Em: Martim Cererê, Cassino Ricardo, José Olympio:1974, Rio de Janeiro, 13ª edição.

Domingos Jorge Velho, o Bandeirante  (The Pioneer) detail by BENEDITO CALIXTO (1853-1927, Brasil)

Velho was one of the most brutal Bandeirante and responsible for the repression of several Indian Indian nations in Bahia and for all Piaui in Brazil. But he's most famous for the extermination of the negro settlement Quilombo of Palmeras in the hinterland of Alagoas. He did not speak Portuguese, but free language, which was based on the Tupi Indian, and had a few Indian wimmin as lover.
What to say!

20-01-2010 om 22:17 geschreven door Wayn  

WAYN - OIL ON BOARD -  20~~28 CM  NOV. 2009  ITABORAI, RJ

Paraguaçu,

13-01-2010 om 20:08 geschreven door Wayn  

'I know the woman Ná... she lives far from here in the forest,' says the fisherman. I ask him to bring me over there, but he said to be affraid of the wood-spirits. 'But, i can bring you to an old woman, her name is Gurgatuba,' he says. 'She lives on the side of the forest.' For more then a hour we walk on a narrow path, till we reach a palmleaf cabin where the old woman lives. When she stand in the doorway she smiles slightly and the old fisherman runs off quickly. It's quiet, unspoken silent, outside the twittering of the birds. I ask her for Ná. She knows her, Ná is a sorceres, a magical whore who can make men crazy and leads them to the abyss. 'Where does she lives,' i ask her. She laughts and says: 'When you purify my wounds, i will show you the way...' I look at the wrinkled old face of the woman, a cabocla, half indian. Her grey hair is fastened in her neck and her face full of tumors. She stripped of her dirty dress and stands naked in front of me. How old can she be? Ninethy? Older? Her breast are two sloppy meat sacks hanging down to her deep navel while tasteless meat masses hanging around her waist. The abcesses are as big as plums and a green pus dripping out. She says: 'If you want me to bring you to Ná, you will have to be my lover... you must fuck me... my darling..." I must be crazy. Was i really mad? an idiot on a thin wire that was connected to the moon. But my desire for Ná was too big, so immense that i fucked Gurgatuba. Damn! It's like a anesthetic, a coma, i must have a lack of oxygen in my brains. How to explain it in other way. Can you tell me Siegmund Freud? Or any other fucking psychologist? Can they give me a explanation? Gurgatuba lays gasping on a bench of tree branches and she calls for the holy Zachary and the twins Cosme and Damian.  Far away, somewhere in outer space, a million stars away, i hear her whisper: 'I'm happy... i'm the mother of forest... the vestibule of Ná...'

Next to me i see black rats chewing on something, something that must be dead and a little monkey searching fleas on his hairy body. Am I not wrinkled in my soul? God? I'm a Christian? Am i honest agains my ego? Is the old Gurgatuba a arteficial withering flower? This is malicious, inhuman. If it had been a crazy person, lost in the jungle, a sense of bewilderment in his mind, who yearning of desire was fucking the withered body of a old woman. No! Shit! This was me! Crossing the will of my freedom! What is freedom of man? Is there control? No, i'm longing for the love of Ná.

I need Ná, I want Ná.

I jump off the old woman and run outdoor. I have to puke. I walk back inside and beg Gurgatuba to bring me to Ná. The old woman keeps her promisse. We walk and walk and as darkness falls we reach a ruin, it's like the shadow in the moonlight. Then appears Ná, more beautiful then when i saw her last time, she gave the old woman a kiss and called her mother. Then, suddenly Gurgatuba dissapears between bushes and palmtrees. I'm confused and ask Ná why she no longer lives beside the rivier of parrots and that she answer that she never lived there and that i met her in a dream. An illusion, which just like a pearl shimmers, but in reality it' just a trivial stone. An riverstone. She says: 'The only thing you dreaming of is the humidity of my love... in the womb you had already this desire, the love of a Indian woman, no compromise, no sound from the real world, an exclusive love, the happiness that could never be erased...' And she is the woman, at this place in the Brazilian Mato Grosso, which is chosen to meet her. The road has long be sealed. It's a destination.

Fate.

This is no dream, this is real! And I am in the wood along the river Paraquai.

She takes me with her inside the cabin en gave me honey thea sweet as her lips. In the dark corner laying, intertwined, tree snakes, hiding their lovely red whit black colours and now and then one unrolles herself and i can see the little golden eyes watching me. In an other corner i spot four parrots sitting on a branch next to each other, as they were petrified. The howler monkey put his claws between his legs and let his cock rolls, like he was kneading bums. He looks bizar at me and cries when he reached orgasm. Ná undressed herself and sit down beside me. She sings a song that drives me mad while she brings me into a world of glory. The ultimate journey,the beginning of everything, the world of afterlife and paradise there where angels making love with devils. I don't give a fuckin' damn, because now the jaguar is in peace with the lamb and the anteater licks the head of the anaconda. This is the nirvana. We cherisch each other a long time and her hands touch my face, my body feels like wax. She brings her nipple in to my mouth. Time is dead.

 Her legs are spread out for me.

We roll around and i feel her wet flower. My penis penatrates softly, there where mother earth lives. In the deep of mother earth. Never i was that happy, but the next morning she tells me to leave, her just like in the dream. She says that i may never come back to this place, otherwise i will die with my sperm in her. She gaves me the the tail-end of a armadillo, for it will joins me on my world travels. An amulet. Then she calls the old Gurgutuba and tells her to bring me back to the real world, and I wonder if dying with my penis in Ná would be the ultimate pleasure before death. The death-blow, that will darkened life, like the confluence of the sun.

WAYN

31-12-2009 om 00:00 geschreven door Wayn  

I'm in the Brazilian Mato Grosso and longing for the love of an Indian woman. Then I met her: Ná, which in de Tupi language means 'direction of flowing water'. I's afternoon along the Paraquai river. Ná is older then me, ten years. She is fifty-eight, a descendant of the Umotina tribe and her grandparents still have the pure tribal-blood. Her mother is somehow mixed with a 'Cafuz' resulting in negro-blood flowing through her veins. But her Indian look is so magical that it neglected the black influence. Ná is beautiful. Her age does not hurt her appearence, and she have a appeal that only, someone who's attracted to the Indian woman, perceives. Her smell is so strong that no one can refuses her. Never i tell you, never could anyone withstand her, because he will be attracted by a higher atmosphere into space. Her past plays further no role in this concept because it's so immensely sad, that this made her stronger and incouraged her. Ná is lonely. She is a whore. I see her sitting near the water, close to her cabin, and i feel that something in her attracted me like a fly to a carnivorous plant. Ná invited me in to her cabin when the sun allready sets. In the cabin are four hammocks, four parrots and a red-faced monkey. The matress is made of different types of leaves and grass and i smell the sweet scent of flower-oil. I wonna say something but she brings her finger lovely to my lips. Then she strips of her blouse with red lace and little dancing figures, which reminds me of Asian dancers. Her breast are of a colour i've never seen before and they were shining because of the evening sweat.  Her hair falls down her oval face, a face without a wrinkle, as polished by forest fairies. Her mouth looks like a carnal pearl. O my God. This is what i thought. Her nipples were swollen like the red colour of the Kaki fruit and clamped on two hills of flesh. When she strip of her dress my world turns in to a paradise, a no longer existing world, a blurring of masses, utopia, a sleep where dreams blossems into enchantment.
Her stomach, the valley to the higher spirits and her tights are full of large scarves, they seems like wounds of affliction compared with het beautiful face. Each leg is tattooed with two snakes in vertical form. Her feet are small and on top tattooed with butterflies and hummingbirds. Then she walks to me like a female deer, undressed me and put a penetrating turtle oil on me, so that my penis was a gleaming in the twilight of the cabin. Then she let the monkey and parrots outside into the world of nature. After that Ná is ready for love and i knew that only death can make me forget her. It seems a dream, a long trip with no destination, hoping that the journey will never end. It is the transcendental reality of humanity, surrealism in a naive form, led to positions of full enjoment. It was fate that guide me here, to the woman along the river Paraquai. Just to Love. Outside i hear the sound of falling rain and the river will be ready soon for bathing, as the sun rise again. She makes a herbal thee and I get crushed alligator bones, which are nutritious and against infections. I will never leave Ná. How could I? But she shakes her head and says I must leave her. 'Women are ruthless,' thas what i tought, but it was an important moment in my life, an apotheosis, a huge journey, how could I go? My dream has lived, but now? I look one more time and see her sitting along the river combing her hair. She don't looks back. It's a scourge for me and I know that talk to her again no longer make sense. It's over and i go my way.

I wake up chaotic and my head is hot and dizzy. My mouth is bone dry. The alcohol has swept me away in a dream of bright moments. My subconcious has been so intens it defies reality, even beyond. I lay naked in bed. It's damn hot and the humidity of the unconcious love-act soaked the cloth. There's a sense of longing I never felt. Yes, the woman i can recall, i saw her this morning in the city. It was her. I'm sure of that. She is the woman who called herself Ná in my dream, and this dream continues haunting me, just like those greedy stimulations. I drink a bottle of white rum, which Brazilians call 'cachaça or pinga' and end up in a cheap rotten motel accompained by a young whore. But i'm fuckin' impotent of mind and body and feeling sick, no, this is not real, this is bizarre. Beside lies the young hooker Ximxim and Lord, she's beautifull in her nudity, a girl of the forest, suckled by white and indian blood, a beauty handed over to the cruel world of prostitution. But she does it all for her sick father, only for him, she says. The world is rotten, a filthy shit-hole. I kiss her, be nice to her, but she's motionless, a inexperienced hooker without a will. I think back to Ná and the reason i can't explain. Then Ximxim tells me her short life story. The death of her mother, raped by loggers, hanging from her legs to a tree and chopped in half. Here sisters were raped and beaten to death by drunk men without brains and hearts. Her father was not at home and went crazy of grieve. She maneged to escape te barbarians. It happened one year ago, and now she lies in my arms, damned! Petrified with tick eyes of tears. How must i consider this? Is there a concept for such a life? I stay with the girl untill the first rays of sun came through the dirty window, put my clothes on and thinks of Ná again. I gave Ximxim some money and leave the stinking hotel. 

I walk to the river, the one i saw in my dream. The place and the little cabin. Is this a shadow? It's a foggy day and morning mist floating between the trees. Cobalt blue angel ghost. Or they are just fucking bullies, ignorant and desillusionment. I going to doubt myself. I come to the river and my head is empty. I feeling sick and my my heart runs like a pressure hammer. I find the cottage and call her name. No answer. The cabin is still in decline and i see colorful birds fly out and pigs and anteaters running out the frontdoor. Yes i was there. Yesterday afternoon, and everything was like i see it now. The cabin... Ná... why? I sit down beneath a tree and cry. Nobody mourn for me, just the animals on the waterside and a fat sloth in a hig tree-top. As an old fisherman pass by i ask him for Ná.....

look for part 2

30-12-2009 om 00:00 geschreven door Wayn  

PART 2 ANTONIO PARREIRAS
potret and naked

28-12-2009 om 13:36 geschreven door Wayn  

Sept. 22 2009
I re-visited the museum of Parreira in Niteroi, Brazil, which is housed in his old living-house. The museum is maintained by the state of Rio de Janeiro. I was warmly welcomed and had a pleasant conversation with the negro guide. Upon my request i visited the studio and got a sense of 'saudade' to the time Parreiras painted here not far from the Guanabara bay, there where the Indians once had their home.

ANTONIO DIOGO DA SILVA PARREIRA 1860-1937 -BRAZILIAN PAINTER -BORN IN NITEROI, RJ BRASIL part 1
Although his work was quite made up by historical and nude paintings, he expressed himself the best in landscapes, combined brazilian natives influences with certain European.
In 1883 he met the german painter George Grimm who thaught him landscape, flora and wildlife painting. Parreiras visit many times Europe. He returned to Brazil permanently in 1914.

28-12-2009 om 13:04 geschreven door Wayn  

studio entrance  "Trabalhar&Viver"


huge painting


huge painting in studio


room beside the atelier


painting of the Jesuit 'De Anchieta'


bust of Parreira & painting of missionary who converted Indians


Finally, Wayn on a rainy day in the museum

28-12-2009 om 00:00 geschreven door Wayn  

PAINTING TRAVIS LOUIE -UNTITLED  '... When I was 5 years old I wanted to be King Kong. I wanted to climb the Empire State Building, clutching a beautifull little blond woman, while bi-planes circled around me trying to shoot my hairy ass down...'
which five year old boy would'nt be King Kong? thanks Travis, RW

22-12-2009 om 19:38 geschreven door Wayn  

'PAINTING WILL MAKE THE SOUL FREE..'

THANKS BUDDY!       -WAYNART



HEARTACHE


JOJO THE DOG-FACED GIRL TAKES HER WALK


TILL DEATH US PART

12-12-2009 om 21:24 geschreven door Wayn  

FOTOS STORYTELLER 2009

'YELLOWMAN EVERYBODY'S IQUAL!'


DEDICADED TO NATURE

11-12-2009 om 00:00 geschreven door Wayn  

Give me some reason...

07-12-2009 om 22:19 geschreven door Wayn  

COMPOSITION OF bLACK cHRIST, bONANZA bEER, sACI pERERÉ, FAUST




DON'T WE ALL ARE THIRSTY?

31-08-2009 om 15:49 geschreven door Wayn  

CESTEIRA 1927
OIL ON CANVAS


FANTASIA - 1909- OIL ON CANVAS


  1860-1937 NITEROI, RJ, BRAZIL

27-08-2009 om 00:00 geschreven door Wayn  

TAHITI

14-08-2009 om 20:35 geschreven door Wayn  

THROUGHOUT THE WORLD
WHO IS THERE LIKE LITTLE ME!
WHO IS LIKE ME!
I CAN TOUCH THE SKY, I TOUCH THE SKY INDEED!

WINNEBAGO



RAMBLIN' WAYN 1948  -  THE YEAR OF THE RAT

24-07-2009 om 00:00 geschreven door Wayn  

BRAZILIAN WOMEN

19-07-2009 om 21:59 geschreven door Wayn  

"DOC WATSON TRULY REVOLUTIONIZED THE ROLE OF THE GUITAR IN FOLK, OLD TIME, BLUEGRASS AND COUNTRY MUSIC."
Dix Bruce

"... Doc is one of the very few persons who influenced my singing... but his flatpickin' playing is well above mine... thanks Doc!" 
Ramblin' Wayn

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U5c1k949Zn4  - Tennessee Stud

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SUR-REAL WORK

Wer reited so spät durch die Nacht und Wind?
Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind.

Who rides so late through the night and storm?
It is the father with his child.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

08-07-2009 om 20:03 geschreven door Wayn  

28-06-2009 om 13:57 geschreven door Wayn  

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