on top of each other in different combinations over ten consecutive days. The work was carried out in an old industrial deposit in São Paulo, surrounded by semi-abandoned warehouses, and was a physical manifestation of the agitated activity of building sites: their heavy machinery, the lifting and lowering of materials, piles of stone out in the open and the daily rhythm of construction. The blocks used could not be more anonymous, very similar to those found elsewhere on the site. The idea’s strength came from the different configurations that emerged after the piles had been taken down, in the challenge of articulating the differences and similarities between the cuts of granite, and in orchestrating their instabilities in a stable but temporary ensemble. This elementary syntax was born “on the edge of stones”, between the blocks of each formulation and between the various formulations of the installation as a whole. This syntax was notably free from a model or an ideal unitary principle – the artist would begin piling up the blocks every day without knowing how the final stack would look. Its “circumstantial unity” existed in the probing connection of the elements and not in the evocation of a pre-defined order of ideal connections or contents.

In the same way that language is used to group together commonplace signs, Resende often uses sculpture to group together signs of urban banality. In a port, containers are as banal as blocks of granite in an old industrial area. Seven 12-metre long containers, fixed together by an external metallic system, were moved by cranes over ten consecutive days in a public square to mark the 11th Sydney Biennial in 1998, in Australia. This work also embodied the transitiveness of urban phenomena, but on a much larger scale. If it was possible to glimpse an anthropomorphic figure in the ensemble – and the artist himself indicated the visual suggestion of a dance, a figure standing up – such a movement did not arise from any type of intimate nucleus, whose decision would be transmitted to the motor organs. Its movement began and was continued on the surface, through those areas of contact between the elements and the environment: areas in which the tensions of the sculpture arose and were resolved. These containers were completely empty; it was the world beyond their outlines that moved them, the exogenous force of the cranes that caused their dislocation. If in this there was a poetic image of the body, it came not as an unequivocal reflex of a soul or consciousness within it, but rather as a force to bestow movement on the things around it, to animate the things of the world.

Essay published in the book José Resende. COSAC & Naify, 2004.



1 Georg Simmel. “A metrópole e a vida mental” in O fenômeno urbano, Rio de Janeiro, Zahar Editores, 1967.

2 Paul Valéry. “Chose tues”. Quoted in Walter Benjamin. Obras escolhidas III – Charles Baudelaire, um lírico no auge do capitalismo. São Paulo, Editora Brasiliense, 1997, p. 233.

3 José Resende. “Ausência da escultura” in Malasartes, Rio de Janeiro, no. 3, April/May/June of 1976, p. 4.

4 Rodrigo Naves. “Todo peso” in A parte do fogo, Rio de Janeiro, March 1980.

5 Maurice Merleau-Ponty. Fenomenologia da Percepção, cit., p. 212.

6 Milton Santos. “Metrópole: a força dos fracos é seu tempo lento” in Técnica Espaço Tempo – Globalização e meio técnico-científico informacional. São Paulo, Hucitec, 1994, p. 83.

7 Milton Santos. “A aceleração contemporânea: Tempo-Mundo e Espaço-Mundo” in Técnica Espaço Tempo – Globalização e meio técnico-científico informacional, cit., p. 31.

8 Milton Santos. “Metrópole: a força dos fracos é seu tempo lento”, cit., p. 85.

9 Walter Benjamin. “Experiência e pobreza”, cit.

10 Richard Sennett. Carne e pedra – O corpo e a cidade na civilização ocidental. Rio de Janeiro, Record, 1997, p. 296.

11 Richard Serra. Richard Serra – Rio Rounds. Rio de Janeiro, Centro de Arte Hélio Oiticica, 1999, p. 34.

12 Michael Fried. “New Work by Anthony Caro” in Art and Objecthood, cit., p. 175.

13 Maurice Merleau Ponty. “A linguagem indireta e as vozes do silêncio” in Os Pensadores, cit., p. 334.

14 Rosalind Krauss. “Richard Serra, a Translation” in The Originality of the Avant-Garde and Other Modernist Myths. Cambridge, The MIT Press, 1996, p. 270.

15 Ronaldo Brito. “Espectadores passantes, esculturas passageiras” in José Resende. Rio de Janeiro, Centro Cultural Banco do Brasil, 1994, p. 9.

16 “Ausência da Escultura”, cit., p. 8.

17 Maurice Merleau-Ponty. “A linguagem indireta e as vozes do silêncio”, cit., p. 332.