Jaider Esbell

C&AL: Could you talk a little about the history of the Makuxi people and how art emerged in your life?

Jaider Esbell: The Makuxi is an indigenous nation of the Karib linguistic branch, whose people live among other peoples, in the region known today as the Circun-Roraima whose cosmological center is on Mount Roraima. Consequently, they are a trans-border people dispersed beyond the state of Roraima, in the extreme north of Brazil, in Guyana and in Venezuela. In Brazil, they are a population of more than 30 thousand people. Today the Makuxi live in different social, cultural and political contexts. They recently commemorated the demarcation and homologation of part of their ancestral territory, the fruit of a struggle they led for over four decades. It’s the indigenous land called Raposa Serra do Sol, where I was born and where I grew up. We are the children and grandchildren of the deity Makumaimî, one of our “gods.” The Makuxi have a complex cosmology. Already in my early childhood, my grandfather told me about part of this “mythology” and I consider that to be my first encounter with the idea of art.

C&AL: In what way do literature and the visual arts overlap in your production?

JE: My people have an oral tradition; we are eminent storytellers. Our elders always used to draw on stones as a way of including the powers of signs to generate communication. That is how we have progressed since time immemorial. For us, art as much as literature, and even the visual arts, are part of a unified body of media, that we apply to our dynamics of journeys through the world – as much in our own internal relations—as a people—as for our relationships with neighboring peoples of other branches. The introduction of writing to our language did not make us stop telling stories. It provided us with yet another means to continue narrating and illustrating. As a Makuxi artist, I try to exercise those abilities.

C&AL: In works such as “Pata Ewa’n – O coração do mundo” (Pata Ewa’n – The Heart of the World), “A árvore de todos os saberes” (The Tree of All Knowledge) and “Conhecimento e dignidade” (Knowledge and Dignity), we see the presence of the Makuxi cosmology. In what ways do you articulate the indigenous world and the white world in your production?

JE: My grandparents were slaves on the farms of invaders, so I was, literally, born in both worlds. I notice that, aside from the pressures and impositions of the white world on my ancestral world, the indigenous one, there is a dual interest between these. Through my artwork, I believe that I can help both arrive at this minimal understanding. Art can bring worlds closer together—for me this is a fact. My research also leads me to believe that, although apparently mixed, these worlds do not fuse or merge together. Since I have access to both of these worlds, my aim is to build a consciousness of what both are teaching me “naturally” so that I can be another vehicle, means, channel of fruition and distinction.

C&AL: Color is a very striking element in your work. Where does your pallet of colors come from? What is the importance of color for you?

JE: The energy of colors nourishes my soul. My soul is filled with color, since that is how my ancestral grandfather, Makunaimî, shows it to me. Our lineage is based on transformation. Therefore, colors are, as is the sound of our music, our platform for existence and for allowing for existence. We have faced total darkness, in other times, and it was the fragments of light that guided us on that journey. When we survived that darkness, the colors that kept us alive expanded wildly. We don’t know how to live in a world that is pastel, or grey, or black or white. We prefer a world in color.

C&AL: In your recent exhibition at the Millan Gallery, you elaborate on the tree-shaman in your work. What does the tree-shaman represent and why did you decide to work with it as a motif?

JE: For us, artist and shaman, in principle, are the same person or being. We do not distinguish between those functions. Along with the advance of Eurocentric colonial thought in our milieu, we started to fall into the trap of believing that there was a distinction between those functions. With the notion of art in our favor, as indigenous peoples, we can discern the possibility of translation, or of bringing back together our own nature. Now, if you ask me if I am an artist or a shaman, I will say no, although I am aware that, by publicly tampering with the effects of genipap, I’m talking about everything at the same time.

C&AL: How do you see contemporary indigenous art? What path still needs to be taken for indigenous art to have more space?

JE: Contemporary indigenous art has been building its space, in its own time, since, as I have said, it is about its own plural system. I think that over the last two decades we have been on a tremendous journey, though it still is not exactly seen for lack of translation or understanding, because of racism and discrimination among other relational misunderstandings. Translation is a space that interests us a lot. We do not think of “art spaces” as a space to achieve, to occupy. When I say that we have our own art systems, and they are where they should be, that they are our communities, perhaps what I mean is that this is an invitation to the other, the “White man” to come into our universe through the front door. And, to say this, we still need to come out of our houses so we can ceremoniously step into the white “art space” and say that we too have something to show, but in our ways, with our rules.

C&AL: In your series “Era uma vez Amazônia,” meaning: Once Upon a Time It Was Amazon, you call attention to different practices that are destroying the forest. Is being an artist also a way for you to be a political activist?

JE: Yes, I absolutely think so. If indigenous artists do not think and act that way, they would probably repeat the mistakes of the colonizer. If we do not come to the clear realization that we need to slow down the destruction of the life source, not only for our own well-being, but for the general well-being of all life forms, with no distinction, this is not artivism. This would be, and perhaps is, vindictiveness, illusion, a revenge attempt, socio-cosmic-political disorder, reverse apartheid, another form of madness and obsession.

Jaider Esbell is a cultural producer, curator, writer and artist of Makuxi origins.

Camila Gonzatto writes about cinema, literature and visual arts for several magazines and academic publications. She is a member of the editorial team of Contemporary And América Latina.

Translation: Sara Hanaburgh

Contemporary And: In Conversation with Jaider Esbell
Camila Gonzatto
2021