SANGUE VIOLETA e outros contos

Em cima, a capa do livro Sangue Violeta e outros contos, editado por el pep -- ver texto e pequeno vídeo -- aqui montada sobre recortes de jornais da época, a ser lançado no festival de Beja -- ver programa no kuentro.

Inclui três histórias, ou contos, ou séries, conforme quiserem, Sabina, publicada no jornal Se7e em 1983, uma segunda história de visitas às praias do Algarve (a primeira foi Cevadilha Speed, 1981, publicado em livro por SIBDP em 1998), e Sangue Violeta, que não é uma história, não é um conto, nem propriamente uma série, em 1984, mas que se envolve com um curto conto, Tax Diver, e que terminará diluindo-se em Karlos Starkiller, numa sucessão de histórias, contos ou séries, como lhe quiserem chamar, que durará até 1986.
Karlos Starkiller (publicado por Baleia Azul em 1997), acabou por sair em livro aproveitando uma proposta revista e aumentada, apresentada dez anos antes à empresa editora do Se7e que considerou na altura "não estar vocacionada para a edição de banda desenhada". Cada conto, ou história, exigiu, uma década depois, uma curta apresentação aos leitores, já esquecidos dos acontecimentos anteriores à queda do Muro de Berlim.

Não se passa o mesmo com Sangue Violeta. Esta é mesmo uma edição arqueológica. Tirando duas alterações, todo o trabalho editorial pertence ao Pepe e ao Brito e segue o mais fielmente possível a ordem da publicação em jornal (e, acreditem, não deve ter sido fácil). Fosse eu a fazê-lo e cairia na tentação de eliminar páginas inteiras e refazer outras, e depois explicar o porquê de tudo o que lá está.
Assim, vão ter direito aos concursos e questionários inconsequentes, aos grafismos toscos, aos concertos punk e às minhas tentativas de reforma ortográfica (sem nunca chegar ao exagero de transformar, como os nossos brilhantes ortógrafos conseguiram fazer, espectador naquele que espeta). A propósito, entenda-se que não vejo grande inconveniente na maior parte das alterações feitas pelo acordo ortográfico. É certo que não vai resolver nada do que se propôs resolver e que vai complicar diferenças que o povo já tinha acomodado, mas estraçalhar as regras da escrita é, quanto a mim, sempre divertido. Em qualquer época ou situação geográfica.

1984

In 1984 I was about to reach 30 and move to the countryside, although not far from Lisbon, and Sangue Violeta was perhaps my last all-suburban tale. It didn’t go far, because it got mixed up with another character, Karlos Starkiller, who went up living his own life in the newspaper (Se7e) I was working for. Bellow you can see the first pages of Sangue Violeta. Inspired at first by newspapers and magazines like Flexipop, i-D and fashion and pop youth magazines, it was quickly taken over by the night scene of Lisbon, Bairro Alto and suburban dramas. Then Karlos Starkiller took the lead and took inspiration from Libération and Actuel. It was the same type of drawing, but a different world.

SKETCHBOOKS. Everybody used these sketchbooks at the time. I tried to be serious about my sketching and note taking and decided to always carry one of them, instead of the usual pieces of paper and cheap notepads. Since then I keep on trying and even moved to moleskines since I returned to Portugal. The result is that all of them are savagely amputated. I’m trying it now with a smartphone, but how can I amputate a smartphone? Bellow, images taken from magazine pictures, Violeta in a final sketch, and easily identifiable figures from Lisbon nights at the time (not all of them still alive, Tenro, sixth picture, was murdered some years after, one night, in a central and well lit square, and the killers were never caught.)

ON THE OTHER SIDE.

My room, seen from the bed (I guess.)

Café at Bordeaux train station, on the way to Angoulême comics festival.

Angoulême, café Le Commerce. I was really trying to be serious about my sketching this time, but it didn’t last long.

Angoulême, café La Paix. I remember vaguely one of these cafés being full of Belgians defending the excellence of Belgian sense of humor.

A quiet corner in a suburban café, back in Portugal.

Two of my sister’s friends.

Katia.

Café Gelo, Lisbon.

Jorge Colombo warming up to sketch something, shaking his Rotring pen. He had a lot of hair, at the time.

Fernando Relvas and Dina, by Jorge Colombo. You can see Colombo thought I was being very noisy. I can’t remember who Dina was, but I remember she was a sweet girl and was complaining that he left most of her out of the picture.


PHOTOS. Since we are in 1984 look at the two pictures bellow. In the first one, as in Colombo’s sketch, I am being very noisy, while everybody is trying to look their best. This is on my birthday, having some beers at Cervejaria Trindade, Lisbon.

 From the left: Jorge, Paula, me making noise with my voice and hands, Nicola, Miguel, Mila.

From the left: Miguel, Mila, me, Manela, Vitinha, Paula, Jorge, Nicola.

OLD STORIES - O Ananás que Ri (1997)

This series had a short life, was abruptly interrupted by the publisher (a Lisbon newspaper), practice that was not uncommon at the time, and ended in court, after the publisher refused to take responsibility for the decision (see bellow BIOBIBLIO, in Portuguese).

Outra exposição, Angoulême 1998

Em cima, a página que apresentei em Angoulême em 1998, papel Canson mi-teintes c. 50 cm x 32 cm, tinta sépia, caneta de tinta permanente, pincel e água da torneira.
Em baixo, o texto de Julio Pinto sobre o festival, num suplemento do Independente da altura (vai em duas partes porque a página inteira não entrava, a internet anda fraquinha, terão que as juntar vocês). Nada tenho a acrescentar ao texto que não seja supérfluo.

Old Stories – Concerto para Oito Infantes e Um Bastardo (1982)

This story was conceived when I was living for a short while in Germany, with the title Fred? Fred is dead. A young taxi driver is involved in the troubles of an older friend, Fred, who ends up dead due to his line of work, dealing in cocaine. It was supposed to succeed another story I was publishing in a Portuguese magazine, specialized in comic strips -- a more lord-of-the-rings type of story -- and mark my return to the hard world of suburban hard drug of life.

But the magazine ended abruptly and I had to look for a new one if I wanted to survive in the scarce world of Portuguese publishing. I choose a weekly newspaper, at the time the only one that dealt with movies, theatre and mostly music. After some hesitation they finally decided to accept publishing a comic strip.
The taxi driver was transformed into a journalist, grew up in size and dressed in the last central European fashion, and part of the plot dealt around a pop star, Kiki Lavil, the sole purpose of which was to make the story even more fashionable. On the other hand I decided to give Fred a chance of surviving, for it is unclear, in the end, if he dies or not. It is a story of 23 pages titled Concerto para Oito Infantes e Um Bastardo (Concert for short, the rest of the title being very hard to translate properly).

Soon I realized that the usual reader of this type of newspaper had difficulty in following the rhythm of one-and-a-half-page-a-week black-and-white poorly-printed story and, after a second unsatisfying attempt to bring to life the characters from Concerto, I started a period of several years of short stories in that same newspaper, experimenting with a number of styles of text and drawing with irregular results, that lasted roughly till the end of the decade.

The pages you may see bellow are a version from 2002, partially published in a short lived magazine. Bottom you may see how they appeared for the first time to the reader.

Old Stories – Çufo (1995)

Another story with historical background, this time inspired on a real character, João Machado, born in the north of Portugal in the last decades of the 15th century and exiled young to serve on the ships of the trade with India to expiate an unnamed crime. Left by himself or with a companion in the eastern coast of Africa, possibly entrusted with a risky mission, he travels instead to India where he enters the service of several local lords under the name of Çufo (Sufo). As the captain of foreign troops of Yusuf Adil Sha, king of Bijapur and lord of Goa, he sees the siege laid by the fleet of Afonso de Albuquerque to this town. After being the perfect go-between in the war between Albuquerque and the Sha, he finally leans to the side of Albuquerque and joins his troops, this time inside the fortress. He is then nominated captain of the local troops under Portuguese rule in Goa and is sacrificed, along with many of his men, when covering the retreat of more aristocratic companions of arms after a foolish attack these led against an Indian town.

I recently recovered sketches and an earlier version of the beginning of the story that were lent for an exhibition, years ago (otherwise they wouldn’t have probably survived), and paired them with some finished pages.

Like the story in the previous post, the book is also only available on public libraries, like this one (Bedeteca Ideal).