This is not a metaphor

Our time in Olinda gave us a chance to visit Mestra Di’s academy and continue the conversations of the previous project. It was great to be there in person, play capoeira with her group and the children, and contribute to the music.

The academy is a small room down an alleyway in Olinda. There are children running around, playing games. They know everyone; there are snacks, music and capoeira. The experience confirmed an itch that a reformulation of aesthetics is needed to include manifestation as much as representation. Popular art takes place in community, and it inscribed over a series of encounters between people and through the practice of music and movement. There is no finished product, no art sale at the end. There are references and representations but capoeira is not a metaphor.

In our conversation with Mestra Di, engaging her in the questions of resistance and transformation through capoeira, she observed a change in the children through learning capoeira and how to dance frevo. They learn to dedicate themselves to something, and as a result, their confidence increases. Sometimes the children arrive feeling low or disinterested, but through playing capoeira they start taking care of themselves and “a world opens” Mestra Di recounted. There are visible changes in the children’s behaviour, more respect, including for the art of capoeira. “We’re not teaching,” said Mestra Di, “we’re creating an atmosphere for them to be themselves.”

In the adult groups, Mestra Di observes a different transformation, and it stems from the fact that participating in a group creates a family, albeit one not joined by blood. As a teacher, Mestra Di hopes that everyone who arrives at her academy will evolve in their capoeira and their life, recognising that it’s a long journey. Capoeira gives the chance to evolve and learn to take care of one’s health; it provides control over the body and life, so it enables a transformation within each person.

Mestra Di also teaches and dances frevo, which she sees as a corporal expression central to Pernambucan identity. Frevo is an energetic dance that strengthens the body and joints; people learn as children and never forget. (This was confirmed in our observations of street parades, with everyone joining in the dancing). Frevo has Black and Indigenous roots, and is an extremely popular street art. The music was developed first – and it was originally much slower than it is played today. With the advent of frevo in street parades, frevo music has been accelerated, and its performance history is intertwined with that of capoeira with rival groups, and competing for space and occasionally attacking each other to steal instruments. The moves are recognisably similar to capoeira moves, with stylised kicks and ducks; originally dancers twirled clubs, and these have latterly been replaced by coloured umbrellas to prettify the show.

Economically, life for artists is tricky, affirms Mestra Di: “There’s still no one here in Brazil who can say they they live from capoeira; so I prefer to say that I work for capoeira rather than that I live from capoeira. I live because capoeira is a source of energy, it’s a way to keep me alive. It keeps me moving and keeps me healthy. And that how I survive.”

There are other challenges: to be respected as a woman and an artist. To be valued, even with forty years of experience, there is a struggle against the patriarchy for recognition. The Northeast is a conservative and sexist society, and women fear for their daughters when they are out. “It’s all linked,” says Mestra Di, “we are trying to make a better world, and are contributing directly to society.”