About Paulo Mariano — Senior Art Director and Creative Lead based in Lisbon, International Advertising Jury Member
Jun 28, 2019
Choro
A criança chora. Debate-se entre o engasgo, a baba, o remexer, mas o choro é contínuo. O choro é.
Entre tantas incertezas, insiste em ser mais do que dor: intenção.
Esse arremesso irritante atravessa uma diversidade catalogável de ouvidos. Ao entrar em cada um deles, produz múltiplas reações. O choro parece interminável.
A descoberta: antes de haver respeito, empatia, amor, há o choro. O som ao separar-se do corpo alheio.
— O que quer?
— O que faço?
— Porque não para?
Agora é a criança que entra, pelos ouvidos, no corpo dos pais e de qualquer um exposto àquela frequência. O som atravessa as certezas de quem ouve.
— A criança tem fome, mal sabe do quê.
E o que faz com isso?
É possível chorar de outras formas?
O que há para além do choro?
Chorar é uma coisa de criança e a criança há de crescer.
— Engula o choro.
O choro tem o poder de incomodar ou de chamar a atenção, como a gargalhada de uma hiena que comemora encontrar os restos de um animal derrotado por outro.
A mente adulta está poluída por vozes, e a maior delas será sempre a própria.
Se é choro, se é riso, se é eco, importa que importe para além de quem o emitiu.
Começa o jogo. Uma vez percebido o jogo, a consciência pulsa.
E agora que saíste do berço, a pergunta é a mesma: porquê dar-te atenção? Qual é, afinal, o teu conteúdo?
Para os cientistas a neurociência,
Para astrónomos, Marte.
Para tecnólogos, o big data.
Psicólogos, o mindfulness.
Recém-nascidos, as fisiologias.
Jornalistas, as fake news.
Tão vastas quanto os interesses são as intenções.
E o conteúdo já não sustenta o interesse, seja especialista ou não.
O que existe é apenas o que é percebido. Pouco me importa se é linguagem falada, escrita, gemida ou gesticulada.
Será, por isso, sensato investir mais tempo na forma do som, sabendo que algo desinteressante não só pesa de forma incompreensível e frustrante, como soa a choro.
E já não tens idade para isto.
Apr 24, 2020
Crying
The child cries. It struggles between choking, drool, restless movement, but the crying is continuous. The crying simply is.
Amid so many uncertainties, it insists on being more than pain: intention.
That irritating projectile crosses a cataloguable diversity of ears. As it enters each one, it produces multiple reactions. The crying seems endless.
The discovery: before there is respect, empathy, love, there is crying. Sound as it separates from another body.
— What does it want?
— What do I do?
— Why won't it stop?
Now it is the child who enters, through the ears, into the bodies of its parents and anyone else exposed to that frequency. The sound crosses the certainties of those who hear it.
— The child is hungry, barely knows what for.
And what do you do with that?
Is it possible to cry in other ways?
What is there beyond crying?
Crying is a child's thing, and the child will grow.
— Swallow your cry.
Crying has the power to disturb or to draw attention, like the laughter of a hyena celebrating the discovery of the remains of an animal defeated by another.
The adult mind is polluted by voices, and the loudest of them will always be its own.
Whether it is crying, laughter, an echo, what matters is that it matters beyond the one who uttered it.
The game begins. Once the game is perceived, consciousness pulses.
And now that you have left the cradle, the question is the same: why should I give you my attention? What, after all, is your content?
For scientists, neuroscience.
For astronomers, Mars.
For technologists, big data.
Psychologists, mindfulness.
Newborns, physiology.
Journalists, fake news.
As vast as interests are, so are intentions.
And content no longer sustains interest, whether you are a specialist or not.
What exists is only what is perceived. I care little whether it is spoken, written, moaned or gestured.
It is therefore sensible to invest more time in the form of sound, knowing that something uninteresting not only weighs upon us in an incomprehensible and frustrating way, but also sounds like crying.
And you're too old for this.
The child cries. It struggles between choking, drool, restless movement, but the crying is continuous. The crying simply is.
Amid so many uncertainties, it insists on being more than pain: intention.
That irritating projectile crosses a cataloguable diversity of ears. As it enters each one, it produces multiple reactions. The crying seems endless.
The discovery: before there is respect, empathy, love, there is crying. Sound as it separates from another body.
— What does it want?
— What do I do?
— Why won't it stop?
Now it is the child who enters, through the ears, into the bodies of its parents and anyone else exposed to that frequency. The sound crosses the certainties of those who hear it.
— The child is hungry, barely knows what for.
And what do you do with that?
Is it possible to cry in other ways?
What is there beyond crying?
Crying is a child's thing, and the child will grow.
— Swallow your cry.
Crying has the power to disturb or to draw attention, like the laughter of a hyena celebrating the discovery of the remains of an animal defeated by another.
The adult mind is polluted by voices, and the loudest of them will always be its own.
Whether it is crying, laughter, an echo, what matters is that it matters beyond the one who uttered it.
The game begins. Once the game is perceived, consciousness pulses.
And now that you have left the cradle, the question is the same: why should I give you my attention? What, after all, is your content?
For scientists, neuroscience.
For astronomers, Mars.
For technologists, big data.
Psychologists, mindfulness.
Newborns, physiology.
Journalists, fake news.
As vast as interests are, so are intentions.
And content no longer sustains interest, whether you are a specialist or not.
What exists is only what is perceived. I care little whether it is spoken, written, moaned or gestured.
It is therefore sensible to invest more time in the form of sound, knowing that something uninteresting not only weighs upon us in an incomprehensible and frustrating way, but also sounds like crying.
And you're too old for this.