In the memory of Alexandre Rodrigues

​Today, things started with a visit to the decorative design shop owned and managed by Fernanda Martins and António Dantas, only the purpose of having gone there was to find this back-office (almost) secret door, leading into this super narrow concrete-made alley, that then becomes soil and several different plants. In it, there is a tiny watercourse, converging from various water pipes exits of some buildings around, always sounding afresh, in a combinatorial ever new fashion. 'I always leave the door open, I can't really be here with it closed' said Fernanda. It was, in fact, an incredible finding; a place that leads to such a mysterious, long path, that looked like it could lead us to the other end of the world could we follow it.

We spoke of remarkable places - not just little brooks - but also about Levadas [Madeira's ancient water irrigation system, famous for its hike-through paths] and mountains in which there live all sort of sounding insects. On another note, Dantas remembered the epic moment when John Cage came to Funchal with Merce Cunningham and David Tudor, and half of the audience - having already started small - went away, outraged, and the other half could never again forget the concert. We watched a piece recorded by Sara and Rodrigo in a New Maker Ensemble concert in which, on his score, Mark Barden writes moments of inhalation and exhalation, attempts of air release and sudden suspensions, where everything lies between sheer failure and utter success.

Later on, Cristina Vieira and Nuno Filipe came to meet us at PIPINOIR. Cristina, amidst lots of traditional music, reminded us again of the sounds of the Levada that there was by her old house and of the sound of her mother sewing, and Nuno Filipe, of cats, relentlessly meowing all the time, without him being able to locate them and really understanding what is going on. He chose still to revive the sound of bells playing in the Jesuits church, a marking event of his days spent in the religious college until he was sixteen years old. Who could guess this one?! He was the first one playing the piano we have here, delivering a kickass arrangement of 'Black Bird' by the Beatles, which, although it was not sung, it explains: '… all your life you were waiting for this moment to be free, blackbird fly, blackbird fly, into the light of the dark black night…'

Yesterday, Zé Camacho asked Sara about the music she most loves, since that was a question she has been asking everyone. At the top of her head, she mentioned Nina Simone, and today, as it is her father's birthday, and he is not here with us anymore, but always in spirit, she would like to dedicate this song to him:

Love me, love me say you do
let me fly away with you
for my love is like the wind
and wild is the wind

… for we're creatures of the wind
and wild is the wind

… let the wind blow through your heart
and wild is the wind

Today the floor was all painted in white, attracting even more diverse people to our space with the light it emanated. It really seemed as though we had reached heaven, only with this tiny window to the terrestrial world, with a sun-ray coming in, whole and lively. Now the only thing lacking are memories themselves, inscribed onto the physicality of things here, now that there are so many them stored, and particularly those remembering people's parents. We, who are here still, we keep maintaining them alive in our memory, and thenceforwards, generations after generations will always save these memories full-heartedly. This piece, to Sara, it reminds her of her father. This is her strongest memory, which is always present, and now is hereby dedicated to him. He would certainly like the sound of the little secret brook and even more that of those stones rolling on the volcanic beach.

Photographs by Sara Rodrigues