Uma língua nova

Galeria Estação

R. Ferreira de Araújo, 625 - Pinheiros, São Paulo - SP

Opening August 25, 2026

Introduction

All the exhibitions we present are of great importance to us. This one, however, carries a particular and profound significance.

It brings together seven artists who share a cognitive condition and who, throughout their lives, have exercised their talent and creativity as a primary language of expression. Of these seven artists, I have had the opportunity to meet only Ranchinho and Clovis in person; my engagement with the others has taken place directly through their works.

The invited curator, José Augusto Ribeiro, conducted extensive research and engaged closely with the works until confirming the selection presented here. In addition, we are honored to include texts by two distinguished contributors. Eurípedes Junior and Dr. José Gallucci Neto were invited in recognition of their sustained professional engagement, within their respective fields, with individuals experiencing mental health conditions.

Eurípedes Junior worked directly with Dr. Nise da Silveira and has since continued his work as a researcher at the Museum of Images of the Unconscious, which holds an exceptional collection that has been exhibited in major institutions and biennials in Brazil and abroad. Dr. Gallucci Neto, a psychiatrist and scientist, maintains a close clinical practice, supporting and treating patients as they navigate the complexities of daily life.

We hope that A New Language will not only draw attention to issues that are often overlooked or avoided but also offer a meaningful and moving experience to its audience.

VILMA EID

A New Language

This exhibition presents works by seven artists with mental health conditions or intellectual disabilities. Most are Brazilian: Aurelino dos Santos, Clóvis Aparecido dos Santos, Enio Sérgio, Esther Morgannah, and Ranchinho, alongside two European artists, Arnold Schmidt and Josef Hofer. The group of artworks includes paintings, drawings, and sculptures produced since the mid-1960s, though primarily from the 1980s onward. Except for works by Enio Sérgio and Esther Morgannah, which are on loan through the Museu de Imagens do Inconsciente (Museum of Images of the Unconscious) in Rio de Janeiro, the works gathered here belong to the collection of Galeria Estação.

As with the artists themselves, the works presented here are highly diverse. They encompass both representations and transformations of the empirical world, as well as visions of inner worlds. One finds both the rigor of geometry and the expansiveness of gestural expression; depictions of rural scenes, reconfigurations of elements of the urban landscape, and expressions of intimacy. A largely self-taught approach may be a shared characteristic among this group. While some were denied access to formal artistic education, others developed through highly cultivated practices and sustained engagement with cultural references. Some works were created without any reference to the field of art, while others demonstrate clear awareness of it. Although all identify as artists, not all have understood the position their work occupies within the art circuit or, more broadly, within the cultural sphere.

The conditions under which these works were produced are equally varied. Some artists were never formally diagnosed, never received treatment, and created under conditions of isolation and deprivation. Others live in specialized institutions, where they have access to studios and materials, working with autonomy while also receiving professional support. One of the aims of this exhibition, in bringing together such varied artists and works, is precisely to move beyond totalizing or homogenizing categorizations of the relationship between art and madness.

Here, it is neither disorder nor disability that renders the work significant. Illness does not explain what we see, just as the practice of art does not transform illness into an aesthetic value. The curatorial approach seeks to avoid romanticizing the artist’s clinical condition as a source of creativity, just as it resists framing artistic activity as a form of temporary redemption from suffering. In this sense, it challenges the myth of the “mad genius”, and resists attempts to construct narratives about these artists through their work. Instead, it aims to draw attention to the specificities of each artist’s process and to the distinct outcomes of each work.

The title of the exhibition is drawn from the short story “No quadrado de Joana”, (In Joana’s Square) by the writer Maura Lopes Cançado (São Gonçalo do Abaeté, MG, 1929 – Rio de Janeiro, RJ, 1993). The text was written after the author was discharged from her second hospitalization in a psychiatric institution, the Gustavo Riedel Hospital, in the Engenho de Dentro neighborhood of Rio de Janeiro, between November 1957 and February 1958, and was first published on November 16, 1958, on the front page of the Sunday Supplement of Jornal do Brasil, a daily newspaper to which Cançado frequently contributed, particularly with works of fiction.

Narrated in the third person, the story follows an episode of catatonia experienced by the protagonist, Joana. The action begins with the character in motion, walking in a straight line, repeatedly tracing the perimeter of the hospital courtyard (a square) of the psychiatric institution where she is confined. Shortly thereafter, Joana becomes paralyzed, immobile. Conscious, she believes she has entered a “new order,” under which everything must be straight, square, repetitive, and vertical.

From that moment on, the character struggles “to remain framed in time.” With her mouth “fixed,” she avoids words, circles, and curves, as well as flowers and the “dance of sounds,” all of which threaten her rigidity. She thinks of “correct” numbers (44, 77, but not 60, too sinuous) and waits for a “new language,” suited to her “flat-smooth-precise” condition. Until Joana collapses to the ground and meets “impatient eyes,” when a “new” word appears “in the air”: “catatonic.” Faced with this, she “thinks desperately: could this be the beginning of the new language, now that I have fallen apart?”

The “new language” the character refers to is therefore not another language, with a systematized vocabulary and grammar. Nor is it simply the language of illness. If “catatonic” is its first sign, this still-unformed language does not emerge from the protagonist, but rather appears “in the air,” from outside, most likely from the medical staff, in the form of a diagnosis. In this sense, a new language does not carry exclusively positive or negative meanings.

In the ambiguity of its structure, the story sustains at least two insufficiencies: that of everyday language, which fails to grasp what Joana is going through and no longer suffices to describe the internal logic she experiences during the episode, or the world she has entered; and that of medical language, which classifies Joana, identifying a syndrome in her through a word in which she does not recognize herself, a term that neither fully describes nor adequately explains what she felt and perceived at that moment.

In “In Joana’s Square,” Maura Lopes Cançado appears to explore a form of writing capable of accompanying a radical psychic experience of expressing madness itself (rather than merely speaking about it) without reducing it to a diagnosis. To do so, as the story suggests, would require a “new” language, one that escapes the conventions and structures of ordinary language, that subverts its very practical function of communication and control in pursuit of other, as yet unknown, expressive possibilities.

The literature on Aurelino dos Santos (Salvador, BA, 1942–2026) often describes him as someone who wandered the streets of Ondina, in Salvador, shirtless, wearing shorts, collecting objects to use in his work, whether to trace forms or to affix them onto the surface of his compositions. It is for this reason that one finds, in his works, packaging and cigarette butts, margarine labels, matchboxes, bottle caps, and pages from newspapers and magazines. Although he was not literate, Aurelino filled his works with text, words, letters, and numbers, sometimes alongside his signature, which he had memorized how to draw.

The artist himself recounts that he began painting in the 1960s, when he was working as a bus fare collector, following the suggestion of the sculptor Agnaldo Manoel dos Santos. In his works, Aurelino constructs a geometry that shifts and oscillates through lines and brushstrokes moving in varied directions, with acidic colors and details that multiply across canvases, wood panels, and cardboard. In addition, he often “covered” his totemic constructions and urban landscapes, flat compositions that appear to be seen both frontally and from above with splatters of black and white paint, frequently mixed with sand, giving the surface a stone-like appearance.

Ranchinho (Oscar Bressane, SP, 1923 – Assis, SP, 2003) was also not literate. He had difficulties with speech and hearing. From childhood, Sebastião Theodoro Paulino da Silva lived in the city of Assis, in the interior of São Paulo state. Accounts of his behavior often describe it as childlike and playful, alongside records of episodes of sexual exhibitionism. Ranchinho began painting in the second half of the 1970s and is estimated to have produced around 3,000 works. The works included in this exhibition were made primarily in the 1980s and range from circus scenes to depictions of rural daily life. His work stands out, among other reasons, for his ability to paint quickly, with decisive gestures and loose brushstrokes that seem effortless, giving form to figures without outlines. Beyond its expressive energy, his painting possesses a strong material presence. Often, the signature and date, applied boldly and prominently in the lower right quadrant, become part of the image itself, adding graphic signs of letters and numbers to the depicted scenes.

Arnold Schmidt (Wiener Neustadt, Austria, 1959) and Josef Hofer (Wegscheid, Germany, 1945), in turn, are artists who live in institutional settings. Schmidt has resided since 1986 at the House of Artists in the village of Maria Gugging, Austria, while Hofer has lived since 1992 at a center run by Lebenshilfe, a social organization dedicated to people with physical and intellectual disabilities, in Ried im Innkreis, also in Austria. After his first hospitalization in a psychiatric institution in the early 1980s, Schmidt began producing his artworks. From the following decade onward, his production came to consist of variations on a single compositional scheme, built through circular gestures concentrated at the center of the paper, layering acrylic paint, gouache, graphite, and oil pastel. Through the rapid movements that accumulate within a defined area of the support, the work often hovers at the threshold of abstraction although, depending on the gestural intensity involved in the process, it is possible, with varying degrees of clarity, to discern figurations of human bodies, bicycles, birds, and airplanes, almost always rendered in vibrant colors.

Josef Hofer, for his part, began producing work in a therapeutic studio in 1977. Born deaf, mute, and with limited mobility during the Second World War, he survived the Third Reich. His early drawings, made in youth, depicted his daily life on the farm where he lived, including tractors, agricultural machinery, and domestic objects. From 2000 onward, already at the institution where he continues to reside, Hofer’s work underwent a significant shift when he began drawing (and drawing himself) in front of a one-square-meter mirror placed on the floor of his room. Since then, drawing from experiences of self-awareness and his own sexuality, he has produced numerous erotic works in which he multiplies his own image, consistently framed by bands of red, yellow, and orange arranged vertically, horizontally, and diagonally. Executed in graphite and colored pencil, these works combine quasi-abyssal constructions, repeated forms that seem to project the image inward into the paper, with distorted representations of the human body.

The works by Hofer included in this exhibition belong to this period, produced between 2001 and 2014. In the meantime, in 2007, Hofer received as a gift a book featuring reproductions of drawings and watercolors by another Austrian artist, Egon Schiele (Tulln an der Donau, Austria, 1890 – Vienna, Austria, 1918), whose influence on his subsequent production is clearly perceptible.

Clóvis Aparecido dos Santos (Avaré, SP, 1960) is often described as a wanderer. Accounts relate that, in his youth, he walked from the interior of São Paulo, where he was born, to Rio de Janeiro, where he has lived ever since. From the 2000s onward, the artist began attending Ateliê Gaia, a space collectively used and managed by artists within Rio de Janeiro’s public mental health network, with support from the team of the Bispo do Rosário Museum. There, Clóvis produces paintings and sculptures using a remarkable range of materials: musical instruments, pieces of cardboard boxes, fabrics, PET bottles, and easels. Many of his sculptures are also made with papier-mâché, used both to give structure to the forms and to bind together their various components. In his work, matter and image converge through the combination of diverse supports and the hybridity of his figures, which often merge elements of human beings, animals, plants, and vehicles. Numbers, words, and a graphic language reminiscent of writing are also integral to this system.

Like Clóvis, Enio Sérgio (São João del Rei, MG, 1962) conceives hybrid creatures, particularly in his production from 2010 onward. Yet his images, such as birds wearing shoes and carrying umbrellas, or a bipedal reptile, a kind of dinosaur, dressed in psychedelic clothing and a hat, tend to evoke humor more than monstrosity. The beginning of Enio’s artistic production is linked to the period of his hospitalization at the Pedro II Psychiatric Center in Rio de Janeiro, between 1987 and 1999. Since then, he has attended the Museum of Images of the Unconscious (MII), which has also incorporated his works into its collection. His production is highly varied. It ranges from black-and-white drawings with a surrealist inclination to colorful abstract compositions, as well as figurations of imaginary beings, part human, part animal, rendered in intense colors and geometric patterns. For a time, the artist refused to sell his works. Instead, he produced reprographic copies of his drawings and paintings, hand-colored each one, and sold them at modest prices. Today, however, he exhibits and sells his “original” works. More recently, in 2024, an exhibition at the Cultural Center of the Federal University of São João del Rei, in Minas Gerais, presented a broad overview of his production—from works made in the late 1990s to recent pieces during the First Nise da Silveira Festival.

Another frequent visitor to MII is Esther Morgannah (Rio de Janeiro, RJ, 1965), who has been attending the institution regularly for approximately two years. Since then, the artist has expanded her practice in painting and sculpture. The works she presents in this exhibition belong to her most recent body of production: polychrome ceramics. There are three pieces: one inspired by the abyssal fish found in the Mariana Trench, the deepest point on Earth, located in the western Pacific Ocean; another referencing representation of Aztec gods; and a third depicting a marine creature imagined by Morgannah as an allusion to the myth of Atlantis. This is, therefore, a learned and research-driven body of work, marked by an interest in mythology and, among other subjects, in behavioral archetypes, images, and symbols that, according to the theory of Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung (Kesswil, Switzerland, 1875–Küsnacht, Switzerland, 1961), inhabit humanity’s collective unconscious. Morgannah is currently pursuing an undergraduate degree in museology. She participates in the Anti-Asylum Struggle movement (a critical perspective that connects the psychiatric reform movement with countercolonial, anti-racist, and anti-prohibitionist agendas), based in Rio de Janeiro, as well as in advocacy groups for the rights of LGBTQIAPN+ people, including Transcrições, affiliated with the Evandro Chagas National Institute of Infectious Diseases at Fiocruz, also in Rio de Janeiro.

In fact, the period on which this exhibition focuses, the last 46 years, traces back to the creation of the Mental Health Workers’ Movement in 1978 in Rio de Janeiro and to the Anti-Asylum Struggle, which gained national momentum in the mid-1980s. Together, these two social movements transformed the landscape of advocacy in Brazil for the rights of people experiencing psychological distress and for the dismantling of the asylum model, based on segregation, confinement, and abusive, violent, and punitive practices, as a form of treatment. Building upon work initiated in the first half of the 20th century by psychiatrists such as Osório César (João Pessoa, PB, 1895–Franco da Rocha, SP, 1979) and Nise da Silveira (Maceió, AL, 1905–Rio de Janeiro, RJ, 1999), these efforts continue to reshape, today, the ways in which Brazilian society relates to madness, through public policies aimed at psychiatric reform and initiatives that seek to increase general awareness of mental health while reducing the stigma faced by individuals with mental health conditions and disabilities.

Meanwhile, a language in formation emerges within each work presented in this exhibition.

José Augusto Ribeiro
Curator

"Meanwhile, a language in formation emerges within each work presented in this exhibition."

José Augusto Ribeiro, curator

Artistas | Artists

Arnold Schmidt

Aurelino dos Santos

Between the Work and the Illness

There are works that do not call for interpretation - they call for presence. When encountering the works in this exhibition, something happens before thought can organize any response: a sense of recognition, as if these images touch regions of experience that usually remain unnamed. It is not estrangement. Paradoxically, it is familiarity.

All of the artists represented here, Arnold Schmidt, Aurelino dos Santos, Clovis Aparecido dos Santos, Enio Sérgio, Esther Morgannah, Josef Hofer, and Ranchinho, have lived or are living with some form of mental health condition. It would be tempting to allow this fact to cast the works in an aura of tragic exceptionalism as though illness were a magical key to creation, or a particular kind of genius. This narrative, however seductive at first glance, is often cruel: it transforms real suffering into biographical ornament and, by another route, reintroduces the very stigma it claims to resist.

The German psychiatrist and philosopher Karl Jaspers offers a clearer way to approach this. Writing about artists such as Van Gogh and Strindberg, he insists on separating illness from the work: suffering is part of life, but it is not sufficient to explain creation. Art may emerge amid illness without illness becoming either its cause or its merit.

The works in this exhibition arise from lives marked by psychic suffering, institutionalization, diagnostic labeling, and silence. Yet they are not illustrations of pathology, nor “clinical documents” in the form of images. They are attempts to organize an inner world that often presents itself in a state of excess: repeated images, recurring figures, improbable architectures, fragmented bodies, obsessive patterns.

Each artist develops a distinct grammar for this excess through line, color, and rhythm shifting the work from the field of pathology to that of language.

Since the early twentieth century, collections such as that of Hans Prinzhorn in Germany and the Museu de Imagens do Inconsciente (Museum of Images of the Unconscious) in Brazil have demonstrated how this production dissolves boundaries between art, madness, and science. Initially valued by psychiatry for its diagnostic potential, these works later drew the attention of artists and critics for their formal power. Today, they are presented in museums and exhibitions that contribute to reducing the stigma surrounding mental illness and to recognizing their makers as subjects of creation.

A New Language situates itself within this trajectory, while seeking to avoid two complementary pitfalls. On one hand, the perspective that reduces everything to symptom, as though every mark were merely an expression of illness. On the other, the view that romanticizes suffering, turning psychosis or other conditions into a passport to exceptional genius. Between these extremes, this exhibition proposes another position: to recognize, in each work, a subject who has found a singular way to articulate what had no words and, in doing so, to affirm both their uniqueness and their proximity to us.

What these images bring to the surface is not a separate “world of the mad,” apart from the rest of human experience; rather, they reveal an intensified variation of questions that traverse any life: how to endure anguish, give form to fear, inhabit a body, and allow oneself to be seen without being entirely exposed. To encounter these works within a museum context, alongside other contemporary investigations into language and image, is also to revisit the history of collections of so-called “art of the mentally ill” and to displace them from their original sites of segregation. They belong not only to the archives of psychiatry, but also to the broader history of art and culture.

If there is a thread that runs through the exhibition, it may be summarized in Jaspers’s observation: “Psychic illness is not a favorable condition for creation. To take it as a privileged source of art is to obscure both the reality of illness and the work of the artwork.” What we see here, therefore, are not “works by the ill” or the “insane,” but works by individuals who, despite, and not because of their illness, have found a way to inscribe their experience into images that speak to us.

Dr. José Gallucci Neto

Psychiatrist

Clovis Aparecido dos Santos

Enio Sérgio

Esther Morgannah

Josef Hofer

The Radiance of Solitude1

The experience of profound isolation takes many forms: it may arise from an irrevocable personal inclination or from specific social circumstances; it may result from intense psychological experiences that destabilize consciousness and cast the individual into the darkness of the unconscious; or it may emerge from inhabiting spaces of exclusion imposed by medical or legal decree. In any case, this condition may allow for a greater possibility of a passive observation of the world: the mental expansion that follows encourages the intersection of inner immensity with the vastness of the cosmos. Bachelard identified this phenomenon: “When the great solitude of human beings deepens, the two immensities touch and merge.”2

This collision between two systems of perception, resembling what occurs within an extremely powerful reactor, produces a flow of images that, projected through the imaginary lantern of highly sensitive creators, spills into the prosaic dimension of our everyday relationships. It appears as visual expressions capable of making our inner spaces, emotions, and sensibilities vibrate, much like a sympathetic harmonic resonance.3

Individuals labeled as mad occupy a prominent position among those who experience this ontological solitude. They embody many of the situations mentioned above as examples. During the 19th century, spontaneous creators emerged within psychiatric hospitals, and their artistic productions attracted the attention of psychiatrists and artists alike. These works, which Mário Pedrosa called “flowers of the abyss,” broke through the walls of the asylum at the dawn of the 20th century, exerting a profound influence on the artistic movements that were emerging at the time. Tired of the monotony of academicism and exhilarated by the discovery of unconscious psychic processes, artists came to perceive those considered mad, and their creations, as possessing an aura of authenticity, originality, and creativity free from the constraints imposed by reason and objective reflection. Today, we understand that some of these interpretations were, in fact, projections of the artists’ own desires, as they even attempted, through the use of psychoactive substances, to reach altered states of consciousness that would allow them to glimpse a similar experience: a descent into the realm of the unconscious.

It was in the 1930s that collective art therapy began to take shape: the studios and workshops established in hospitals started to play an important role in welcoming patients and encouraging creative activity. In Brazil, interest in the work of psychiatric patients emerged very early on. The efforts of physician Osório César at the Juquery Hospital in Franco da Rocha, São Paulo, led to the first Brazilian exhibition of works by individuals considered “mad,” organized by him and the artist Flávio de Carvalho in 1933 at the Clube dos Artistas Modernos in São Paulo. However, it was the studio created in 1946 at the National Psychiatric Center by psychiatrist Nise da Silveira and artist Almir Mavignier that brought widespread attention to this body of work. Exhibitions of the collection, held in museums and other venues, were warmly received, particularly within artistic and intellectual circles. Revealing exceptional talents, the production of this studio ultimately led to the founding of the Museum of Images of the Unconscious, which today houses more than 400,000 works.

Many characteristics of the art created by those considered “mad” were later incorporated by contemporary artists: self-taught approaches, the use of unconventional materials and supports, invention free from established models, and an escape from classification according to artistic “schools” or movements. Conversely, several factors have transformed the imagery produced under the sign of madness: changes in treatment methods, the end of social isolation, and the use of medications that suppress delusional experiences and affect higher brain functions, preventing creative processes from unfolding at more complex levels of conception and execution. Added to these factors is the increasing whirlwind of images characteristic of contemporary life, bringing about what Debray described as “a certain symbolic blindness within, an amputation of the spaces of utopia.”4

Today, studios and workshops have spread throughout the world at an exponential rate, no longer restricted to psychiatric diagnoses, but embracing a broad range of experiences related to trauma and psychological difference. They provide relief from symptoms while fostering coexistence and inclusive socialization: isolation finds a refuge of care and recognition within increasingly expanded spaces of support.

Other existential experiences do not pass through the lens of psychiatry or trauma, yet they share the same distance from prosaic reality, standing alongside those labeled as mad because they too possess an enchanted and symbolically charged vision of the world. They are demiurges who construct impressive cosmogonies or transform everyday scenes and landscapes into images of beauty and sensitivity. The simplicity of some of these images, or the seemingly unsophisticated use of materials that do not conform to the conventions typically governing the creation of similar expressions within the formal art world, does not prevent them from exerting their fascination upon us; rather, it may even enhance their power to do so.

These works, generally originating from more modest social backgrounds, have been given different names, popular art, outsider art, Art Brut, raw art, art of the untrained, art outside the norms, and innate art, in attempts either to distinguish them from formal artistic production or to propose frameworks for identifying the fundamental elements that define their particular characteristics, motivations, and lived experiences behind the creation of these images.

The history of art, traditionally shaped by a Eurocentric worldview, has not yet found a place for the recognition of these creations and their respective makers. The existence of layers of meaning beyond aesthetics, as well as their interconnection with other fields of human activity, undoubtedly makes their integration more complex. We do not consider such integration indispensable, but rather a point of reflection, so that this way of experiencing and interpreting the world may receive the recognition and respect it deserves. To make these issues even more complex, different regions of the world have developed distinct ways of relating to works created outside traditional artistic frameworks. One need only look at the breadth of so-called “popular” art in Brazil, which surpasses most contemporary cultures in richness and diversity. Could this factor have influenced Brazilians’ positive reception of works created by psychiatric patients?

The leading role of museums and galleries in establishing a new social status for this universe of creators and their extraordinarily beautiful creations is undeniable. Major museums have incorporated collections of this kind into their holdings, at times creating dedicated spaces to house them, and at others placing them in dialogue with works from more traditional artistic contexts. These interventions generally transform the institution’s role and performance, whether through the expansion and integration of new audiences or through shifts in curatorial approaches and documentation practices.

Galeria Estação is the most visible expression of the work of its founder, Vilma Eid, who has built a vast collection of stories and encounters that bring together these talents once labeled as “primitive” or “naïve,” creating shifts that open new symbolic spaces within our already rich palette of visual arts.

Recently, while walking through the galleries of the exhibition Em Cada Canto, dedicated to her collection and held at the Tomie Ohtake Institute in 2025, I experienced an unprecedented emotion upon seeing such cherished and deeply affective images and objects by artists such as Chico Tabibuia, whom I first encountered in my youth, and Maria Auxiliadora, for whom I hold boundless admiration, displayed alongside artists recognized within the established cultural framework of society.

The emotion did not arise from a contrast between these two artistic currents, as one might naturally expect; rather, it emerged from the softness and fluidity of the aesthetic experience, from the harmonious modulations between them, generating a musical, symphonic, and polyphonic architecture of wonder and enchantment. The musical metaphor is particularly fitting because, on that day, an orchestra was performing in the Institute’s lobby. The fact is that this distinctive emotion reaffirmed what we already knew: within the universe of artistic creation, there is no place for boundaries, because art itself is the continuous transgression of our limitations, a revelation of the untamable nature of imagination, which Dr. Nise da Silveira considered humanity’s greatest treasure.

In her final book, A Breath of Life, Clarice Lispector writes that she had never encountered anything more solitary than an original and new idea: the newer it is, the closer it comes to the solitude of madness. A radiant solitude, in the words of Ferreira Gullar. Paradoxically, from the ontological isolation from which they extract the gems that enchant us, the artists of solitude gathered here, along with their original images, bring us closer together, making us more connected and, ultimately, more human.

Eurípedes Junior is a musician and holds a PhD in Museology and Heritage. He is the author of the book Do asilo ao museu – Nise da Silveira e as coleções da loucura (From the Asylum to the Museum – Nise da Silveira and the Collections of Madness).

Term used by Ferreira Gullar when discussing the works of Emygdio de Barros, an artist from the studio established by Nise da Silveira and Almir Mavignier at the National Psychiatric Center in Rio de Janeiro.
A Poética do Espaço (The Poetics of Space,) Martin Fontes, 1993.
A phenomenon that occurs when a passive body responds to the vibrations of an external emitter without any physical contact.
Debray, Régis. Vida e morte da imagem, Ed. Vozes, 1983.