
Juliana Lapa and the Surface Where Memory Takes Root
Origins
Juliana Lapa's work moves between drawing and painting as if the surface were a site of excavation. Born in Carpina, Pernambuco, in 1985, she builds images where individual memory, collective memory, dream, politics, and rural life are not separated into neat categories. Galeria Marco Zero describes a practice shaped by graphite, colored pencil, massa corrida, egg tempera, and acrylic paint, with procedures of erasure, veiling, carving, and the revelation of layered surfaces. That technical description matters because Lapa's images feel less painted onto a support than slowly uncovered from it. Paper and wood become places where buried stories, bodies, landscapes, and symbols press upward. See also Cordel Does Not Fit in Drawers: Marina Nabuco on the Living Archive of Instituto Brincante.
The four works gathered here make that process visible through arched formats, scratched textures, and figures that seem caught inside rivers, roots, nerves, and weather. In the earth-toned composition with two reclining bodies, pale blue streams move through the scene like water, milk, memory, or breath, binding the figures to a larger vegetal and ancestral form. In the red work, bodies appear almost flayed into movement, their limbs and ribbons of paint crossing a landscape that looks wounded, mythical, and alive. Lapa's figures rarely sit outside the world they inhabit. They are threaded through it, as if the terrain itself were thinking through them. See also Isabela Stampanoni and the Cartography of Rhythm.