Christian Catafago

Passing by Rio de Janeiro on my way to Buenos Aires, I walked the coastal strech of Ipanema and remembered walking along the Seine banks of my beloved Paris: Ipanema in the wee hours of the morning was yet to be attacked by hordes of tourists and only the local residents were walking the stretch. I could not help but reflect on my longing for my city: I had been away fromy source for so long, would I still recognize it? would I still bond with it? I was only sure some traces on the walls would still be there for me to touch: beyond seeing, what comprises my memory of Paris is touching its physical reality: the traces and impacts of WWI and WWII on its walls, the graffiti that have influenced my works, starting by those of Restif de la Bretonne at the center of the city.

Life is somehow strange; walking in a far away city of dreams and remembering another one. Slowly walking, the fresh early morning air continued playing songs to my ears as I was reaching Pedra de Arpoador entre Ipanema et Copacabana, I passed from “Aguas de Marco”, as befits in this season all tourists on this stretch of beach, to another song reflecting on life: going up this rock, I heard “Les Cactus”: “le monde entier est un cactus”: is the world a cactus?

At least on top of this rock, tourists and locals answered this question: as I reached the cactii, I noticed all of them were responding to Restif de la Bretonne and the proverbial oak tree, all kinds of love messages and names were written on the plants: writing on a leaf an eternal message, beyond being extremely ecological, suddenly seemed a tropical an answer…