Emguarda is the title of the third exhibition on view at Centro de Arte Contemporânea da Fortaleza de Sagres since it first opened in November 2022, featuring works by Manuel Baptista (in many ways a pioneering name in the context of contemporary art from and in the Algarve region). In September last year, this was followed by Xana’s Desenho, Construção e Vertigem and now, under the neologism of the title, the works of Edgar Massul (b. 1963) are being exhibited. Not surprisingly, the three exhibitions in the still new exhibition centre are curated by Mirian Tavares and Pedro Cabral Santo. They also share with Alexandre Barata the lecturing of subjects on the Visual Arts course at the University of the Algarve, the dynamics of which have had undeniable effects on the quality of what is shown and the constancy with which art is presented in the region. There has been a particularly intense focus on contemporary art in recent years, and the relationship between the university and the region (municipalities, private and public bodies) has greatly contributed to this.

In today’s teeming art world, what does it mean to be an artist? In today’s chaotic world, an entanglement of conflicts and lies, what does it mean to be an artist? (And what does it mean to pen some words about an exhibition of visual objects?) When art raises questions like these, the answers are already there in some way.

I start from the end, from what comes in brackets: to write words about paintings, mostly visual (but also textural and light) pieces, may require an understanding of what is seen, as well as a suggestion for those who, independently of the writer, will see or have seen it. It is both taking and offering, a gift and a theft. It can be an addition to what is seen, but not always. In emguarda, I shall add some information given to me by the artist himself, during a tour in which he led me around a gallery in Sagres that was lit by a cloudless sky and an almost see-through ceiling (the challenges of exhibiting in a setting where the light is outside the control of artists and curators is equally matched by the blessing of having rooms with lighting that nature has granted a privileged edge – a rare, beautiful occurrence). Nevertheless, I do hope to provide some insight into Edgar Massul’s work that waives this other privilege, that of a guided tour by the artist. From the outset, it is important to do so because the different pieces on display are not labelled – neither next to them, nor in the presentation text (signed by Mirian Tavares).

This exhibition may be seen ‘without a network’, although it does not mean that such an information network is vital, and it may even be a protest against too much info. If one tries to picture an unsuspecting and clueless visitor, one is left with plenty of sensations and experiences of the place and the way in which the numerous paintings, sculptures, drawings and shapes are aligned on the surface of the single room’s multiple walls. Consequently, the title acquires the force of an ascendant: ‘it lets us know of an intention and a gesture – recognising that his works remain because they are in storage, protected by collectors, collections, friends’, as Mirian Tavares explains on the exhibition text, adding that the many pieces on display there come from individual or institutional collections. Emguarda means, at once, in the custody of, something the pieces on display have in common, and adopting a sentry, watchful attitude – almost as if the artist, who has requested the temporary assembly of works that have been scattered by different entities and individuals, wanted to emphasise the ownership of the works as a position of control. (In doing so, he turns the gesture into a way of shaping the distance that, aside from the time of the exhibition, stands between himself and his creation). The non-existent word in the title persists in inscribing itself.

The non-identification of the pieces introduces a sense of unity; it negates the isolation of each one, whether by accepting the call that they all bear witness to, or in the secondary role that they apparently play in their individualised existence: it implies an organic understanding of the work, seen as the totality of its members. But it also serves as a reminder of the addiction to information: when there is no data (dates of creation, the identity of the collector, materials), it is the here and now, the plasticity of each surface coming into its own, as if to balance out the informational void: art stands on its own.

During his kind tour, Massul spoke about the collections (Carmona e Costa, EDP, among others), the collectors’ names, the origin of the pieces, the exhibitions where they were displayed – but, from time to time, on purpose or not, he would step back: “No, that was not it,” and he would rectify a particular fact, a name, a date. With this, I understand, he was restoring art to its centrality, grounding it in friendship and complicity (many of the people who keep the exhibited works are friends of the artist; the pieces also symbolise these relationships). The show represents the creation of strong proximity, affinity and neighbourliness between the pieces and everything they represent, a temporary gathering of what has been scattered through friendship.

In today’s chaotic and hectic art world, I now return to the question: what does it mean to be an artist? It is certainly not just to be part of a profiteering system in which each piece is rounded off by a small circle of coloured stickers, or by a list of titles, formats, materials and prices (which Gianfranco Sanguinetti condemns in his deception of contemporary art[1]). In emguarda, it primarily means assuming oneself as the centre of a mesh of connections and affinities and providing symbols for them through art.

‘The spirit begins where the penumbra / is disentangled from the background / of the object.’[2] Fernando Echevarría’s verses sound like they could describe many of the paintings in this exhibition – mainly those in which the mud substance reveals passages of time, watercourses, sand deposits as if they were the sedimentation of life. They are mainly brown in colour on a light background and emanate from the large panel that can be seen on almost the entire wall at the far end of the room from the entrance, which can only be seen when the visitor moves towards it (the walls in the middle of the room instigate hide-and-seek games with light and art). I learnt that the sands come from different places: the banks of the Tagus, the Douro or the Ria Formosa – they too are marks of life, of moments, of being rooted and uprooted. The paintings’ texture may result from the passage of time or from the fluke with which plant or shell traces were discovered in the mud. The water of the rivers is an ancient metaphor for the course of life, which is implicit in the exhibited images, as well as in the material from which its sculptures are made – these establish a pathway with the room and the light coming from the ceiling, guiding our eyes in the right direction.

The exhibition runs until March 30, every day between 9 a.m. and 5.30 p.m.

[1] SANGUINETTI, Gianfranco, O Logro da Arte Contemporânea. Lisbon: Barco Bêbado, 2022.

[2] ECHEVARRÍA, Fernando, Uso de Penumbra. Porto, Edições Afrontamento, 1995, p. 21.