Why have there been no great Portuguese-language art historians?

Reviews Editorial note: this review is the first of a series covering art-historical publications outside the Anglophone context. Each review will focus on a major language group. The aim is to broaden the linguistic purview of the Art History reviews section and, in the process, to help readers keep abreast of how our discipline is practised across the world. Each author has been invited to identify and evaluate recent, important publications in the relevant language but also to consider the impact that linguistic and other divides has on the practices and institutions of art history. Why Have There Been No Great PortugueseLanguage Art Historians? Rafael Cardoso The reference to the title of Linda Nochlin’s celebrated 1971 essay, ‘Why have there been no great women artists?’, is neither facetious nor gratuitous. Following her cue, I will argue here that the deficiencies of arthistorical writing in the Portuguese language are a matter of institutional structures. Like the so-called ‘woman problem’ posited by Nochlin nearly half a century ago, the answer lies in the wrong-headedness of the question. At the outset of her text, Nochlin concedes: ‘The fact of the matter is that there have been no supremely great women artists […] no matter how much we might wish there had been.’1 I will mimic her provocation and assert that there have been no great Portuguese-language art historians. That is only my opinion, of course, and commands no more credence than that of any other scholar who reads Portuguese. I should further qualify this negative © Association for Art History 2019 judgement with the proviso that my measure of greatness is the highest possible. Like Nochlin, when I say great, I mean supremely great – exhibiting a level of accomplishment on a par with those art historians, past and present, who set the standard for the field. There are many excellent and even outstanding Portuguese-language art historians whose work is routinely overlooked. To list them all is beyond the capacity of any single author or essay.2 When the editors of Art History approached me with the remit of producing a critical evaluation of recent and current art-historical trends in the Portuguese language, my first instinct was to wriggle out of it. Not that I disagree with the project of broadening the readership’s geographical boundaries. It is an admirable one, and I fully support the contention that linguistic barriers hinder access to valuable material. Given the present turn towards ‘global art history’ and ‘world art studies’, it is somewhat ironic that such world histories must be written in English (or, at a stretch, French or German) if they are to be read by a wider audience. What a recent author has termed ‘the monolingualism of the global’ – to refer figuratively to the misguided ways in which contemporary exhibition practices tend to appropriate so-called outsider art – must also be considered on a more literal level.3 From a structural standpoint, the hegemony of English not only preserves the colonial hierarchies that global studies were meant to challenge, it also gives an unfair advantage to native speakers, especially those who operate effortlessly in either US or UK standard English. Despite worthy motives for undertaking the task, however, the idea of separating art-historical writing by linguistic communities is deeply problematic, particularly when those communities are large and 178 Reviews diverse. Portuguese is among the most widely spoken languages in the world – by approximately 230 million people (though the reading public is considerably smaller) – and is an official language in ten countries across four continents. The very idea of ‘Portugueselanguage art history’ only makes sense when viewed from the outside. The two most influential Lusophone countries, Portugal and Brazil, are separated by linguistic and commercial disputes significant enough that the books and periodicals published in one are not usually read in the other. The remaining countries where Portuguese is spoken – Angola, Cape Verde, East Timor, Equatorial Guinea, Guinea-Bissau, Macau, Mozambique, São Tomé e Príncipe – are often relegated to a marginal position, neatly elided by the dash in ‘Luso-Brazilian studies’. To lump these very diverse cultural contexts together is a guaranteed step to misunderstanding the specificities that make them what they are. My first concern was not to be blinkered by my own prejudices as a Brazilian art historian working on nineteenth- and twentieth-century Brazil. These include the facts that I know little about art history in Portugal and even less of other Lusophone countries. With the intention of countering my ignorance, I devised a simple questionnaire and sent it out to approximately sixty colleagues, mostly in Portugal and most of whom I have never met. That I was unable to locate a single art historian in Africa or Asia to whom I could address such a survey was a distressing reminder of the flaws in this attempt at statistical relevance. Four questions were posed: (1) Please cite texts written originally in Portuguese that contributed decisively to your understanding of art history; (2) Is there any text in Portuguese that you consider every art historian should read? If so, which? (3) In your opinion, are there any theoretical or methodological contributions to the field of art history specific to the Portuguesespeaking context or arising from it? If so, what? (4) What is the major challenge, in your opinion, to achieving greater integration of Portuguese-language writings into a global or world history of art? I received seven questionnaires back: two from Portugal and five from Brazil.4 Hardly a representative cross-section, but an indicator of the many pitfalls in the way of marshalling a unified position for ‘Lusophone art history’. The answers given to the first and second questions were telling, in so far as they reveal a general lack of consensus on influences. Art historians of an older generation – José-Augusto França, in Portugal, or © Association for Art History 2019 Aracy A. Amaral, in Brazil – were referenced by only one or two respondents.5 Several respondents cited scholars from other disciplines, such as sociologist Sérgio Miceli and literary historians Roberto Schwarz and Nicolau Sevcenko.6 Historic cultural figures were also referenced, including writer Oswald de Andrade (1890–1954), architect Lúcio Costa (1902–98) and artist Hélio Oiticica (1937–80), alongside art critics/theorists such as Ronaldo Brito, Ferreira Gullar and Carlos Zilio. The third question generated greater concurrence, as most respondents agreed no such contribution exists or hedged their replies around the difficulties of evaluating writings in Portuguese as an aggregate. The fourth question proved to be the most fruitful, eliciting the fullest responses. Broadly speaking, they dwelt on structural and institutional barriers that condition how Portuguese-language authors negotiate relationships with the art-historical mainstream. It is to such issues of power and knowledge that I wish to address the remainder of this essay. I will therefore retreat from the first-person account employed so far and argue the point in slightly more orthodox fashion. The Universal and the Regional Almost any object of study situated in nineteenthcentury Paris or twentieth-century New York may be considered of ‘universal’ interest to historians of modern art. Museums will not question whether it would be a worthy topic for an exhibition; publishers will not deny its claim to be treated monographically as a book. The seemingly bottomless appetite for impressionism is the most obvious example. Amazon. com lists 90,934 results related to the term; 7,541 just for books. A comparable object of study situated in São Paulo or Lisbon will elicit nowhere near the response. Antropofagia, arguably the best-known Brazilian artistic movement of the modern period, registers a paltry 216 search results on Amazon. Despite all that has changed over the past twenty years in terms of decentring art history, the magnitude of the imbalance is stark. To cite another example, Andy Warhol (8,780 results) is still much more marketable than Hélio Oiticica (91 results). It’s not just Amazon. Artnet.com lists 33,058 auction results for the former and fifty for the latter. The highest result at auction for a Warhol is US$105 million; for an Oiticica, US$615,000. Away from the vagaries of the marketplace and closer to the heart of academic art historians, Worldcat.org lists 16,785 book titles related to the American artist; 863 for the Brazilian. By any quantifiable indicator, Warhol is twenty to six hundred 179 Reviews times more interesting than Oiticica. Other artists active in the 1960s and 1970s who are not media celebrities on a par with Warhol – Joseph Beuys, Dan Flavin, Donald Judd, Yves Klein or Robert Smithson – similarly outperform Oiticica in all the categories cited above, from market prices to scholarly studies. And, of course, it is even worse for women like Lygia Clark, Lygia Pape or Mira Schendel. The harsh reality of the global art world is that national and linguistic origins still count a great deal. An unspoken corollary of that fact is that they matter for art historians too. Art markets impact museums and publishers and these, in turn, filter academic output in art history. Such influence takes place directly, through boards and endowments, and indirectly, through audience and press reception. A career-conscious scholar – one who wants to publish a successful book or curate a major exhibition – can ill afford to invest years of research into a subject perceived by the institutional art world as somehow peripheral. Thus, objects of ‘regional’ interest tend to generate less scholarly activity than those recognized as ‘universal’. For an Englishspeaking art historian, or even a French or German one, this is largely a matter of intellectual choice. Those who are passionate enough about a subject – say, Portuguese or Brazilian art – and are clever enough to acquire a second (or, more often than not, third) language, will probably be compensated for their efforts. The academic landscape of the USA, Britain and a handful of other countries is still sufficiently diverse that most specialisms can be accommodated. The situation is very different for art historians who happen to be born into the periphery, who train and labour outside the world’s advanced economies. No matter how mainstream the topic they work on may be in their own country, the Portuguese-language art historian moves towards the margins as soon as s/he submits a paper to a conference with a non-regional focus. Therein lies the vital role of scholarly associations and journals dedicated to Portuguese, Brazilian and Lusophone studies, without which the disconnect would be even greater.7 As budgets for education and culture are slashed worldwide, museums and publishers tend to become even more forbidding gatekeepers for peripheral objects trying to find their way into the mainstream. The art market has proven to be comparatively flexible in recent years, perhaps because it is not faced with a corresponding decline in revenue. In late 2017 and early 2018, respectively, auction houses Sotheby’s and Phillips announced the decision to integrate Latin American © Association for Art History 2019 artists into their main sales of twentieth-century and contemporary art.8 Following rising demand and prices for artists like Carmen Herrera, Hélio Oiticica and Mira Schendel, it makes economic sense to do so. This development has much to do with the increased presence of contemporary art from Latin America in museum collections in Europe and the USA. The timing cannot be dissociated from the generosity of the New York- and Caracas-based Colección Patricia Phelps de Cisneros in donating around 200 works to six museums, including MoMA and the Museo Reina Sofia.9 The effect on art history will surely be felt in years to come, as works housed in these major institutional collections are given curatorial attention, conservation efforts and even improved conditions of reproduction and licensing. Markets and institutions continually renew arthistorical canons, shaping each other through a process of mutual reinforcement. Hélio Oiticica provides a case study of how critics and curators may challenge these canons and, in turn, how institutions can validate and amplify a given art-historical position. Following his death in 1980, Oiticica was not very well known internationally, although much of his work had been produced in New York. Even in Brazil, his stature was nowhere near what it is today. The Projeto Hélio Oiticica, founded in 1981 by the artist’s two brothers, was originally a makeshift organization sustained by friends and family, fellow artists and a few critics who felt moved to preserve his legacy.10 Although Oiticica’s reputation in Brazil grew over the 1980s, their efforts were not substantially rewarded until much later. In 1992, a retrospective exhibition was organized by British critic Guy Brett, supported by a curatorial team that included Catherine David (presently, deputy director of the Musée National d’Art Moderne, Paris), Chris Dercon (former director of Tate Modern), artist and curator Luciano Figueiredo and artist Lygia Pape, the latter both Brazilian.11 Between 1992 and 1994, this show travelled through Rotterdam (Witte de With Center), Paris (Galerie Nationale du Jeu de Paume), Barcelona (Fundació Antoni Tàpies), Lisbon (Museu Calouste Gulbenkian) and Minneapolis (Walker Art Center), generating interest within the art world. A few years later, in 1997, documenta X, curated by Catherine David, dedicated a major space to Oiticica, in Kassel’s Kulturbahnhof, and managed to relocate him at a critical juncture in the development of contemporary art – strategically paired with fellow Brazilian Lygia Clark, shown in the Ottoneum – alongside Gerhard Richter, Marcel Broodthaers, Hans Haacke and Gordon 180 Reviews Matta-Clark, whose works anchored the main exhibition in the Fridericianum.12 The tenth edition of documenta galvanized critical attention and is today considered ‘a paradigmatic moment in curatorial history for thinking through the exhibition as a space of militant knowledge production’.13 The rest is history, as a surge of Englishlanguage scholarship on Oiticica in recent years attests. Limited as it may be when compared quantitatively with contemporaries from other national and linguistic backgrounds, the reinvention of Hélio Oiticica as a ‘universal’ artist is changing the face of art-historical practice in Brazil. Whereas almost any other aspect of Brazilian art is restricted to ‘regional’ forums, research on Oiticica, Clark and the neo-concrete movement has been thrust into the international limelight. Judging from discussions of the subject in English, someone ignorant of the history of Brazilian art might be forgiven for thinking it began in 1959. The effect on students of art history has been remarkable. A shift towards the contemporary has taken place over the past decade, with more and more research and publications dedicated to tracing the linkages arising from that period.14 It is true that a similar turn is under way in other national contexts, as the 1960s and 1970s recede into the historical distance. Nonetheless, in Brazil, interest in the period is compounded by the fact that Oiticica and Clark are the first local artists to carve out a place in the ‘universal’ canon. It is already unthinkable that a world history of art covering the past fifty years should exclude them. The closest precedent, in the Brazilian experience, is the status Oscar Niemeyer managed to achieve in architectural history during his lifetime.15 This shift in the canon has not, however, spawned increased interest in prior periods. There is no fast-track that can suddenly propel older Brazilian objects and topics into the mainstream of art-historical studies. For other regions of the Lusophone world, the effects are even more negligible, not to say non-existent. The surge of interest in the neo-concrete movement has, so far, generated scant dividends for the larger project of decentring art history. The problem extends beyond institutional structures, which are amenable to change over time, however slow. It is ingrained in the very nature of how art historians conceive of canons and unified narratives. As Partha Mitter noted a decade ago in his landmark essay ‘Decentering Modernism’, the discipline of art history has been constructed teleologically from Vasari and Winckelmann onwards and outwards, taking for granted an ideology of progress premised on embedded hierarchies of authority and © Association for Art History 2019 value. These presuppose the precedence of established power – and, indeed, perpetuate it – by interpreting the timeless principle of transcultural exchange as ‘influence’, ‘derivation’ or ‘dependence’, according to who is doing the borrowing from whom.16 No amount of cherry-picking of artists from outside the mainstream will alter the fundamental nature of the canon-building process. Despite his newfound celebrity, Oiticica is unlikely to become as canonical as, say, Warhol. The neo-concrete movement may well come to occupy a place in future histories of twentieth-century art comparable to that of Mexican muralism in the historical period immediately preceding it – that is, the ‘regional’ exception that bolsters the ‘universal’ rule. To broaden the canon is, in a deeper sense, to reinforce it. Mitter writes: ‘Despite its serious intentions, the “universalist” project of art history remains trapped within the constraints of Western epistemology, which cannot be remedied by a culturally determined self-reflexivity.’17 Writing a world history of art most often revolves around the procedure of absorbing the periphery into an a priori centre. No matter how effusively that task is carried out, the fundamental structural imbalance remains. Writing Art History from the Periphery All this discussion may seem to have little bearing on the original question of why Portuguese-language art history has produced no great authors or texts. The preceding detour was necessary to establish a few assumptions: (1) certain topics are considered of universal importance, while others of merely regional or localized interest; (2) universal value implies the existence of underlying canons that justify inclusion or exclusion in the larger narrative; (3) objects of regional interest may be incorporated into a canon through a process of renegotiating its boundaries; (4) the nature of renegotiation suggests that a limited number of arbiters are ultimately responsible for validating changes; (5) these arbiters are almost exclusively located in established centres of power in Western Europe and the USA. Despite the appearance of greater pluralism suggested by a term like ‘global studies’, notions of centre and periphery retain their validity and valence. This is obvious to any scholar working from the periphery but, for logical reasons, is less visible to those located in the centre(s). Structural aspects of the reinvention of Hélio Oiticica, discussed in the preceding section, serve to illustrate the point. The process was led from outside Brazil and ultimately validated by a few 181 Reviews key institutional players. Its ratification as art-historical knowledge is currently proceeding through Englishlanguage publishers and universities. The scholars may be Brazilian, non-Brazilian or some mixture of the two, but the scholarship is unmistakably Anglo-American. If an interpretation is not published in English, it is probably not recognized as part of the state of the art. The advantages of possessing a lingua franca for scholarly debate are multiple and not worth interrogating here. The disadvantages mostly have to do with loss of diversity, as well as the silencing of dissenting voices. Portuguese speakers may not always agree with the learned opinion imposed on them from abroad; but, if they are not entirely proficient in English, their objections are easily ignored. Many Brazilian scholars maintain a love/hate relationship with brasilianistas – a term used to designate foreign scholars who specialize in studying Brazil. On the one hand, they appreciate that such colleagues can provide dialogue and outside perspectives, as well as opening doors to powerful institutions in the USA and Europe. On the other, they deplore the ease with which misconstrued information or even pilfered research can find its way into the academic mainstream via such intermediaries. Not everyone is a linguist, though, so mediation and translation are important.18 Bilingual or bicultural scholars (like the author of this text) are often called upon to play such a role. Yet, this necessarily limits the number and variety of voices heard. Plus, it inflects readings away from discrepant or deviant approaches – often the ones most productive of new knowledge. For a Portuguese-language scholar to go against the grain of prevailing thinking in English, s/he must first conform to its standards. Even those who are comfortable writing in both languages are faced with the dilemma of choosing what to publish in which. The outcome of this prior selection is a self-imposed demarcation of knowledge according to strictures arising not from the object of study but from expectations about intended audiences, which may or may not be justified. An even subtler, but potentially more egregious, harm caused by the dominance of English is that it dissuades scholars on the periphery from studying those objects and topics considered of ‘universal’ importance. Since the ‘canonical’ is historically the preserve of intellectual lineages traced along national, linguistic and even institutional lines, it takes no small audacity to challenge the keepers of a canon in their own backyards. Unlike the top tier of institutions in the US and UK academic systems, which actively encourage students © Association for Art History 2019 to become specialists in foreign languages and cultures, Portuguese-language universities possess no comparable tradition of conquering the wider world through advanced research. Rather, students are mostly directed to the local and regional contexts they know best. The reasons for this parochialism are multiple. Scarcity of funding and resources limits travel, acquisitions and grants. University hiring largely takes place through a system of civil service examination (concurso público) which tends, both in Portugal and Brazil, to reward endogenous candidates, resulting in an academic culture distinctly less driven by innovation than conformity. More broadly, the political history of Lusophone countries over the past two centuries has veered between nationalist ideologies and de facto subservience to foreign powers, both of which hamper international engagement on a high intellectual level. Whatever the motives, it is comparatively unusual for a Portugueselanguage art historian to lay claim to a topic not directly grounded in national or regional experience. The result is a replication in the intellectual sphere of entrenched structures of colonial power, in which there is a clear division of labour between rulers and ruled. Linguistic irrelevance is the ultimate spectre for those who do not write English well. It is perfectly conceivable that a Portuguese-language scholar could author an important contribution to art history and it would go unnoticed. If that sounds far-fetched, the case of Hanna Levy-Deinhard provides an interesting cautionary tale. Pressured by growing anti-Semitism, Hanna Levy left her native Germany in 1933 and continued art-historical studies at the Sorbonne, where she successfully completed a doctoral dissertation on Heinrich Wölfflin in 1936. In Paris, she was closely associated with Max Raphael, with whom she coauthored a text on the sociology of art; and her work drew the attention of Raymond Aron and Lionello Venturi, among others. The elderly Wölfflin himself read the dissertation and complained of its biting criticisms.19 Levy moved to Brazil in 1937, where she embarked on a career as a researcher in the newly founded national heritage service, SPHAN, and published ground-breaking texts on Brazilian colonial painting. After 1948, she moved again, to New York, where she taught at Bard College and the New School for Social Research. The work she produced in Portuguese between 1941 and 1952 remained virtually unknown outside Brazil until very recently, when international scholarship began to recover it and recognize its importance, particularly in terms of redefining 182 Reviews theoretical conceptions of the Baroque.20 The sixty-year hiatus between its publication and belated reception by the wider art-historical community begs the question of how many other scholars fall through the cracks simply because they belong to disempowered groupings – by language, ethnicity, gender or, in the case of Hanna Levy, all three.21 Levy-Deinhard’s biography represents an extreme example of an excellent scholar penalized by lack of a solid institutional foothold. In today’s much larger and more interconnected academic world, works of exceptional quality would not go similarly unrecognized – or so we would like to think. The truth is probably the opposite. With myriad journals and conferences competing for attention, and the limited amount anyone can read outside their specialism, the odds of excellent work being overlooked are arguably greater, particularly if that work is published in a language other than English. The task of seeking out and promoting the best art-historical writing in all languages is an urgent one. At present, it is being carried out by only a very few institutions, like the journal Art in Translation or the Getty Foundation, whose ‘Connecting Art Histories’ initiative has already done much ‘to strengthen art history as a global discipline by fostering new intellectual exchanges among scholars in targeted regions whose economic or political realities have previously prevented collaboration’.22 At the university level, art history departments in the UK and US have been moving in the right direction for some time: increasing diversity of offerings on non-European subjects and hiring faculty from different regions and backgrounds to bring in necessary expertise. The difficulty is to sustain that turn towards global studies and expand upon it, rather than cutting back provision in response to dwindling funding, resurgent nationalism, political strictures and rising xenophobia. The greatest challenge lies, perhaps, with museums and publishers. How is it possible to produce more exhibitions and books about topics long considered marginal in an age when popularity, registered in numbers of clicks, is more important than ever? Recent shifts in audience preferences suggest there are openings to be explored. Who could have predicted, a few decades ago, that Amrita Sher-Gil or Alma Thomas or Ben Enwonmu would achieve the popularity their works are enjoying today? Markets can lead, as well as follow, societal trends. Ultimately, though, it is more a matter of collective resolve than economic constraints. As legendary German publisher Samuel Fischer phrased © Association for Art History 2019 it in an interview of 1914: ‘To impose new values on the public, which it does not want, is the most important and beautiful mission of the publisher.’23 If publishers and museum directors do not actively seek to promote a global understanding of art history, even against the misgivings of marketing departments, then the ideas that are shifting academic debate may never reach larger audiences. People will continue to clamour for more of what they know, rather than being delighted by the discovery of things they never even suspected existed. There is no shortage of fascinating subjects and scholarship. Given a platform and an audience, some of those art histories that have operated modestly in the past might even come to produce something supremely great. Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 Linda Nochlin, Women, Art, and Power and Other Essays, New York, 1989, 145–178. For Brazil in the modern and contemporary periods, overviews of recent art-historical writing can be found in the companion volumes: Vera Beatriz Siqueira, Roberto Conduru, Maria Berbara, and Marcelo Campos, eds, História da arte: Escutas and História da arte: Ensaios contemporâneos, Rio de Janeiro, 2011. Many current authors writing on the nineteenth century are represented in the four-volume series of anthologies titled Oitocentos, edited by Arthur Valle, Camila Dazzi, Ana M. T. Cavalcanti, Isabel Sanson Portella, and Rosangela da Silva Jesus, and published in varying editorial configurations between 2008 and 2014. On the place of women in the nineteenth century, see Ana Paula Cavalcanti Simioni, Profissão artista: Pintoras e escultoras acadêmicas brasileiras, São Paulo, 2008. On Afro-Brazilian art and identity, see Roberto Conduru, Pérolas negras, primeiros fios: Experiências artísticas e culturais nos fluxos entre África e Brasil, Rio de Janeiro, 2013. For an introduction to nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Brazilian art, see my A arte brasileira em 25 quadros (1790–1930), Rio de Janeiro, 2008. Kaira M. Cabañas, ‘O monolinguismo do global’, O Que Nos Faz Pensar, 26, 2017, 119–134. The colleagues who replied to the questionnaire are: Luís Urbano Afonso (Universidade de Lisboa), Maria Berbara (Universidade do Estado do Rio de Janeiro), Guilherme Bueno (Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais), Ana Cavalcanti (Universidade Federal do Rio de Janeiro), Pedro Lapa (Universidade de Lisboa), Vera Beatriz Siqueira (Universidade do Estado do Rio de Janeiro) and one more Brazilian colleague who requested to remain anonymous. I wish to thank them for their time and thoughtful replies, which have been duly incorporated into the present text. See, among many others, Aracy A. Amaral, Arte para quê?: A preocupação social na arte brasileira, São Paulo, 2003, third ed.; Aracy A. Amaral, Tarsila: Sua obra e seu tempo, São Paulo, 2003, third ed.; José Augusto França, A arte em Portugal no século XIX, Lisbon, 1990, third ed.; José Augusto França, A arte em Portugal no século XX, Lisbon, 1991, third ed. See, among many others, Roberto Schwarz, Misplaced Ideas: Essays on Brazilian Culture, London, 1992; Nicolau Sevcenko, Orfeu extático na metrópole: São Paulo, sociedade e cultura nos frementes anos 20, São Paulo, 1992; Sérgio Miceli, Nacional estrangeiro: História social e cultural do modernismo em São Paulo, São Paulo, 2003. Some long-established journals in English are: Luso-Brazilian Review, Latin American Research Review and Portuguese Studies Review. Associations include: the American Portuguese Studies Association, the Association for Spanish & Portuguese Historical Studies, the Brazilian Studies Association, the Latin American Studies Assocation, the Lusophone Studies Association. None of these is dedicated primarily to art history. Sara Roffino, ‘Phillips to incorporate its Latin American offering in its main contemporary auctions’, The Art Newspaper, 16 January 2018. 183 Reviews 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 Victoria Stapley-Brown, ‘Colección Patricia Phelps de Cisneros gives 200 works of Latin American contemporary art to six museums’, The Art Newspaper, 10 January 2018. See http://www.heliooiticica.org.br/english/projeto/projeto.htm. See the exhibition catalogue Hélio Oiticica, Rio de Janeiro, 1992, which was also published in other languages. See http://www.universes-in-universe.de/doc/oiticica/e_oitic1.htm; and Mónica Amor, ‘Documenta X’, Third Text, 11, 1997, 95–100. See also Irene V. Small, Hélio Oiticica: Folding the Frame, Chicago, 2016, 3, 243. Panos Kompatsiaris, The Politics of Contemporary Art Biennials: Spectacles of Critique, Theory and Art, New York, 2017, chapter three. See, among others, Claudia Calirman, Brazilian Art under Dictatorship: Antonio Manuel, Artur Barrio and Cildo Meireles, Durham, NC, 2012; Sérgio B. Martins, Constructing an Avant-Garde: Art in Brazil 1949–1979, Cambridge, MA, 2013; and Elena Shtromberg, Art Systems: Brazil and the 1970s, Austin, 2016. Niemeyer’s reputation was advanced internationally in the 1950s through publications such as Stamo Papadaki, The Work of Oscar Niemeyer, New York, 1951; and Stamo Papadaki, Oscar Niemeyer: Works in Progress, New York, 1956. After the inauguration of Brasília in 1960, he became a household name in Brazil. His longevity ensured that he was recognized worldwide by the time of his death in 2012. Partha Mitter, ‘Decentering Modernism: Art History and Avant-Garde Art from the Periphery’, Art Bulletin, 90, 2008, 531–548. Mitter, ‘Decentering Modernism’, 532. The journal Art in Translation, presently in its tenth year, is dedicated to this purpose. Daniela Pinheiro Machado Kern, ‘Hanna Levy e sua crítica aos Conceitos Fundamentais de Wölfflin’, Anais do 24º Encontro da Anpap, 2015, 137–149. See, among others, Jens Baumgarten and André Tavares, ‘Le baroque colonisateur: principales orientations théoriques dans la production historiographique’, Perspective (la revue de l’INHA), 2013: 2, 288–307; and Irene Below and Burcu Dogramaci, Kunst und Gesellschaft zwischen den Kulturen: die Kunsthistorikerin Hanna Levy-Deinhard im Exil und ihre Aktualität heute, Munich, 2016. The case of Paul Westheim, similarly driven into exile in Mexico, serves as an interesting counterpoint. See Peter Chametzky, ‘Paul Westheim in Mexico: A Cosmopolitan Man Contemplating the Heavens’, Oxford Art Journal, 24: 1, 2001, 25–43; and Ines Rotermund, ‘Die Realität des Visuellen. Der Kunstkritiker Paul Westheim und die französische Kunst’, in Rechts und Links der Seine: Pariser Tageblatt und Pariser Tageszeitung 1933–1940, ed. Hélène Roussel and Lutz Winckler, Tübingen, 2002, 129–144. http://www.getty.edu/foundation/initiatives/current/cah/index. html. Cited in Friedrich Pfäfflin and Ingrid Kussmaul, eds, S. Fischer-Verlag. Von der Gründung bis zur Rückkehr aus dem Exil (Marbacher Katalog, n.40), Marbach am Neckar, 1985, 271 [translation mine]. © Association for Art History 2019 184