Maria Guerreiro

Visual artist. Born in Algarve, Portugal; Portuguese/Argentinian. Lives and works in Vicente López, Buenos Aires.

Graduated from the National School of Fine Arts, Argentina.

Is permanently keeping updated both in the theory and practice of art.

She is currently attending the Centro de Edición (CDE) Taller Galería de Litografía which is directed by Natalia Giacchetta. 

She has been invited to show her work at important exhibition rooms, museums, and national and international galleries. Has taken part in various art fairs such as ArteBA, Buenos Aires and the First Ushuaia Biennial of Art, Tierra del Fuego, in Argentina; ArtBO, Bogotá, in Colombia; Arteaméricas, Miami and Affordable Art Fair of New York, 

in USA; and Estampa, Madrid, Spain; also she has participated with the CDE in art shows: “Ancestros” Suances, Cantabria, in Spain; “Infancia/Kindheit” Einladung zur Ausstellung, Voitsberg, in Austria; “Litografías” Study and Art Gallery, Miami Beach, in USA, and “Pequeño formato” Villa Angostura, in Argentina.

Her paintings, engravings and Artist’s Books have obtained various prizes, such as the 2nd Prize for drawing/engraving in the International Biennial of Contemporary Art of Florence, Italy (2003) being one of its highlights.

Drawer 1

Lot of letters scattered in the drawer.

I looked at the stamps on the envelopes, it was easy to see destinations and recipients. In the letters I read arrivals and farewells as if they followed assigned routes, as if they had never stopped traveling.

… It will be until tomorrow…

…I will continue writing...

…we remain anchored…

…I wish to return soon…

… I miss you...

Drawer II

The deep blue box.

I tried removing the lid, it was much easier than I thought.

Small bags and cases for jewellery.

It was nice to see the variety of colors and textures.

The gold earrings. Charms, hearts, clovers.

A silver cross. Another, the virgin girl.

A bracelet with your name. Your first medal. Communion… Silence

The mass book with white mother-of-pearl covers.

A graduation medal with blue and white ribbons.

An engagement ring… Deep silence.

Drawer III

I opened the drawer.

Old family photographs.

Christmas, New Year, religious postcards...

In a corner the case with the grandfather's clock.

…I thought it was lost.

When he fell ill, he took the watch off his wrist,

You have to wind it every day, he told us.

… Silence came.

Drawer IV

Large number of old keys tied with cords and

small notes that identified them.

Grandparents’ house, basements, attic.

Desks, library.

…To open the past.

Drawer V

Brightly colored postcards, with messages and greetings,

They showed different places in Europe.

Spain, Italy, Portugal and many more.

Stories... stories, they can all be reinvented.

Drawer VI

Among different boxes I saw, with surprise, the small red case.

When I was a child, I always wanted to know what it was, Grandma Juana never let me open it.

How many times I took it out of her nightstand drawer, so many times she said the same thing, “This doesn't open, it's not important.”

Now the case was there.

I just had to open it and find out what “unimportant” meant.

After 40 years I had that case again in my hands.

I lifted the lid slowly, I felt grandma's presence.

Almost glued to the bottom was a yellowish tissue paper folded several times,

This covered an alliance.

I took it carefully and unfolded it

A small note said: “Dear Juana: your sisters do not want you to remarry a widower with three children. You decided it too. This alliance that represents my sincere love is yours. Never forget you. “Antonio.”

On the inside of the gold alliance, “Antonio to Juana - 1935” is engraved.

Drawer VII

Banknotes and coins from other countries, all of small values.

Those that are in the pockets of the raincoat.

About the tip that was not given.

Or to spend them on another trip.

Or simply the one that was kept as a souvenir...

Brief memories!!

Drawer VIII

A huge envelope with your name.

I was taking out large and small cardboard and cards.

They were all drawings. You really liked to draw.

A train with many cars and few wheels.

Boys playing with balls of different colors.

A vase with blue flowers.

Viking at home, our beloved dog. And many, many more...

I put them back, one by one, carefully.

… They will never be repeated again!

Drawer IX

Clippings from newspapers and magazines, with important and incredible news.

The bombing of the Plaza de Mayo…

Apollo 11 and its arrival on the moon in July 1969.

The 1978 World Cup in Argentina that we won.

The war in the Malvinas... and many others, all memorable.

Curious, today, infinite news on many screens and no clippings for tomorrow!

Drawer X

A lot of gifts, all new...all of them brand new.

Small and large keychains, leather and metal.

Small unused diaries from years past.

Wallets that barely fit a few coins.

Little boxes, all of them pill boxes, of different sizes and materials.

...Gifts, some now useless, others to forget.

... Empty drawer.

Drawer XI

When I open it, I find an old broken mirror.

Five pieces, I see myself in each of them,

as if it were in another time.

Piece I

You are in front of the mirror. You don't always do it.

I stopped next to you, I saw your face and I was amazed.

I slowly caress each of your wrinkles.

They surprise me. Have we lived that long?

Piece II

They have unspoken words; they have the spirit of each one.

Let me caress them, the mirror shows them to you, like little genies coming out of your image. In every fold of your face a fact, a scent, a joy, a tear.

Piece III

You are in front of your image and you discover this face, the youngest one hid behind the reflection, it plays between your memory and the present.

I continue caressing, these soft ones narrate our childhood, living, playing, crying.

Piece IV

If the lines of the hands are read, these soft and deep folds of the skin tell stories.

Here, close to the nose and mouth, they tell of love, happy, loving, generous, of loneliness and work.

Piece V

Creative work, vocation, travel, they tell secrets.

Do you hear the happy laughter? The boys playing...!

The mirror lights up.

I go slowly, some are painful, there is a mourning, it is like a scar. A lot of crying. We were never like before. Our image darkens. Another mourning follow. Cry and fight at the same time. What they call creativity, in our own way, helped us.

The mirror in front of us. We in front of the mirror. So that?

We turn and go… to continue living.

I close the drawer.

Drawer XII

A folder with brochures from Ushuaia.

There was my trip, my last trip to Ushuaia.

I learned the real reason for that trip, only at the end.

When I returned to Rio Grande, I wrote about the trip, I had to.

Here is the writing,..

A trip

It is Sunday. We left Rio Grande in a van. We are eight passengers, all elderly. The driver has his wife as a companion, who is traveling with a baby in her arms.

I place my small suitcase on the top of the van. I settle into my seat next to the window. I adjust my seat belt, put my handbag on my knees.

It is a very cold day. A long route ahead of us, wide plateaus and plains with little vegetation, undulating plains.

Frozen lagoons that allow to enjoy skating and strong winds are part of our life in Rio Grande. We are going to Ushuaia.

I open my bag, there is Juan's letter, it is the reason for this trip. -In Mercedes' hands please! He recommended me several times.

At first glance I have everything I need plus some chocolates.

In the letter, Juan tells Mercedes about his work problems and the reasons that prevent him from returning to Buenos Aires. According to Juan's comment, he advances a solution. His solution.

The route looks infinite in front of us. I see the sky on cold days with the promise of snowfall. But we are in September, it is difficult.

I narrow my eyes. Juan repeated to me again, only to Mercedes when be alone.

Not only work problems, but also serious health problems.

How similar life is to a journey.

He is doing studies and everything the doctors ask for.

Some treatments can damage his cardiovascular system.

His job was road construction.

He analysed the weather, in most cases severe weather that determines the presence of ice, snow or rain, so its effects on safety in the circulation and operation of vehicles must be taken into account. Prepare the routes so that they fulfil their function in that area.

It occurs to me to think that doctors and analysts do the same with him.

Juan cannot tolerate the cold wind of Rio Grande. Two years and he couldn't get used to it.

He is widowed and alone. His sister Mercedes, whom he loves deeply, cares for his 8-year-old daughter Emma in Ushuaia.

Life at different times presents difficult paths to follow, loneliness in painful moments, continuing is the only alternative. Right now, his life is as winding as these roads. There is no way back.

I think of mine, so peaceful and without anything important to remember...the spinster aunt.

Snow begins to be seen on the paths towards the mountains and on the trees. This plain begins to change, fewer plateaus, more mountain ranges and more forests.

Forests of Lengas, Cypresses, Canelos. You can already see the high mountains with eternal snow. It is a beauty in constant change.

The driver smiles and makes faces at his daughter... We are on the old winding road of the foothills still unimproved. We go up to the Garibaldi Pass we will see Lake Escondido and later Lake Fagnano.

It's snowing. I stare at the falling snow, so poetic many times and so alarming other times.

Some cars were stranded in the snow, rescuers are putting chains on their wheels... Several gendarmes stop and warn them to pay attention to the road.

The driver, accustomed to the area, maintains a moderate speed.

The snowfall is getting heavier, to the left are the depths.

It's getting dark, I ask the driver while he smiles at his daughter, if it's a long time before we get there, one more hour of travel, he answers. I would like to be arriving, I take out a chocolate from my bag...I slowly savor it, hoping to arrive soon. It's still snowing.

We enter the new route, the wider path. I relax a little. On the radio they are announcing one of the most important snowfalls of this year 2001. I see the lights of Ushuaia. 

I touch my bag. Juan's letter is there waiting to be delivered to Mercedes.

I'll go straight to her house. The van stops at the agency. We begin to go down; I hang my bag over my shoulder and pick up my small suitcase.

The driver tells me, there are no taxis that will take me with so much snow.

I'll have to walk the 6 blocks, I'm sinking my boots, step by step. The deep traces remain.

I arrive at Mercedes' house. We hug each other, quickly enter after crossing the small winter garden.

Emma come running, hug me and ask about her dad. He sends you many kisses, beautiful...

We have dinner…we talk about everything. Emma retires to her bedroom. We are alone in front of the stove. I give Mercedes the Juan's letter.

Mercedes begins to read. Cancer? she asks me, I state. She reads Juan's complete information... she put the letter in my hands, held her face and starts crying. The end was there.

I love you sister, like I love Emma. At this time, I will no longer be here. Tell the girl that it was an accident. Juan.