Introduction

Discussions about invisibilised artistic traditions have put pressure on what is meant by promoting self-representation in museum practice and art circuits. With that in mind, this chapter examines perspectives around Véxoa: Nós sabemos (Véxoa: We Know; véxoa means ‘we know’ in the Terena language), the first Indigenous-only arts exhibition ever held at the Pinacoteca de São Paulo and the first ever to be curated by an Indigenous person in a prominent museum in Brazil. On show from 31 October 2020 to 22 March 2021, Véxoa was curated by one of the co-authors of this chapter, Indigenous researcher and artist Naine Terena. The exhibition Véxoa: Nós sabemos was part of the OPY project (opy means ‘prayerhouse’ in Guarani), a collaborative effort between three distinct institutions: the Pinacoteca de São Paulo, the Casa do Povo and the Kalipety village of the Guarani Mbya people. These institutions – a state museum, an independent cultural centre and a community – joined forces to highlight the lack of Indigenous arts in museum collections, address issues of preservation and knowledge transmission, and envision a different idea of Brazil. The initiative involved various activities, including Véxoa, performances, seminars and events beyond the museum’s physical boundaries, creating an interaction between museum collections and Indigenous art practices. The OPY project received the 2019 Sotheby’s Prize, recognising the excellence of Véxoa’s curatorial approach and providing financial support for the exhibition, public programming and research.Footnote ¹ The exhibition marked a shift regarding self-representation in Indigenous arts and curatorship in Brazil. In this regard, this chapter aims to contribute to the discourse on the significant role of Indigenous arts in challenging racism and advocating for Indigenous recognition in Brazil. By reclaiming spaces traditionally dominated by non-Indigenous perspectives, Indigenous artists in Brazil have been challenging colonial and extractive epistemologies in a sustained manner (see Terena Reference Terena2020).

In a context marked by increasingly open anti-Indigenous racism, propelled and encouraged by Jair Bolsonaro’s administration (2019–2022) and the disproportionately severe impact of the COVID-19 pandemic on Indigenous peoples, Véxoa represented a milestone in the growing recognition of a generation of Indigenous artists in the prestigious art circuit of São Paulo and in Brazil at large. This generation is introducing a different gaze to aesthetic practices, challenging commonly held assumptions about the supposed appearance of Indigenous arts, the media they are thought to exist in, and the timelines, categories and conceptual frameworks they are expected to conform to. These artists are occupying the cultural sphere as a form of resistance and pedagogical intervention for non-Indigenous audiences, as well as emphasising the interconnectedness of all life forms, the spiritual realm and the environment, challenging anthropocentrism and highlighting the importance of ancestral ties. This generation has also been strategically employing self-representation as a means of countering the invisibilisation of Indigenous authorship in Brazil’s art history and creating spaces for conversation on the need to intensify the advocacy for Indigenous rights.Footnote ²

Confronting Structural Anti-Indigenous Racism

The centrality of Indigenous arts in Brazilian art history narratives makes this process even more pressing, emphasising the urgency of highlighting the contributions of Indigenous peoples in both artistic and societal realms. In line with this, two projects – Racism and Anti-Racism in Brazil: The Case of Indigenous Peoples; and Cultures of Anti-Racism in Latin America (CARLA) – have demonstrated the necessity for further investigation into the particular characteristics of racism against Indigenous peoples in Brazil.Footnote ³ This implies the need for renewed approaches to the intersection of anti-racism, arts and cultural production in the country that acknowledge the specific experiences of Indigenous peoples. Both projects have demonstrated that in Brazil, terms such as ‘race’ and ‘racism’ have traditionally not often been used to discuss violence against Indigenous peoples; instead, oppression is usually framed in terms of ‘ethnicity’ or ‘culture’, often leading to the exclusion of Indigenous peoples from academic and political debates on racism. Furthermore, it is also important to recognise that there is a tendency to ignore the diversity of African enslaved peoples and Indigenous peoples, both victims of racism, with scholars such as Walter Mignolo and Catherine Walsh (Reference Mignolo and Walsh2018) arguing that the modern concept of ‘race’ and modern racism originated with European colonisation, characterised by exclusion, erasure and dehumanisation.

Despite some historical acknowledgment, recent research and anti-racist policies tend to overlook Indigenous issues, focusing more on Afro-descendants, often lumping Indigenous populations into a broad category of non-whites, typically categorised as pardo (brown), resulting in the marginalisation of Indigenous issues. As Lúcia Sá, Pedro Mandagará and Felipe Milanez Pereira show in Chapter 2, the racialisation of Indigenous peoples includes ‘de-authorisation’, denying their Indigenous identity if they do not conform to preconceived notions of Indigeneity.Footnote ⁴ This paradox of being perceived as either ‘not modern enough’ or ‘not Indigenous enough’ reinforces their marginalisation. The belief that Indigenous peoples cannot adopt Western tools without losing their identity is a manifestation of this racist paradox, as they face pressure to modernise yet are criticised as ‘non-Indians’ if they do, fossilising Indigeneity as an unchangeable trait tied to non-Indigenous ideas of primitiveness. This notion that Indigenous identity can only be lost and never changed or regained denies Indigenous peoples the possibility of changing their identity, compounded by societal and political rhetoric that deems modernised Indigenous individuals as ‘not real’. Consequently, racism against Indigenous peoples is often rendered invisible due to scholarship avoiding its discussion and structural racism erasing the visibility of Indigenous peoples. Furthermore, Brazilian visual arts have historically depicted Indigenous peoples through lenses of disappearance or assimilation or as sources for inspiration. The current generation of Indigenous artists in Brazil is actively challenging these persistent processes of erasure by representing Indigenous peoples as dynamic and present, thereby confronting and reshaping the narrative around Indigenous lives.

Véxoa’s Multidimensional Approach to Anti-Racism

As emphasised in the 2021 documentary Terra fértil: Véxoa e a arte indígena contemporânea na Pinacoteca de São Paulo (Fertile Land: Véxoa and Contemporary Indigenous Art at the Pinacoteca de São Paulo), while the inherent politics at work in Véxoa might not always be explicit in the artworks selected for the exhibition, they are present in various forms.Footnote ⁵ The political messages embedded in these artworks, though sometimes subtle, are integral to the artists’ expressions. The boundaries between the political and the spiritual are porous and mutually reinforcing. We can see this interplay between politics and spirituality in Edgar Kanaykõ’s photographs of the Acampamento Terra Livre (Free Land Camp), which since 2004 has been an annual event advocating ‘land titling now’ for Indigenous peoples, and in the works by the Movement of Huni Kuin Artists (MAKHU), who aim to create art that brings healing to the world. Highlighting the implicit politics within Véxoa shows that the exhibition is an exemplary case of how anti-racist action can take many forms. Even when the artists involved do not address racism through explicit condemnation, they do so through advocacy for land rights and environmental justice, critique of anthropocentrism and acknowledgment that other life forms and spiritual entities participate in creative processes. This multidimensional approach enriches the understanding of anti-racist affective operations in art and highlights the necessity for varied strategies. Thus Véxoa underscores the power of art as a tool for anti-racist activism, illustrating that both direct and indirect methods are crucial in the collective effort against racial inequality.

As Indigenous activist and thinker Ailton Krenak, one of the artists participating in Véxoa, recently argued, the current generation of Indigenous artists in Brazil is making a highly purposeful use of spaces relying on telas – a term meaning both ‘screens’ and ‘canvases’ in Portuguese – ‘making cracks in the walls of museums’ and taking advantage of social media and communication technologies as an effective means to broaden and strengthen the rights of Indigenous peoples (Jeronimo Reference Jeronimo2020: 7). The present era, starting in about the 1990s, can be described as the fourth moment of Indigenous history in Brazil, indicating a historical landmark in the achievement of increasing protagonism by Indigenous peoples.Footnote ⁶ In this fourth era, whose origins date back to Xavante congressman Mário Juruna’s use of a tape recorder to register the promises made by politicians around 1982 (Juruna, Hohlfeldt and Hoffmann Reference Juruna, Hohlfeldt and Hoffmann1982), Indigenous people pursue their own activities and actions via technologies (all technologies) in a more impactful way, standing out in Indigenous media, literature and the arts.Footnote ⁷ In this era, massive production of counter-information by Indigenous groups and individuals really started to contest hegemonic narratives, mainly through the growing use of social media and other communication technologies – in political and legal spheres as well as in the art world.

The Social Dynamics of Affect in Anti-Racist Art

We also aim to contribute to a better understanding of what affect is and how it operates in art engaged in anti-racism. Affect has become a popular concept in the humanities, being used frequently in contexts both significant and vague, which has diluted its meaning. The term is sometimes used without clear implications and may be equated with something general such as ‘personal’ or ‘subjective’. Ernst van Alphen argues for the inherently social significance of affect in art, proposing that engaging with affective operations can lead to a more ethical interaction with cultural objects (Van Alphen Reference Van Alphen2008). He contends that there is a growing need to understand affect and how it operates in art, especially given the information overload and implosion of meaning in contemporary society. For him, affect is often confused with personal feelings but is inherently social. Affects are not personal or subjective; they are social and operate through interactions between people and objects. Sara Ahmed (Reference Ahmed2004) argues something similar, stating that emotions delineate social and political boundaries, reinforcing who belongs and who is excluded from a given collective identity. Emotions can be transmitted and have physiological impacts, preceding their expression in words.

Van Alphen shows how the work of Cuban-American artist Félix González-Torres marked a shift during the early 1990s from politically charged, slogan-driven art to more personal, affective forms of expression. This shift was driven by the need for new modes of contestation that resonated with the changing socio-historical context. Based on González-Torres’s claims, Van Alphen asserts that art using a more personal voice can be better understood as a shift towards affective rather than assertive or didactic communication. For him, the political impact of art now lies in its ability to generate and transmit affect rather than to convey a specific message. Additionally, Van Alphen follows Gilles Deleuze in noting that art stimulates thought through sensation rather than cognitive recognition. By doing so, he argues that art, as a mode of thinking, challenges traditional philosophical distinctions between thought and sensation.

Understanding affect as a social phenomenon is crucial in addressing anti-racism in Indigenous arts. Indigenous arts often carry profound cultural, historical and emotional significance that transcends personal or subjective experiences. By recognising affect as inherently social, we can more effectively engage with Indigenous artworks, understanding them as active agents that transmit collective emotions and social critiques. This approach allows us to move beyond superficial interpretations and recognise the political, cultural and cosmopolitical dimensions of Indigenous arts. It enables us to see how these works operate affectively to challenge racist narratives and foster solidarity among diverse audiences. Acknowledging the social dimension of affect thus enhances our capacity to engage with Indigenous arts in a way that supports anti-racist efforts.

Breaking the Spell

The Pinacoteca is well known nationally and internationally as a prestigious place in which to see masterpieces of Brazilian art dating from the nineteenth century to the present day. A state-funded fine arts museum founded in 1905, it is the oldest of its kind in the state of São Paulo. The starting point for claiming the Indigenous occupation of this space was not only presenting works from the last ten or fifteen years, associated with so-called contemporary Indigenous art, but also the possibility of framing a curatorial approach that would foreground the existence of aesthetic expressions that have always been made by Indigenous people in Brazil, but that have been historically invisibilised. When considering the art canon in Brazil, we notice many voids and omissions resulting from this invisibilisation. Challenging those voids and omissions also involves a refusal of the linear conception of time that circumscribes this notion of ‘contemporary’ and underlies colonial modernity itself.

When Macuxi artist Jaider Esbell coined the term ‘arte indígena contemporânea’ (contemporary Indigenous art), he meant it as a strategic approach, highlighting the complex interplay of power dynamics and colonial perceptions concerning Indigenous artistic expression.Footnote ⁸ According to his proposal, this phrase operates as a symbolic space for Indigenous artists to assert legitimacy and navigate the historical and cultural complexities of Indigeneity while challenging conventional boundaries of art and Indigenous representation. Esbell’s strategy encapsulates an understanding of Indigenous creativity as both a form of resistance against historical oppressions and a platform for reclaiming autonomy and agency in shaping narratives and cultural discourse. By referring to ‘Contemporary Indigenous Art’ as a ‘trap for traps’, he suggested that it functions as a mechanism to ensnare and confront the various ‘traps’ inherent in the colonial legacies of the art world (Esbell Reference Esbell2020). Esbell considers that by employing this term, Indigenous artists are strategically positioning themselves to counter prevailing power structures, subvert expectations and assert agency.

Another way to critically address the notion of the contemporary in relation to Indigenous arts would be to refuse a linear conception of time, acknowledging the multiple temporalities inherent in Indigenous forms of expression. This recognition leads us to contend that the notion of contemporary art is intrinsically linked to global power dynamics, particularly to the control and systematisation of time by capitalism (see also Brizuela Reference Brizuela2019). Consequently, it is important to acknowledge that the assimilation of Indigenous arts into the concept of contemporary art risks perpetuating a hierarchical regime of temporality, wherein alternative temporalities are marginalised and perceived as less valuable. Saying that Indigenous arts have always been present in Brazilian history and that they should be presented in art spaces according to Indigenous criteria implies questioning a version of history that assumes the vanishing of Indigenous peoples and that was used to relegate Indigenous peoples to the past. In other words, speaking back to a canon that has historically both appropriated and erased the aesthetic force of Indigenous peoples involves interrogating the supposed neutrality of hegemonic temporalities.

Denilson Baniwa, one of the most important artists in the emergence of Indigenous leadership in the arts in Brazil, argues that ‘art was used as a colonial spell’. He continued: ‘Through art, history is written, history is erased, stories are constructed and destroyed. … Art was one of the most powerful tools for the domination and erasure of various peoples.’ Part of colonisation is the colonisation of art, which has systematically portrayed Indigenous people in ‘idyllic, romanticised, sensual and tragic ways’, as Baniwa said in an event organised by the Federal University of Minas Gerais (UFMG 2020). For him, art can function as a tool to challenge these stereotypes and rewrite history from Indigenous perspectives – in other words, to break the colonial spell. He mentions artistic and literary works such as Victor Meirelles’s 1861 painting A primeira missa no Brasil, Pedro Américo’s 1877 painting Batalha do Avaí and Mário de Andrade’s 1928 novel Macunaíma as having made Indigenous populations ‘occupy a place of simplistic knowledge and savage intellectuality’; taken as sources of ‘inspiration for art’, they were made into ‘fragments of people transformed into Western knowledge’. ‘My work consists of challenging this place, occupied by living or dead models, who had no right to negotiate to be there. It is the struggle for the right to respond to arts that are like simulacra, that simulate the realities of the Indigenous, the Black, the poor, of those who live on the margins’, he pointed out, illustrating the link between the formation of Brazil’s canonical visual culture and racialised hierarchies.

Addressing Voids

As one of the largest institutions sheltering Brazilian art history, the Pinacoteca, in the years preceding Véxoa, had already been promoting seminars to critically engage with art history in Brazil and its own long-term exhibition of its collection, seeking to rethink the museum’s narrative structure and addressing the question of what topics deserved to be presented to its public. In Baniwa’s terms, the Pinacoteca was already expressing an interest in challenging its own entanglement with Brazilian art history’s ‘colonial spell’. In July and August 2017, one of the Pinacoteca’s curators, Fernanda Pitta, who would later become a close collaborator as curatorial coordinator of Véxoa, led a summer collaborative working group at the Clark Art Institute in Willamstown, Massachusetts, looking at research narrative models for long-term exhibitions of historical art collections. In September 2018, after participating in one of these events, the international symposium Ways of Seeing, Ways of Showing, Naine Terena visited the Pinacoteca’s collection with curator Valéria Piccoli. The symposium held discussions about the approach to chronology in the long-term exhibition of the Pinacoteca’s collection and realised that there were indeed many voids in how that history was being presented. Terena asked Piccoli about the reasons for such voids, as well as about why Indigenous art had not yet been incorporated into the institution’s collection.

Those voids were clear: Indigenous people were represented by non-Indigenous artists in the collection, but the absence of works made by Indigenous artists was striking. Thinking about this absence was the first step in addressing the possibility of making Indigenous artists present in the context of the institution. With the Pinacoteca’s overall commitment to making critical changes to exhibitions and displays as part of this process, a more consistent anti-racist agenda was already taking shape. This movement became evident with an exhibition titled Territórios: Artistas afrodescendentes no acervo da Pinacoteca (Territories: Afro-descendant Artists in the Pinacoteca’s Collection), curated by Tadeu Chiarelli. Running from 12 December 2015 to 13 June 2016, it celebrated the Pinacoteca’s 110th anniversary by showcasing notable works by Afro-Brazilian artists, aiming to highlight and value the contributions of Afro-descendant artists to art history in Brazil. Curated to reflect on the institution’s past and present collection, it offered a non-chronological look at Afro-Brazilian artistic production and its context within the museum’s collection. May 2017 marked the beginning of the work of Jochen Volz as general director of the Pinacoteca. Volz had acted as the chief curator of the 32nd São Paulo Biennale, Incerteza viva (Live Uncertainty), which had taken place from September to December 2016, addressing issues that are vital and urgent to Indigenous peoples and humanity at large, such as global warming, the extinction of species and the loss of biological and cultural diversity. Naine Terena contributed to this biennale, broadening the perspective on Indigenous cultures. This drive to implement an anti-racist agenda at the Pinacoteca continued with powerful solo exhibitions by Black female artists, notably Rosana Paulino’s 2018 A costura da memória (The Sewing of Memory) and Grada Kilomba’s 2019 Desobediências poéticas (Poetic Disobediences).

In 2019, the Pinacoteca significantly expanded its collection of contemporary Indigenous art through the Patrons of Contemporary Art programme, acquiring Feitiço para salvar a Raposa Serra do Sol (A Spell to Save Raposa Serra do Sol) by Jaider Esbell and a series of pieces by Denilson Baniwa, including Voyeurs, menu, luto (Mourning), Vitrine (Display), O antropólogo moderno já nasceu antigo (The Modern Anthropologist Was Already Born Old) and Enfim, ‘civilização’ (‘Civilisation’, At Last). These acquisitions marked a pivotal moment in the museum’s recent history, as its only Indigenous art held up to that time consisted of Iny-Karajá dolls made of clay and wax, known as ritxoko. The inclusion of Esbell’s and Baniwa’s works not only diversified the Pinacoteca’s collection but also underscored the institution’s commitment to recognising and showcasing Indigenous arts.

In October 2020, the Pinacoteca undertook a rehang of its collection, moving away from its elitist past to celebrate Brazil’s rich diversity. This overhaul included acquisitions of contemporary works by women, Afro-Brazilian and Indigenous artists, significantly increasing their representation. The museum’s collection, previously displayed in chronological order, is now organised thematically across nineteen rooms, juxtaposing eighteenth-century academic portraiture with modernist and contemporary art. This new arrangement aligned with curator Jochen Volz’s vision to address the institution’s colonial heritage and promote inclusivity. Véxoa coincided with this rehang.

In the years prior to Véxoa, through partnerships with Indigenous artists and communities, several institutions hosted exhibitions that advanced the self-representation and self-determination of Indigenous peoples, striving to bring Indigenous agency to the forefront of artistic and curatorial practice. Notable among these were ReAntropofagia (Reanthropophagy; Niterói, Arts Center of Universidade Federal Fluminense, 2019), Dja guata porã: Rio de Janeiro indígena (Walk Well: Indigenous Rio de Janeiro; Rio de Janeiro, Museu de Arte do Rio, 2017–2018) and ¡Mira! – Artes visuais contemporâneas dos povos indígenas (Look! Contemporary Visual Art of Indigenous Peoples; Belo Horizonte, Espaço do Conhecimento, Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais, 2013–2014).Footnote ⁹ Collectively, these exhibitions emphasised the significance of art in the political and aesthetic struggles of Indigenous peoples, while also challenging the notion that Indigenous cultures are static relics of a mythical past. These events provide context for why Véxoa became the first exhibition to be curated solely by an Indigenous person at a highly prestigious museum in the country. Ultimately, Véxoa is the culmination of a long process and represents a significant political achievement accomplished by Indigenous peoples.Footnote ¹⁰

Responding to Anti-Indigenous Racism through the Arts

In the Brazilian context, anti-Indigenous racism has historically served as justification for land appropriation and colonial violence towards Indigenous peoples.Footnote ¹¹ It was later used to justify state-sanctioned violence directed at Indigenous peoples under the military regime as well as after the enactment of the 1988 Constitution. During Dilma Roussef’s administration, Brazil’s Comissão Nacional da Verdade (National Truth Commission, 2012–2014) recognised Indigenous peoples as among the groups targeted by the crimes and human rights violations during the dictatorship from 1946 to 1988. However, the country’s deeply ingrained developmentalism continued to threaten Indigenous lives during the almost two decades of government by the Partido dos Trabalhadores (Workers’ Party), which relied on the advancement of predatory agribusiness and genocidal megaprojects such as the Belo Monte hydroelectric dam. The situation worsened after 2019 with Jair Bolsonaro’s openly anti-Indigenous far-right agenda, the increasing power of the rural caucus and their backing of the ‘time frame’ or marco temporal legal argument.Footnote ¹² In broader terms, we can say that the history of contact between Indigenous peoples and colonisers has been marked by attempts to whiten the population. Historically, there were various moments in which actions were taken to homogeneously integrate Indigenous peoples into the national population, ranging from physical extermination to the imposition of formal education.

Currently, more than 300 Indigenous peoples and about 250 Indigenous languages exist in Brazil, distributed throughout all regions of the country. The trail left by attempts at extermination is clearly visible in the racist construction of the images of Indigenous peoples in the eyes of the non-Indigenous national population. This construction is sometimes encouraged by mass media, textbooks and, more recently, by an enormous amount of fake news spread across popular social networks in Brazil. Such actions attempt to delegitimise Indigenous identity and belonging, with the assumption that Indigenous peoples no longer maintain their cultural traits and, because of that, should adhere to a new reality – a new guise for socio-cultural integration. We have also seen various attacks based on physical stereotypes and the demoralisation of the Indigenous movement and its members. In recent years, discrimination by gender and race, among other forms of difference, has been widely legitimised by the Brazilian population itself, through actions that systematically affect minoritised groups.

This violent and complex historical backdrop recalls the relationship between the building of Brazil as a nation-state and how, despite the many achievements of Indigenous people spanning from early colonisation through to contemporary society, colonial structures persist. Derogatory, racist and Eurocentric imagery is one of the instances in which coloniality unfolds, assigning intellectual and cultural inferiority to Indigenous peoples and shaping ideas about who is seen, who has the power to see, who is represented and who represents. On the other hand, Indigenous people of various ages have been developing their own narratives and disseminating them to broad audiences, appropriating an extensive range of technologies, bringing different forms of knowledge together and gathering arguments to fight for the realisation of rights achieved in the 1988 Constitution and the maintenance of ways of life, as well as the continuity of the process of demarcation of Indigenous lands.

In this context, Véxoa emerged as a site where it was possible to discuss Indigenous existences in twenty-first century Brazil through the arts, in conjunction with a reflection on the invisibilisation of Indigenous forms of expression in the history of art in Brazil. Véxoa was committed to making space for Indigenous artists as agents and producers of content, not merely as sources of inspiration for non-Indigenous artists. The exhibition’s curatorial approach sought to encompass not only ‘contemporary’ Indigenous arts but Indigenous arts more broadly, calling for a renewed look at the history of art in Brazil, as well as a rethinking of the Brazilian artistic system and museum culture. The rationale behind the exhibition was to showcase Brazilian art created by Indigenous artists. By adopting this approach, Véxoa exemplified how Indigenous arts could be an effective vehicle for anti-racist activism, even if in subtle and indirect ways. By foregrounding Indigenous curatorship and artistic expression, the exhibition challenged the traditional Western-centric art narratives that have historically predominated in Brazilian museums. This process was crucial for dismantling the entrenched racial hierarchies and biases that have historically marginalised Indigenous voices in the art world, ensuring that Indigenous narratives are told from Indigenous perspectives. The affective power of the artworks in Véxoa played a pivotal role in this approach, encouraging viewers to confront their own biases and complicity in systemic racism, and thereby promoting a more profound commitment to anti-racist action. The following pages provide some examples of how this was performed. Although it is not possible to discuss all the artworks that were exhibited in Véxoa, we intend to shed light on some of the strategies that Véxoa’s curatorial approach implemented.

Confronting Preconceived Notions of Authenticity

A key aspect of Véxoa was the recognition, validation and reterritorialisation of items usually classified as ‘artifacts’ and ‘crafts’ that are typically denied artistic status or quality, positioning them as artworks. Véxoa placed emphasis on valuing them, the processes involved in their creation and the people who produced them, wherein the context of these works is as significant as the outcome. One of the aspects addressed by Véxoa was the critique of expectations surrounding Indigenous crafts, articulating a disjunction between cultural authenticity and external demands. This critique emerged in the collective works of Gustavo Caboco, Juliana Kerexu, Lucilene Wapichana, Ricardo Werá, Camila Kamé Kanhgág and Dival Xetá, particularly in their collaborative series Where is Indigenous Art in Paraná? (see Figure 5.1).Footnote ¹³ By incorporating images of animals such as the orca whale and giraffe – beings that are not found in Indigenous territories in Brazil – the artists played with and ironically subverted the expectations of what constitutes ‘authentic’ Indigenous art. This deliberate inclusion of animals that do not inhabit Indigenous territories in Brazil challenges the stereotypical confines imposed on Indigenous creativity, questioning why traditional motifs such as the anteater or the jaguar are deemed more ‘authentic’ than an orca whale or a giraffe, animals foreign to the cultural and geographical milieu of Indigenous peoples in Brazil.

Figure 5.1

Gustavo Caboco and his mother, Lucilene Wapichana, 2020, in front of their collaborative works with Camila dos Santos da Silva, Divalda Silva and Juliana Kerexu, from the series Where Is Indigenous Art in Paraná?

Figure 5.1 long description.

Figure 5.1 Long description

The man wears jeans and a T-shirt; the woman wears a knee-length dress with elaborate embroidery and a feathered tiara-style headdress. On the wall beside them are five artworks displayed on fabric backgrounds. Three of these textiles are embroidered with various designs, including words, human figures, hands, plants, fish, and other animals. The remaining two feature fabric backdrops supporting three-dimensional wooden models — one of giraffes and the other of an orca suspended within a textile net.

(© Levi Fanan/Pinacoteca de São Paulo, by permission).

In his text for the catalogue of the Véxoa exhibition, ‘O ser humano se reconhece como ser humano?’ (Do Human Beings Recognise Themselves as Human Beings?), Gustavo Caboco relays a narrative that underscores this irony (Caboco Reference Caboco and Terena2020). During an encounter in a Guarani Mbya village, Caboco and Juliana Kerexu responded to demands for non-traditional Indigenous sculptures with humour. They understood requests from outsiders for Indigenous artists to produce figures such as a giraffe or an orca as a metaphor for the broader expectation that Indigenous peoples must constantly adapt and cater to external definitions of their identity. This expectation extends beyond the art realm into their everyday existence, where Indigenous people are often pressured to conform to non-Indigenous norms and aesthetics to secure their livelihood. When Kerexu provocatively asked, ‘Do human beings recognise themselves as human beings?’, she highlighted the irony of having to assert one’s humanity and cultural identity continually.

This critique is further deepened by the irony of commodification in Indigenous arts. The Guarani Mbya bracelets bearing the logo of the Flamengo soccer team, as described by Caboco, epitomise this irony, lying in the juxtaposition of traditional craftmaking with popular commercial symbols. Fundamentally, this irony advances a critique of the expectations placed on Indigenous arts and crafts, questioning the assumption of authenticity dictated by external perceptions and the absurdity of these demands. Through their work, these artists simultaneously reference their cultural heritage and the imposed necessity to perform and transform their identities for external validation. They intervene in the reductionist view that Indigenous arts consist of ‘little sculptures’, as Caboco emphasised. By challenging the notion that Indigenous arts must adhere to predefined, exoticised categories to be recognised as legitimate art, these artists invite viewers to reconsider their own assumptions about Indigenous arts and identities. Their use of irony becomes a means of empowerment – a strategy to navigate and subvert the constraints imposed upon them, while simultaneously engaging in a dialogue about recognition.

Beyond Quota Fulfilment

The recognition of the absence or insufficient presence of Indigenous representation in museums and the steps taken to address these voids also lead us to discuss the importance of moving beyond mere inclusion, ensuring the sustained and meaningful integration of Indigenous peoples in the art world. In this regard, the issue of tokenism in art institutions remains challenging, but Indigenous artists are actively working to transform these spaces. Olinda Tupinambá, who participated in Véxoa with the film Kaapora – O chamado das matas (Kaapora – The Call of the Forests), reflected on this topic during a 2023 talk titled ‘The Future Existence of Indigenous Peoples’ as part of the programme of the exhibition Histórias indígenas (Indigenous Histories) at the São Paulo Art Museum (Tupinambá Reference Tupinambá2023). She expressed the sentiment that, in certain environments, Indigenous people might feel as if they are merely fulfilling a quota. She acknowledged the risk that institutions might invite Indigenous artists for a period and then consider their obligation fulfilled, as if they have ticked a box. This perception of superficial fulfilment can undermine the meaningful engagement and concern that should ideally underpin the involvement of Indigenous artists. However, as Tupinambá pointed out, many Indigenous artists are making significant strides in utilising these spaces to their advantage. They are not content with mere representation; instead, they seek to bring more Indigenous voices into the conversation, exerting a proactive effort to subvert tokenistic inclusion and push for more substantial and sustained participation.

The process of curating Véxoa at the Pinacoteca underscores a similar concern. The purpose of showcasing Indigenous arts should not be treated as a temporary trend. Indigenous arts should not be relegated to a quota but should instead be integrated into the ongoing narrative of art history. Indeed, Véxoa was not just an exhibition but also a strategic effort to reposition Indigenous arts within art institutions. It aimed to embed Indigenous artists into the broader conceptual frameworks and timeline of Brazilian art history – a gesture that also disrupts and reshapes this timeline. This approach strove for an integration that acknowledges the depth and diversity of Indigenous arts. It sought to ensure that Indigenous artists are meaningfully integrated into cultural and historical discourse. This ongoing effort demonstrates that while resolving the issue of Indigenous representation in art institutions may be complex, it is indeed worth pursuing through persistent and strategic engagement.

During the live streamings held in partnership between the CARLA project and the Pinacoteca, several participants stressed the fact that for Indigenous peoples, art is not something separate or to be learned in a strictly technical manner for later application. This resonates with how contemporary art makes space for artistically untrained people to have the freedom to express themselves through art, bringing ‘the powers of life into art’, as Arthur Danto (Reference Danto2007: 126) explains. The fact that the avant-garde movements of the 1960s were keen on bridging the divide between art and life, aiming to eliminate the distinction between high and popular art, demonstrates that. However, one of the distinctive characteristics of Indigenous arts is the idea that art praxis and creativity are intrinsically cosmopolitical, constituted by entanglements between humans and non-humans, that is, an ecology of human, plant, animal, mineral, spiritual and other forms of life.

There is currently an increasing interest among art historians and art researchers in general to acknowledge Indigenous arts within the extensive context of artistic production already canonised by the various artistic movements in the world. For instance, Fernanda Pitta (Reference Pitta2021) examines the origin and development of the concept of Indigenous arts in Brazil. She demonstrates that it was initially constructed through the appropriation of Indigenous artistic expressions to build a narrative of Brazilian national art, which has had long-lasting implications for how Brazilian art has been perceived. Pitta argues for a re-evaluation of the role and recognition of Indigenous arts in Brazilian institutions, emphasising the need to navigate cultural differences and avoid subsuming diverse artistic conceptions under a homogenised national narrative. She advocates an ‘indigenisation’ of art history, which involves honouring the conceptual frameworks and histories of Indigenous peoples rather than fitting them into pre-existing Western-centric models. Pitta critiques traditional art historical narratives that often exclude or marginalise Indigenous art, calling for a shift in its perception and integration into the broader narrative of Brazilian art history and advocating for institutional recognition of Indigenous contributions.

Exhibitions such as Véxoa exemplify this much-needed shift, highlighting a recontextualisation of artworks made by Indigenous people and the established canon of contemporary art movements. Such a conceptual framework is sometimes referenced in Brazilian media to broaden the understanding of Indigenous artworks, considering the more than 520 years of contact and resistance. Indigenous arts, which, as we have noted, have often been seen as crafts or artifacts, are now being described as contemporary Indigenous art or even Brazilian art made by Indigenous people. In this context, works from different historical periods with distinct characteristics were displayed in the three rooms dedicated to Véxoa, supplemented by music and other artworks in the corridors and Denilson Baniwa’s intervention in the car park in front of the museum (see Figure 5.2). This intervention, called Hilo (Hilum), was part one of a three-part work titled Nada que é dourado permanece, which referenced Robert Frost’s well-known poem ‘Nothing Gold Can Stay’. A second part was Amáka (Coivara), for which he stored, in a collection of glass jars, ashes from the National Museum’s devastating fire of 2 September 2018. Amáka is the Baniwa term for a burned area prepared for planting, following the slash-and-burn agricultural technique known as coivara, which involves burning vegetation to clear land for agriculture. For Hilo, Denilson initiated a planting and seeding action of medicinal and ornamental plants, flowers and spices in the Pinacoteca’s car park, two years after the fire at the National Museum. In this work, Denilson catalysed a mode of creativity that symbiotically gestated artmaking with other species, building aesthetic bridges across the web of life. The space previously reserved for cars was thus subjected to a healing process by Denilson and his plant and animal allies. Together, they fostered life in what was supposedly pure aridity among the stone blocks of the urban landscape. Through this coivara and fertilisation of the ground at the city’s oldest museum, both subjective and physical territories were restored. The third part of Baniwa’s work, Terra preta de índio (Indigenous Dark Earth), consisted of a video recording of the planting and seeding performed in the outdoor area, broadcast live and displayed in the exhibition room (see also Pinheiro Dias Reference Pinheiro Dias2021).

Figure 5.2

Denilson Baniwa and his intervention in the car park of the Pinacoteca de São Paolo, 2020

(© Levi Fanan/Pinacoteca de São Paulo, by permission).

Hierarchies between art, craft and artifact were critically examined in the Véxoa’s central exhibition room, which presented apapaatai – ritual masks of the Waujá people – and pottery produced by Yudjá women. Such hierarchies were also interrogated through the presentation of the jaguars by the Pataxó artist Tamikuã Txihi, made of clay fired in a pit, representing guardians of memory and ancestral knowledge passed from generation to generation. Tamikuã, born in Pau Brasil, Bahia, is a visual artist, poet and leader. She lives in the city of São Paulo, in the Guarani-Mbyá territory in the Jaraguá Indigenous Land. Through her art, Tamikuã aims to promote the physical and spiritual protection of Indigenous people and their territories. Tamikuã’s participation in Véxoa was particularly symbolic as an anti-racist gesture following the vandalisation of her jaguar sculptures in a 2019 regional exhibition of visual arts in the municipality of Embu das Artes (in the city of São Paulo), in the context of bolsonarismo and the resurgence of the far right in Brazil. During that exhibition, her pieces were broken in an anti-Indigenous attack, underscoring the ongoing discrimination and violence faced by Indigenous peoples.

Invited by Véxoa, Tamikuã brought her broken jaguars and included new pieces (see Figure 5.3). The decision to exhibit them as they were, broken, recast the damaged pieces as expressions of remembrance and as a testament to over five centuries of resistance. Tamikuã’s jaguars stood in Véxoa as symbols of strength and protection, carrying their offspring that represent the future. The racist attack on her pieces during the exhibition in Embu das Artes did not deter her; instead, she responded by creating two additional pieces for Véxoa, asserting the continuity and resilience of Indigenous practices amidst ongoing struggles. As Tamikuã said in an interview in the documentary Terra fértil: ‘I left these jaguars as they were; I didn’t want to remake them. In that way, the remembrance and memory of the struggle of a people, of the original peoples who have been resisting for more than 520 years, could remain.’

Figure 5.3

Tamikuã Txihi’s jaguars, 2020

(© Levi Fanan/Pinacoteca de São Paulo, by permission).

Among the questions raised in Véxoa, the most visible were related to art institutions and the absence of Indigenous artworks. The Pinacoteca de São Paulo itself, until 2019, kept just a few Indigenous items in what it classed as its permanent collection, all of which were in fact on long-term loan from other collections – which was one of the points of reflection for its team and management. Why were Indigenous works not part of the Pinacoteca’s own collection, which is one of the largest in Brazil? This exclusion of Indigenous arts, not only from the Pinacoteca de São Paulo but also from other institutions, reflected a strategy of keeping Indigenous peoples out of the sphere of intellectual recognition, given that Indigenous peoples are still commonly seen as relegated to the past, delegated to anthropology and having lost much of their ancestral knowledge. Véxoa did not aim to fix the historical neglect of Indigenous arts but instead to provoke reflection about this neglect. The project acknowledged the risk of ‘planned obsolescence’ for Indigenous arts in Brazil, drawing a parallel to the concept of planned obsolescence in consumer capitalism, where products are designed to become outdated quickly to drive constant demand. Similarly, there is a danger that Indigenous arts might be treated as a fleeting trend. When Indigenous art becomes fashionable, it garners attention from institutions, galleries, curators and critics. However, there is a risk that once the trend passes, they will be ignored and forgotten, much like obsolete electronic gadgets. This cycle aligns with a modernist and capitalist mindset that prioritises continuous innovation for profit. Véxoa challenged this mindset, urging for a more sustained engagement with Indigenous arts that goes beyond passing fads. In this way, Véxoa sought to intervene in a space that was not restricted to the rise of Indigenous arts in the art market, but was more concerned with establishing the presence of Indigenous peoples in state-managed public spaces, and especially with pushing for public policies for the creation, expansion and maintenance of collections.

Véxoa’s narrative arc, then, ranged from works by present-day exponents of Indigenous art, such as Denilson Baniwa, Jaider Esbell and Daiara Tukano, to pieces such as the Yudjá pots and items by thinkers such as Ailton Krenak, who before then was unknown as an artist to a significant part of the art public. The temporality of the exhibited works also brought about a reflection on the process of continuity and the resistance of Indigenous artistic practices, given that the intention of the curatorial approach was not to present innovations, as if Indigenous artists would only have emerged now, but rather, through the time span of the presented works, to reaffirm that Indigenous arts have always existed in the territory now known as Brazil – that Indigenous people had always known how to make art, but have undergone a process of erasure and neglect. This feeling of erasure and neglect seems to have mobilised the performance carried out by Daiara Tukano and Jaider Esbell, entitled Morî’ erenkato eseru’ – Cantos para a vida (Songs for Life), which took place on 23 November 2020. It was presented as a kind of performative cleansing ritual to expel harmful forces from the institution (again, we could think of Baniwa’s notion of breaking the colonial spell). During the performance, before going up the stairs of the museum, Esbell emphasised that the moment was important because Indigenous people were entering the Pinacoteca through the front door for the first time. This statement, along with what Krenak said about ‘making cracks in the walls of museums’, is directly related to the racism experienced by Indigenous people, which is reflected in institutional spaces such as universities, public offices and museums. Esbell and Krenak capture how Indigenous people feel in Brazil when living through daily situations of erasure and racial violence.

Yacunã Tuxá was one of the artists for whom Véxoa provided an opportunity to present her art within a prestigious art institution for the first time. Her digital illustrations contributed to the exhibition’s framework from both autobiographical and broader cosmological perspectives, including by foregrounding her identity as a lesbian Tuxá woman. Her work navigates a landscape marked by gender-based violence, LGBTphobia and racism. Addressing multiple layers of marginalisation and historical injustice, Tuxá’s art highlights the prejudice that Indigenous people face even in supposedly inclusive spaces such as universities, as well as the lesbophobia she encountered within her own community after coming out. By showcasing Tuxá’s illustration Mulher indígena e sapatão (Indigenous and Dyke Woman), Véxoa created a space for critical discussions intertwining race, gender and sexuality within the context of the Indigenous struggle. Broadly speaking, Tuxá’s works reclaim and celebrate the diverse identities and histories of Indigenous women, often misrepresented in mainstream narratives.Footnote ¹⁴ In a different vein, another digital illustration titled A queda do céu (The Falling Sky) further exemplifies Tuxá’s approach. In this piece, she depicts an Indigenous person holding a copy of the well-known eponymous book by Davi Kopenawa and Bruce Albert. Tuxá emphasises how the weapons of Indigenous peoples today extend beyond traditional tools such as the club and the bow and arrow to include books, which hold legitimacy in the eyes of non-Indigenous people. From this perspective, both books and digital art – her medium of choice – emerge as crucial tools for strengthening her community.

Edgar Nunes Corrêa (a.k.a. Edgar Kanaykõ), from the Xakriabá Indigenous Land in Minas Gerais, participated in Véxoa with a series of photographs focusing on Indigenous resistance and traditional ways of living. Like Tuxá, he adopts a present-day medium – in his case, the camera – as a platform for struggle and resistance, likening it to an alternative ‘bow and arrow’ (Corrêa Reference Corrêa2019). By using photography, Indigenous people such as Kanaykõ reclaim self-representation, asserting control over portrayal and safeguarding their heritage. For him, photography serves a dual purpose: it is both a means of documenting traditional ways of living and a tool for activism. On one hand, it captures rituals, singing, body painting and other aspects of Xakriabá daily life from an insider’s viewpoint, preserving them for future generations. On the other hand, it raises awareness and galvanises support by documenting Indigenous resistance. Events such as the Acampamento Terra Livre (Free Land Camp), where Indigenous peoples from across Brazil converge to advocate for their rights, are visually documented by Kanaykõ. His photographs from such gatherings serve as visual testimonies of resistance. Thus, his photography not only portrays the Xakriabá community but also contributes to the broader Indigenous movement in Brazil, showcasing the cultural resilience and political activism of these communities.

For instance, in Guerra nas estrelas para sustentar o céu – Série luta e resistência indígena (Star Wars for Holding up the Sky – Indigenous Struggle and Resistance Series), from 2017, Kanaykõ portrays a young Indigenous man wearing a Star Wars T-shirt in a demonstration, alluding to the ongoing Indigenous resistance against external threats, akin to a cosmic battle depicted in the popular science fiction saga. The fact that the man being portrayed is wearing a Star Wars T-shirt is particularly significant; it bridges popular culture and Indigenous struggle, drawing a parallel between the fictional fight against imperial forces in the Star Wars narrative and the real-life resistance of Indigenous peoples against colonial and present-day oppressors. The young man’s attire symbolises the intersection of Indigenous identities with global cultural elements, shedding light on the dynamic and evolving nature of Indigenous resistance. Other works by Kanaykõ such as Wawi and Wairê depict traditional Xakriabá body painting, chants and dances, serving as visual records of cultural practices and symbols of resilience, and as a form of resistance against attempts to undermine Indigenous ways of living.

Olinda Tupinambá’s film Kaapora – O chamado das matas also counters this undermining by illustrating how Indigenous perspectives can challenge stereotypes that have long devalued Indigenous epistemologies. Véxoa marked Tupinambá’s first opportunity to engage with an art institution. In the film, the artist, from the Tupinambá and Pataxó Hãhãhãe peoples, examines the relationship between Indigenous peoples and spiritual entities. Her work connects this relationship to environmental issues, a concern that Tupinambá has been actively working on through the restoration of degraded areas in the Caramuru Paraguassu Indigenous Land in Pau Brasil, Bahia, where she was born. Non-Indigenous viewers may perceive Kaapora as a myth or legend. However, in her film, Tupinambá portrays her people’s connection with the entity, demonstrating that Kaapora is a living and existent being. Portraying Kaapora as real and alive, rather than a myth or legend, is an anti-racist gesture, even if not explicitly named as such.

This example demonstrates the efficacy of diverse, sometimes indirect, anti-racist strategies in addressing structural inequalities and promoting cultural restoration and recognition. Featuring Kaapora as an existent entity in Tupinambá’s film is an anti-racist gesture because it validates Indigenous knowledge systems that were historically marginalised and dismissed by colonial narratives. This representation resists stereotypes that reduce Indigenous spiritual entities to mere folklore, affirming their cultural and spiritual significance. Furthermore, by integrating Indigenous perspectives with environmental activism, Tupinambá decolonises ecological discourse, emphasising that Indigenous spiritual ties with the land are vital for planetary care. This approach challenges the racial hierarchies that place Western thought above Indigenous epistemologies, pushing back against their historical devaluation. Furthermore, Tupinambá’s political and artistic resistance as an environmental activist, filmmaker and performance artist illustrates the combined anti-colonial roles of the arts and reforestation as forms of aesthetic and epistemic insurgency in the context of the Anthropocene.Footnote ¹⁵

Conclusion

Véxoa marked a significant milestone in the history of Brazilian art by being the first exhibition entirely curated by an Indigenous person in a prestigious museum in the country. This milestone called into question the long-standing absence of Indigenous artists in museum collections. The exhibition challenged conventional boundaries and distinctions between art and craft, which have often marginalised Indigenous artistic expressions as handicrafts. Véxoa not only showcased Indigenous arts but also instigated a necessary critique within the fields of museology and anthropology, addressing inherent racial inequalities in the representation of Indigenous aesthetic expressions. Moreover, it emphasised the need for museums to work closely with Indigenous communities and to consistently incorporate Indigenous professionals within their institutions. This shift, as demonstrated by Véxoa, is crucial to ensuring that Indigenous perspectives are represented in both curatorial and administrative processes.

Véxoa aimed to educate the public on the diversity and depth of Indigenous arts, presenting a wide range of works from various Indigenous artists and communities, which was important for its anti-racist impact. The exhibition served as a platform for educating the public about the plurality of Indigenous cultures, seeking to foster long-term change. Véxoa not only showcased present-day Indigenous arts but also emphasised the importance of traditional forms of knowledge and practices. By juxtaposing works that incorporate traditional techniques and materials, such as pottery and masks, with works made with present-day tools, such as digital illustration and video performance, the exhibition challenged the racist notion that Indigenous cultures are relics of the past. Véxoa also highlighted intersectionality within the Indigenous struggle, showing how issues of race, gender and sexuality compound experiences of marginalisation. By including works by artists such as Yacunã Tuxá, who navigates both her Indigenous and lesbian identities, Véxoa broadened the discourse on anti-racism to include overlapping layers of oppression.

Additionally, the exhibition underscored the role of Indigenous arts in environmental advocacy. Véxoa demonstrated how Indigenous arts can be a powerful tool for sensitising, raising awareness and mobilising support for this cause. This approach showed how the fight against anti-Indigenous racism is inherently connected to broader struggles for justice. Furthermore, Véxoa’s presence in a major institution such as the Pinacoteca de São Paulo served as a critique of institutional racism within the art world. By highlighting the historical exclusion of Indigenous artists from major art museums, Véxoa called for systemic changes within these institutions. It advocated for more inclusive curatorial practices and the integration of Indigenous agents at all levels of the art world, aiming to transform the structures that reinforce inequality in the art world itself. This effort challenged conventional understandings of what counts as art and highlighted the aesthetic diversity of Indigenous traditions. Through its curatorial process, Véxoa not only brought visibility to previously unknown artists but also attempted to reframe the standards of artistic recognition. Indeed, in Véxoa, the concept of curatorship (curadoria) was linked to healing (curar), serving as a means of cultural and historical restoration.Footnote ¹⁶

Véxoa contributed to the current anti-racism momentum in Brazil to highlight the historical and ongoing role of racism through a nuanced approach, seeking to build broader alliances and to avoid the potential backlash that more explicit racialised demands might provoke. Véxoa integrated a structural understanding of inequality, which includes but is not limited to racism. This approach, reflected in the exhibition, aims to address foundational power structures while maintaining a racially-aware sense of justice, showcasing how anti-racist strategies can be effectively implemented within the arts, even without explicit mention of racism.

While naming racism explicitly is often seen as essential for anti-racist action, Véxoa demonstrated that it does not necessarily guarantee a comprehensive understanding of racism or effective anti-racist strategies. The perspectives on anti-racism evoked by Véxoa reveal that different Indigenous artists have varied approaches to addressing racism. Many focus on broader struggles such as land rights, anti-anthropocentrism and environmental justice, which also have racialised dimensions. This approach resonates with the notion of ‘alternative grammars of anti-racism’ proposed by Peter Wade and Mónica Moreno Figueroa (Reference Wade and Moreno Figueroa2021). Indirect anti-racist methods, as demonstrated by Véxoa, can sometimes be advantageous, particularly in recognising and addressing structural racism within art institutions. Through this multidimensional approach, Véxoa provided a framework for integrating anti-colonial practices in the arts, emphasising the importance of diverse strategies in the fight against racial inequality.