In this section you will find stories of things.
The history of museums throughout the world has been consolidated through the exhibition of objects with historical, aesthetic, artistic values, among others, determined, in the absolute majority of cases, by a political, economic or religious elite that dictated, and still dictates, what it should or shouldn't have value to be in a museum.
This has been changing.
All over the planet, quilombola, indigenous, riverside, peasant, worker, and other communities are showing that THEIR LIVES AND OBJECTS RESULTING FROM THESE LIVES HAVE A HISTORY, as, or even more important than, many “valuable” objects that exist in museums around the world and that often represent a tiny portion of the population - the portion that stole, killed and exploited human labor to produce items that are considered luxury, of aesthetic value, of historical value...
OUR THINGS ARE OUR STORIES, they are full of effort, love, pain, spirituality, joys and sorrows... they are full of life, the daily lives of common people, real people, the majority of the population, who work, who calloused the hands, that sweat, that overflow and materialize their lives in the objects that are part of their daily lives.
Learn a little about what these things say, AND HOW THEY TELL OUR STORIES.
things that speak
I'm a historic bike
I'm a historic bike, ahh, yes I am! Because history, before, and even more than being made up of the names that gain fame in the books, is made up of sweat, tears and joy!
I carry stories.
In particular, I carry the stories of Mr. Antônio Ferreira de Sousa, the cowboy who left Pernambuco, to come and make a living here in our Teresina.
Make a living. History is life. History is daily toil, which is confused with light pedaling and tired pedaling.
Pedaling that infiltrated the still very green paths that existed between our tapera on Av. Boa Esperança and the potteries of Poti Velho. I walked along the ground paths, full of stones on the way, but full of beauties, enchantments and enchanted. Then came the hard, smooth asphalt to run... run... run... life went faster, my hands on my handlebars worked harder, my feet got more calloused. Asphalt is not as easy as they say.
I uploaded stories and more stuff full of stories, like the "jacar" braided by the experience of other hands that were also hard of work.
I loaded bricks.
bricks
bricks
Bricks, one by one, one on top of the other, enlarged Teresina, building Teresina, “urbanizing” Teresina.
I also built Teresina, coming out of my North Zone, right where this city was born.
I also fed Teresina. Seu Ferreira de Sousa took the okra, the beans that were, and still are, produced on the banks of the Parnaíba, in the backyards of Av. Boa Esperança, to be sold there at the São Joaquim Market. And when he came back, tired from pedaling, working, he still had time to be happy! I used to put the kids on my back, to get a childish smile on my wheels...
Well, it is, wheel, one of the first great inventions of this famous humanity. Because I carry two! Two well-worn wheels from so much history.
Does anyone out there doubt that I'm not also a museum heritage?