Poor Camel Long Way From Home
Folha de Sala
“In the dawn there is a man progressing over the plain by means of holes which he is making in the ground. He uses an implement with two handles and he chucks it into the hole and he enkindles the stone in the hole with his steel hole by hole striking the fire out of the rock which God has put there. On the plain behind him are the wanderers in search of bones and those who do not search and they move
haltingly in the light like mechanisms whose movements are monitored with escapement and pallet so that they appear restrained by a prudence or reflectiveness which has no inner reality and they cross in their progress one by one that track of holes that runs to the rim of the visible ground and which seems less the pursuit of some continuance than the verification of a principle, a validation of sequence and
causality as if each round and perfect hole owed its existence to the one before it there on that prairie upon which are the bones and the gatherers of bones and those who do not gather. He strikes fire in the hole and draws out his steel. Then they all move on again.”
Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian, or the Evening Redness of the West (1985)
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III
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Dark was the Night, Cold was the Ground
Blind Willie Johnson, 1927
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Poor Camel Long Way from Home
Filipe Felizardo, 2012
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The Centrifugation of Eadweard Muybridge’s Headache
Filipe Felizardo, 2014
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Zeeland
António Júlio Duarte, 2013
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Chanterai pour mon Courage
Guiot de Dijon, Séc. XIII
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Morte
Filipe Felizardo & Norberto Lobo, 2013
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“I set my path by the night and walk out of the village while the track remains luminous. Later starlight will make it shine in a different way, polishing the miles ahead with a bright, invisible velocity.
I walk between banked walls of white stone as if in a riverbed, the road hollowed out by time, weather and the continual passage of humans, migratory as birds. Tribes crossing and re-crossing the same gulley, desperately trying to draw a line against extinction. It is with this herd of ghosts that I travel, alone.
After some hours, I am stopped by an anxiety of sight. I have been aware for some time of tiny movements in the edges of my vision, fish-like punctuations breaking the solid wave of stone on either side, catching the light in dim flashes for less than a blink. Every time I stop, the phenomenon ceases. When I continue, the glinting peripheral shoal follows me. There is wonder at first, but it had now turned to unease, and I fear sentience or hallucination. Neither is wanted at this time: I seek only loneliness and distance, not wanting association or introspection, it being necessary to seek one dimension to understand with clarity. I have been crippled by complexity before, and the healing from it had taken too many years. I will not go there again and share my being with all those others who would claim and squabble over my loyalty. I need only to breathe and walk, but at this time of night, in that albino artery, I hear fear tracking me.”
- Catling, The Vorrh (2007)
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Sinopse
Na iminência da palavra “carreira” poder trazer peso a mais para um texto sobre Filipe Felizardo, utilize-se “percurso” para ir unindo os pontos de uma pequena, mas intensa, vida de música que este guitarrista nos tem dado. E essa pode ainda ser a palavra mais acertada para esta obra e para este concerto. Quando confrontado com Poor camel long way from home, Felizardo explica este tema como uma caminhada, importante para a materialização da sua arte. Lembrando Herzog ou Chatwin, o ato de caminhar exerce a busca da solidão e instiga a criatividade.
Deslocação, cadência, transfiguração; ações físicas que se traduzem na guitarra de Felizardo, a solo e na companhia, tal como no seu disco Sede e Morte, de outro guitarrista, Norberto Lobo, numa espécie de sombra desse caminhar pretensamente solitário. Na sala, a sombra e o vazio, como se fossem negativos da ação, são cortados à faca pela ilustração visual do filme de António Júlio Duarte que mais não faz que dizer-nos que estamos todos em andamento. Felizardo conduz-se na sua passada solitária; nós aderimos à sua peregrinação. É num aparente cenário de erosão asfixiante que Felizardo encontra tudo o que precisa para sobreviver e compor, e é neste regresso ao Teatro Maria Matos que se nos faz escutar uma das mais polidas partituras do seu percurso. Podemos estar todos longe de casa, mas acabámos por encontrar um diamante neste deserto.
