CURATION
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from this page:
by Matrix
Network Node
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Name:
Espedito Seleiro
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City/Place:
Nova Olinda, Ceará
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Country:
Brazil
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Location & Map:
R. Monsenhor Tavares, 318 - Nova Olinda, CE, 63165-000 [open map]
Life & Work
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Bio:
Realmente, eu tenho dois nomes. Eu me batizei por Espedito Veloso de Carvalho. Mas o pessoal só me conhece por Espedito Seleiro. Nasci no centro dos Inhamuns, um sertãozão acolá, correndo atrás de boi brabo e cavalo brabo. Me criei dentro do sertão, na vida de cigano, na vida de tropeiro, na vida daquele pessoal do sertão inteiro. Eu cheguei em Nova Olinda em 1949 e meu pai trabalhava numa fazenda aqui pertinho. Como meu avô, meu pai era seleiro e com idade de oito anos já comecei a fazer sela e achei bom, e até hoje eu tô nessa vida. Só que eu não faço só sela. Teve uma época que eu fazia muita sela, vendia bem. Eu fazia a roupa do vaqueiro completa e vendia. Fazia dos pés à cabeça: o sapato, a perneira, o guarda-peito, a luva, o gibão e o chapéu. Cobria o vaqueiro de tudo quanto ele precisasse para chamar ele de vaqueiro. Mas aí chegou uma época que não estava vendendo. Acabou o vaqueiro, acabou o cangaceiro, acabou o tropeiro, acabou o cigano. Era esse pessoal que gostava mais de usar roupa de couro. Por que? Porque era o pessoal que vivia mais no sítio, nas fazendas, andava mais na mata. Tinha de usar porque só aguentava o espinho se fosse roupa de couro mesmo. Então, como todo mundo usava, lá onde a gente vivia, tinha muita saída. Só que com o passar do tempo acabou esse pessoal.
Aí foi onde eu mudei. Não mudei a profissão, fiquei trabalhando com couro mesmo. Hoje ainda faço a sela, o gibão, o sapato… essa coisa toda. Mas a força maior aqui que a gente faz é sandália, bolsa, cinto. São essas peças que a gente vende bem. Agora a gente está fazendo umas cadeiras e o pessoal tá gostando e a gente não tá dando nem conta das encomendas. Eu resolvi mudar não foi prá ficar bonito, nem prá ficar famoso, nem conhecido. Como eu tava precisando de dinheiro eu resolvi mudar.
Um dia eu fui para uma feira que eu acostumado a vender bem. Fiquei até uma três ou quatro horas da tarde, não vendi nem prá almoçar. Eu cheguei em casa de volta e disse para minha esposa: a partir de hoje eu não vou mais fazer aqueles trabalhos que eu fazia. Foi aí que eu resolvi fazer peças coloridas. Aí me veio a pergunta: como eu vou arrumar a matéria prima para fazer o colorido? Aí foi onde complicou..
Cadê a tinta, cadê as coisas pra fazer colorido? Não tinha. Mas como eu já tinha a prática, do meu pai, do meu avô… aí eu fui fazer o preto.
Peguei um monte de pedaço de ferro, joguei dentro de um pote, peguei uma meia lata d’água misturei com o ferro, o ferro já bem enferrujado. Peguei um monte de rapadura preta, daquela do engenho, daquela salobra que era baratinha na época, pilei e botei dentro do pote e deixei passar oito dias. A mistura pronta, eu passava no couro e ficava bem pretinho. Só que a peça ficava dura que só a gota. Aí eu ia no açude jogava a tarrafa, pegava peixe, torrava e tirava a gordura e passava em cima do couro. Depois pegava o couro enrolava, enrolava. Colocava ele em cima de uma pedra e dava uma surra bem grande, como se dá em cabra ruim. Quando eu parava de surrar o couro, que eu desenrolava tava bem maciinho.
Aí, cadê o branco? O branco eu corri na mata e tirei uma carga de lenha de catingueira. Fiz uma fogueira e aproveitei a cinza todinha. Comprei pedra hume e misturei com a cinza num pote velho de barro e deixei passar três dias. Aquela gororoba assim. Aí, dentro dos três dias que eu tirei o couro de dentro da cinza com a pedra hume, o bicho tava todo manchado de branco, aquelas raja branca e outras não. Aí eu comecei a lavar na água bem limpinha. Puxava, puxava… do jeito que você faz alfinim – o alfinim você pega a cana, com um mel bem grosso e puxa aqui e fica só puxando. Eu puxava que as unhas ficavam azul, mas o couro ficava bem branquinho.
E cadê o vermelho? O vermelho eu corri atrás do urucum. Quebrei a semente com bage com tudo, fiz aquela gororoba e quando eu passei no couro, junto com o óleo ficou bem vermelhinho. Aí eu disse: aqui vai dando certo, né?!
Aí teve o marron. Que ainda hoje eu gosto de trabalhar com o marron. O marron, eu corri atrás na mata e tirei uma carga de casca de angico. Cheguei em casa botei pra secar. Peguei um macete e bati numa pedra até ficar bem mastigadinho, só a macinha e fiz outra gororoba, desmanchei tudo. Ficou igual a caldo de feijão. Botei o couro, o couro natural que eu já tinha curtido. Com três dias que eu tirei o couro tava bem marronzinho.
Eu disse: agora pronto. Acabou o problema. Aí larguei o pau a fazer peça colorida. Agora hoje é uma água. Essa experiência eu ia passando para os curtumes. Dizia para o pessoal: rapaz você procura fazer um couro, procure uma tinta bonita, faça um couro mais macio, molinho… faça azul, faça branco, preto, amarelo, que isso vai ter saída. E eles foram pegando as ideias e hoje, onde você chega, tem o couro pra comprar. Agora eu ainda hoje gosto de comprar o couro natural pra eu fazer a cor que eu quero. Nem que eu compre a tinta. Eu misturo uma tinta com outra, uma cor com outra cor… As vezes fica tão feio que ninguém sabe que cor é… Mas eu quero saber se compram…
Eu uso couro de boi, couro de bode, couro de carneiro, de avestruz. Foi couro eu transformo ele numa peça. Pode ser couro de qual bicho que seja. Qualquer material. Mas a gente corta muito hoje é o couro do boi e do bode. Porque existe isso também: o couro do boi dá várias espécies de material. Tem a raspa, tem a pelica, sola e vaqueta e camurça. De um couro só você faz tudo isso.
Eu não considero esse trabalho meu, um trabalho. Eu considero um esporte que eu tenho. Eu posso está com a maior raiva, quando eu chego aqui na minha mesinha acabou todas as raivas. Eu vou mudando, mudando o sentido. Pego um pedaço de couro, vou desenhando uma peça, desenhando outra. E assim a gente vai vivendo tranquilo e sossegado.
Eu tenho o nome de mestre porque eu sou mestre mesmo. Porque eu pego uma cobra lá dentro da roça, um cavalo, ou um burro, ou um boi, ou um bode, seja lá o que for, trago pra casa, pra abater, curtir o couro e fazer qualquer uma peça que tem ali na loja. E eu faço isso. Ainda hoje eu faço. Eu mudo a cor dele, eu faço o curtume – que é muito difícil – e faço tudo. Do jeito que eu quero eu faço. Acho que mestre é isso. Começar tudo do chão, vamos dizer, e ir até o derradeiro grau.
Eu acho que a ideia desse projeto de Mestre da Cultura, de apoiar os Mestres, foi uma boa. O melhor é que, cada um, além de eu levar o nome de Mestre, que ajuda muito na profissão, ainda recebe um dinheirinho para ir quebrando o galho. Eu acho que foi uma das coisas melhores que já fizeram no Ceará.
Uma das coisas que eu mais me preocupei foi em repassar a tradição para as pessoas. Primeiro eu gostei de apoiar a família. Porque é uma tradição de família. Hoje eu tenho um monte de gente que trabalha comigo. Se vier uma empleita bem grande pra eu fazer eu junto todo mundo. Se eu não tivesse ensinado eu ficava sozinho. E sozinho você não é nada. Por isso é que eu não tenho medo de enfrentar qualquer trabalho aqui, porque tem o meu grupo que eu ensinei. Aqui tem uma associação: oficina-escola Espedito Seleiro. Sempre tem gente aprendendo. Só não boto 40, 50 alunos para eu ensinar porque eu não tenho condições. Mas dois, três, quatro, até cinco, eu mantenho direto. Faço com o maior prazer.
Deixa eu contar uma curiosidade. Eu não gostava de trabalhar prá mulher. Quando eu comecei a fazer as peças, eu fazia umas chinelinhas para minhas irmãs, para as namoradas. Fazia bem bonitinho. Eu fazia hoje e amanhã elas queriam outro modelo. Compravam uma roupa e queriam outro modelo prá combinar. Eu pensei: vou trabalhar para os homens que eu faço um sapato ele passa dez anos remendando, calcando e pintando…. Às vezes eu digo que eu fui castigado porque hoje eu só trabalho mais para as mulheres. Mas é um castigo bom porque as mulheres compram bem. Mulher compra bolsa, compra cinto, compra sandália, compra chapéu…
Mas, se fosse pra eu escolher um trabalho, só o que eu queria mesmo, era fazer sela. Porque quando eu pego um pedaço de couro e um pedaço de madeira a sela, prá mim tá é feita. Sou muito prático, muito acostumado a fazer. Para mim já tá é feito, falta só receber o dinheiro. Não tem nenhuma dificuldade.
English:
Actually, I have two names. I was baptized Espedito Veloso de Carvalho. But people only know me as Espedito Seleiro. I was born in the center of Inhamuns, a vast hinterland, chasing wild cattle and wild horses. I grew up in the backlands, living the life of a gypsy, a drover, among all the people of the backlands. I arrived in Nova Olinda in 1949, and my father worked on a farm nearby. Like my grandfather, my father was a saddler, and at the age of eight, I already started making saddles and liked it, and I've been in this life ever since. But I don't just make saddles. There was a time when I made a lot of saddles, sold well. I made the complete cowboy outfit and sold it. I made everything from head to toe: the boots, the leg protectors, the breastplate, the gloves, the jacket, and the hat. I covered the cowboy with everything he needed to be called a cowboy. But then there came a time when it wasn't selling. The cowboy was gone, the outlaw was gone, the drover was gone, the gypsy was gone. It was these people who liked to wear leather clothes the most. Why? Because they were the people who lived more in the countryside, on farms, walked more in the bush. They had to wear it because only leather clothes could withstand thorns. So, since everyone wore it, where we lived, there was a lot of demand. But over time, this people disappeared.
That's when I changed. I didn't change professions; I continued working with leather. Today, I still make saddles, jackets, shoes... all that stuff. But what sells the most here now are sandals, bags, belts. Those are the pieces that sell well. Nowadays, we're making some chairs and people are liking them, and we can't keep up with the orders. I decided to change not to look good, not to become famous or well-known. Since I needed money, I decided to change.
One day I went to a fair where I used to sell well. I stayed until three or four in the afternoon, didn't sell enough for lunch. When I got back home, I told my wife: from now on, I'm not going to do those jobs I used to do anymore. That's when I decided to make colorful pieces. Then came the question: how am I going to get the materials to make it colorful? That's where it got complicated.
Where's the paint, where are the things to make it colorful? There were none. But since I already had the practice, from my father, from my grandfather... then I made black.
I took a bunch of iron scraps, threw them into a pot, took half a can of water, mixed it with the iron, the iron already very rusted. I took a bunch of black sugar cane, from that sugar mill, that salty one that was cheap at the time, crushed it and put it in the pot and let it sit for eight days. When the mixture was ready, I applied it to the leather, and it turned out very black. But the piece became hard as a rock. Then I went to the pond, threw the cast net, caught fish, roasted them, removed the fat and applied it on top of the leather. Then I rolled the leather, rolled it. I put it on a stone and beat it very hard, as if it were a stubborn goat. When I stopped beating the leather, when I unrolled it, it was very soft.
Then, where's the white? The white, I went into the woods and gathered a load of catingueira wood. I made a fire and used all the ash. I bought alum stone and mixed it with the ash in an old clay pot and let it sit for three days. That sludge. Then, within the three days, I removed the leather from inside the ash with the alum stone, and it was all stained white, some white stripes and some not. Then I started washing it in clean water. I pulled, pulled... the way you make sugarcane syrup - you take the sugar cane, with very thick syrup, and pull here and there. I pulled until my nails turned blue, but the leather turned very white.
And where's the red? The red, I went after annatto. I broke the seeds, husks and all, made that sludge, and when I applied it to the leather, along with the oil, it turned very red. Then I said: here it's working, right?!
Then there was brown. I still like working with brown today. Brown, I went into the woods and gathered a load of angico bark. I brought it home to dry. I took a mallet and pounded it on a stone until it became very mushy, just the pulp, and made another sludge, broke it all down. It became like bean broth. I put the leather, the natural leather that I had already tanned. With three days of soaking, the leather turned very brown.
I said: now it's done. The problem is over. Then I started making colorful pieces. Now it's a breeze. I passed on this experience to the tanneries. I told the people: boy, if you want to make leather, find a nice dye, make the leather softer, suppler... make blue, make white, black, yellow, because that will sell. And they took the ideas and now, wherever you go, there's leather to buy. But even today, I like to buy natural leather to make the color I want. Even if I have to buy the dye. I mix one dye with another, one color with another... Sometimes it turns out so ugly that nobody knows what color it is... But I want to know if they'll buy...
I use cowhide, goat hide, sheepskin, ostrich hide. Whatever leather I have, I turn it into a piece. It can be from any animal. Any material. But what we cut the most today is cowhide and goat hide. Because there's also this: cowhide yields various kinds of material. There's the suede, there's the leather, sole leather, vaqueta, and suede. From a single hide, you can make all of this.
I don't consider this work of mine, a job. I consider it a sport I have. I might be very angry, but when I get here to my workbench, all the anger disappears. I start changing, changing the direction. I take a piece of leather, start drawing one piece, then another. And that's how we live, calmly and peacefully.
I have the title of master because I am a true master. Because I can go into the countryside, catch a snake, a horse, or a donkey, or a cow, or a goat, whatever it may be, bring it home, slaughter it, tan the hide, and make any piece that's there in the shop. And I do that. I still do it today. I change its color, I tan it - which is very difficult - and I do everything. The way I want, I do it. I think that's what a master is. Starting from scratch, let's say, and going all the way.
I think the idea of this Master of Culture project, supporting the Masters, was a good one. The best part is that each one, besides carrying the title of Master, which greatly helps in the profession, also receives a little money to get by. I think it was one of the best things ever done in Ceará.
One of the things I cared about the most was passing on the tradition to people. First, I liked supporting my family. Because it's a family tradition. Today I have a bunch of people working with me. If there's a big job for me to do, I gather everyone. If I hadn't taught them, I would be alone. And alone, you're nothing. That's why I'm not afraid to tackle any job here, because I have my group that I taught. There's an association here: Espedito Seleiro workshop-school. There are always people learning. I just don't take on 40, 50 students to teach because I can't. But two, three, four, even five, I keep them directly. I do it with the greatest pleasure.
Let me tell you a curiosity. I didn't like working for women. When I started making pieces, I made some little sandals for my sisters, for girlfriends. I made them very nicely. I made them today, and tomorrow they wanted another model. They bought an outfit and wanted another model to match. I thought: I'll work for men, because when I make a pair of shoes for them, they'll spend ten years mending, resoling, and painting them... Sometimes I say I was punished because today I mostly work for women. But it's a good punishment because women buy a lot. Women buy bags, belts, sandals, hats...
But if I were to choose a job, what I really wanted was to make saddles. Because when I take a piece of leather and a piece of wood for the saddle, for me, it's done. I'm very practical, very used to doing it. For me, it's already done, just waiting to get paid. There's no difficulty at all.
Clips (more may be added)
The Matrix is a small world network. Like stars coalescing into a galaxy, creators in the Matrix mathematically gravitate to proximity to all other creators in the Matrix, no matter how far apart in location, fame or society. This gravity is called "the small world phenomenon". Human society is a small world network, wherein over 8 billion human beings average 6 or fewer steps apart. Our brains contain small world networks...
Wolfram MathWorld on the Small World Phenomenon
Matemática Wolfram sobre o Fenômeno Mundo Pequeno
"In a small world, great things are possible."
It's not which pill you take, it's which pathways you take. Pathways originating in the sprawling cultural matrix of Brazil: Indigenous, African, Sephardic and then Ashkenazic, European, Asian... Matrix Ground Zero is the Recôncavo, contouring the Bay of All Saints, earthly center of gravity for the disembarkation of enslaved human beings — and the sublimity they created — presided over by the ineffable Black Rome of Brazil: Salvador da Bahia.
("Black Rome" is an appellation per Caetano Veloso, son of the Recôncavo, via Mãe Aninha of Ilê Axé Opô Afonjá.)
Caetano Veloso
"Dear Sparrow: I am thrilled to receive your email! Thank you for including me in this wonderful matrix."
—Susan Rogers: Personal recording engineer for Prince, inc. "Purple Rain", "Sign o' the Times", "Around the World in a Day"... Director of the Berklee Music Perception and Cognition Laboratory
"Thanks! It looks great!....I didn't write 'Cantaloupe Island' though...Herbie Hancock did! Great Page though, well done! best, Randy"
"We appreciate you including Kamasi in the matrix, Sparrow."
—Banch Abegaze: manager, Kamasi Washington
"This is super impressive work ! Congratulations ! Thanks for including me :)))"
—Clarice Assad: Pianist and composer with works performed by Yo Yo Ma and orchestras around the world
"Dear Sparrow, Many thanks for this – I am touched!"
—Julian Lloyd-Webber: UK's premier cellist; brother of Andrew Lloyd Webber (Evita, Jesus Christ Superstar, Cats, Phantom of the Opera...)
"Thanks, this is a brilliant idea!!"
—Alicia Svigals: World's premier klezmer violinist
Developed here in the Historic Center of Salvador da Bahia ↓ .
Bule Bule (Assis Valente)
"♫ The time has come for these bronzed people to show their value..."
Recommend somebody and you will appear on that person's page. Somebody recommends you and they will appear on your page.
Both pulled by the inexorable mathematical gravity of the small world phenomenon to within range of everybody inside.
And by logical extension, to within range of all humanity outside as well.
I'm Pardal here in Brazil (that's "Sparrow" in English). The deep roots of this project are in Manhattan, where Allen Klein (managed the Beatles and The Rolling Stones) called me about royalties for the estate of Sam Cooke... where Jerry Ragovoy (co-wrote Time is On My Side, sung by the Stones; Piece of My Heart, Janis Joplin of course; and Pata Pata, sung by the great Miriam Makeba) called me looking for unpaid royalties... where I did contract and licensing for Carlinhos Brown's participation on Bahia Black with Wayne Shorter and Herbie Hancock...
...where I rescued unpaid royalties for Aretha Franklin (from Atlantic Records), Barbra Streisand (from CBS Records), Led Zeppelin, Mongo Santamaria, Gilberto Gil, Astrud Gilberto, Airto Moreira, Jim Hall, Wah Wah Watson (Melvin Ragin), Ray Barretto, Philip Glass, Clement "Sir Coxsone" Dodd for his interest in Bob Marley compositions, Cat Stevens/Yusuf Islam and others...
...where I worked with Earl "Speedo" Carroll of the Cadillacs (who went from doo-wopping as a kid on Harlem streetcorners to top of the charts to working as a janitor at P.S. 87 in Manhattan without ever losing what it was that made him special in the first place), and with Jake and Zeke Carey of The Flamingos (I Only Have Eyes for You)... stuff like that.
Yeah this is Bob's first record contract, made with Clement "Sir Coxsone" Dodd of Studio One and co-signed by his aunt because he was under 21. I took it to Black Rock to argue with CBS' lawyers about the royalties they didn't want to pay (they paid).
I built the Matrix below (I'm below left, with David Dye & Kim Junod for U.S. National Public Radio) among some of the world's most powerfully moving music, some of it made by people barely known beyond village borders. Or in the case of Sodré, his anthem A MASSA — a paean to Brazil's poor ("our pain is the pain of a timid boy, a calf stepped on...") — having blasted from every radio between the Amazon and Brazil's industrial south, before he was silenced. The Matrix started with Sodré, with João do Boi, with Roberto Mendes, with Bule Bule, with Roque Ferreira... music rooted in the sugarcane plantations of Bahia. Hence our logo (a cane cutter).
Matrix founding creators are behind "one of 10 of the best (radios) around the world", per The Guardian. If you create too, join them in the Matrix.
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