“Just Join”: House of Smoothies

In May, 2011, Nydia Negromonte came to Porto Alegre to take part into three activities: the exhibition LESSON ON THINGS the leading of a workshop; and the third edition of the public action named HOUSE OF SMOOTHIES.

The latter would end Nydia´s visit to the city and raised great expectations among all those concerned with its organization.

Months before, I had returned from Belo Horizonte filled with enthusiasm aroused by what Nydia told me about the works she had done in Belo Horizonte and São Paulo.

Back to Porto Alegre, Ana Flávia Baldisserotto and Melissa Fávero promptly agreed to plan Nydia´s visit to the city, so as to make it possible to organize HOUSE OF SMOOTHIES.

The expected Saturday arrived. A sunny morning, with pleasant temperature.

Our team met at Ecarta Gallery and, from there, we crossed the avenue towards Parque da Redenção, where the structure would be assembled.

It was a set of three wooden tables assembled with their headboards converged, forming the image of a three-blade propeller, when seen from above. The center of the propeller would be crossed by a solid tripod, also in wood, that would raise about three meters so as to bear a water tank on which the words HOUSE OF SMOOTHIES would be printed.

The carpenter responsible for the construction of the water tank and tables had already arrived and hurried to level the ground where the structure would be built.

While equipment was being unloaded, an employee of the park took care of the water meter that would supply the tank.

We spotted Nydia walking from the hotel and waving at us from the corner. She seemed to be impressively calm, taking into account that the structure we were about to set depended upon a number of things over which we had no control at all. After all, we were on the street.

Several times during the organization, I was afraid the work could not happen.

Displaced from the context of a formal event and totally free in a public square, the HOUSE OF SMOOTHIES depended on the engagement of those who sympathized with it.

We joined efforts and the thing came out. It was there and began to raise from the ground.

The huge wooden tripod would be topped by a three-hundred-and-ten-liter water tank. Even our experienced carpenter showed some anxiety about this matter, and confessed having spent the night revolving in a nightmare in which he saw himself grabbing at the tower that bore the water tank, that was about to collapse over the people.

– It is probably due to the tension caused by the deadlines – I said, so as to reassure him. However, the image of the poor man grabbing at the tower stuck to my mind until I was sure the structure was solid.

The water tank finally raised to its position and was connected to the hose.

The tables already formed the great propeller, around the tripod basis of the tower. Table tops were adjusted and, over them, shelves were installed. The tank began to be filled up.

– It takes one hour – Nydia warned us, as calmly as when she arrived.

While the water tank was being filled up, we took the fruit out of the bags and Nydia began to arrange them on the tables, as in a pyramid. Meanwhile, she told us:

– At first, I thought I needed a lot of oranges to produce enough liquid, but now I know it’s not necessary.

On the white surfaces, colors were distributed: the reddish-yellow of tangerines, persimmons and oranges; the green of basil leaves; the red of tomatoes and apples; the yellow of star fruit and bananas; the pinkish of mangoes, grapes and pomegranates.

Each table was equipped with a manual blender to grind/mix the fruit, a sink to wash kitchen utensils and a basin placed at the bottom of each sink to collect the water used to wash the utensils. On the shelves, fruit storage for replacement.

The water tank was filled up. The hose was disconnected. The carpenter said goodbye, confident of his job.

Everything was ready.

Some people, who had been watching the whole process from a distance, now got closer. My thought spun with questions marks.

“Will passers-by feel comfortable to make juice on the street?”

“Who will feel like drinking juice in this cold weather?”

“What if people do not feel interested in any of this?”

I looked at Nydia lively talking to some visitors and decided to take a walk. When I got back, I found a large and noisy group around the tables.

Euphoric, Ana Flávia Baldisserotto brought the news:

– I don’t know how it happened but, after the first group, people never stopped to come!

I spotted Nydia, now wearing an apron, in the middle of the mob:

– Just choose the fruit. The blender is over here, its manual – and, turning around – No, there’s no need to add water … and you don’t have to pay anything. Look, there’s tangerine, banana, each one can make up their own juice!

People chose the fruit, moved by the example of a participant who ground/mixed whatever was in front of him and offered the result to whomever was besides him.

A father turned the handle together with his son; a guy peeled and chopped the fruit; women cleaned the table with a cloth; youngsters put apart plastic glasses and fruit peels, organizing the garbage.

From time to time, Nydia’s voice was heard:

– I’m an artist, this is artistic work….. What is it worth for? Exactly for this: making up juice in a public square, no need to add water, everybody together. It’s free. Just join.

At some point, I believe people in the park heard about the juice-making house. They came and put their hands on without asking questions.

I was surprised to see my fellow citizens, usually more reserved, acting so unashamedly talkatively, making up juice and handing out glasses among themselves.

From eleven in the morning to five in the afternoon, the HOUSE OF SMOOTHIES worked non-stop at Parque Farroupilha. It gathered a crowd of people who did not know one another working together and helping each other in unbelievable harmony.

At some point, Nydia left for a cup of coffee and we sat at a distance to contemplate the mill, turning round its blades.

Some people interrupted their morning jogging to have some juice; some put their bikes aside; some showed up with their children and dogs; some were coming from the market with bags; some had left the night shift.

There was the homeless boy and the wealthy boy; the lonely man and the girl with her girlfriends; the “gaúcho” with his tea and the smoker. People at all ages and social status took turns in the tasks: peel, chop, mix/grind, hand out, clean, and drink. It was a hive of work, happiness, and delight. The machine turned round non-stop, moved by the groups that took turns and managed themselves; newcomers were taught by those already there: “each one makes their own juice”; “no need to add water”; “the blender is manual”; and so forth.

From our standpoint, we watched people helping themselves with the juice, talking, greeting whoever arrived or left. A calm and horizontal order made it possible for the production, consumption, disposal and cleaning phases to naturally succeed and for the coordination of the table to be passed on from one group to another. It was a micro-society that regulated itself. From time to time, there was a debate about the use of water, about garbage selection, or about if fruit could be eaten instead of processed. And consensus always prevailed.

The name HOUSE OF SMOOTHIES shone at the top of the water tank as a happy flag, convening the thirsty ones. The juice production swung between intensity peaks and nearly resting moments, however never ceasing. The juice production swung between intensity peaks and nearly resting moments, however never ceasing. The water level slowly lowered.

– The water is just to wash the hands and the utensils – Nydia warned, when she returned – we need to care about the water because, when it’s over, all the rest is over as well.

At some point, I caught sight of Marcos Sari’s bike, an artist and old friend who arrived and said he had been attracted by the movement around the tables:

– I looked from a distance and thought: “this must have to do with art!”

We laughed.

When Marcos walked away, I asked myself what might have suggested him the idea of a work of art.

For sure, the trained eye and the familiarity with public art allowed Marcos to read some signs not so evident to passers-by, in general. Further, Marcos Sari is also an educator and has been active in proposals meant to take learning actions out of classrooms and art workshops, bringing them into everyday situations shared by all kinds of people – students and non-students, the elders and the youngsters, men and women, professionals and amateurs from several areas.

The HOUSE OF SMOOTHIES was planned with great care, so as its practice would not induce participants to pre-conceived interpretations nor would it lead them to an unequivocal direction. I can witness such care was successfully carried out, contributing to the freshness of Nydia Negromonte’s work.

The passers-by who made the juice mill move that afternoon shared a commonly built sociability ritual; they produced and coordinated the work, the consumption, the organization, the party; they experienced the freeness of a situation that was produced leaving out business, property, positions, and institutions.

The movement of the blades celebrated a society of passers-by, where social identities were momentarily suspended and everyday automatism gave way to the making-up of a reality in which knowledge and non-knowledge were equally indispensable.

***

The afternoon ended. There were a few people around the propeller.

In Belo Horizonte, I had heard the following comment from Marcelo Drummond:

– The HOUSE OF SMOOTHIES is moved by the energy of the people, of the water, and of the fruit. When one of them is over, the system fails.

The failure of the HOUSE OF SMOOTHIES was slowly being announced.

The water in the basins reached the edges. The fruit on the shelves was all gone. The garbage bins were loaded. The lower the fruit pyramids got on the tables, the fewer people participated. Water dwindled from the taps.

The mill stopped.

The blades were disassembled.

The administration of the park sent a small truck to collect the material. We kept the utensils and the water tank. The wooden parts and the leftover fruit were taken by the employees of the park.

As well as it had been materialized from one moment to another, the HOUSE OF SMOOTHIES vanished without trace.