notice – something was born there
something
that never existed before.
I didn’t know it yet, but my first studio was my childhood bedroom.
In front of my bed, there was a small wooden desk surrounded by shelves filled with books, some toys, and many more books. Books I hadn’t chosen myself. Heavy hardcover books, books that told me about places I would one day come to know; some of this world, others not. A secret passage. Outside, a tree, in the distance, a bird, the world.
Even before I learned to read, I would open some of those books—still objects of promise—and leave marks on the blank pages. Messages for my future self: a dog with too many legs, a bird plucking flowers from a garden, a girl with her umbrella closed, surprise in her eyes.
Today, handling books from the past, I can still find some of these messages. The Woman Who Killed the Fish, by Clarice Lispector, was one of the books that offered me the most comfort. A children’s book could, and should, address violence and death. Carlos Scliar’s quick brushstroke ink illustrations told me that colors weren’t always essential to a child’s gaze, that lines were a language of their own in drawing. And that drawing and writing could—and should—emerge from deep within.
While listening to music on the radio, I created stories on the backs of continuous forms my father brought home from work—those old computer forms, with perforated sides and now-useless codes. I flipped them over, disregarding the codes just as I disregarded colored pencils. I liked the lines drawn by pens, I liked drawing words. There seemed to be no separate territory between writing and drawing.
So I can say that I carry my in suitcase the childhood studio I have built. In every space I have occupied, where I often improvised a corner to draw, it always began the same way: my bed, a table, a bookshelf full of books. Drawing as a language. Outside, a tree, in the distance, a bird, the world.
When I arrived in my newest life in the mountains and opened that suitcase, I found the tree and the bird. I found the world. I found the essential materials: ink, watercolor, graphite pencils, brushes, paper. I found tiny pieces knitted by my great-grandmother’s hands: doll clothes, a turtle, a cup and saucer. Perhaps my love for small things and handmade work comes from her. Gaston Bachelard once said, “Miniature is one of the homes of greatness.”
And of course, I found books, many of them. Heavy hardcover books, books I chose myself. Between slow walks—because there is no space for hurry; nature moves at its own pace— I resumed some studies and writing, still slowly but in harmony with drawing.
Today, I think of drawing and writing as a single language as I work on illustrated books of my own. It is a dense territory, where writing and drawing take turns, without hierarchy or a set plan. Like the torrential rain that burst in the distance, drawing gradually sets itself free. I rebuild my studio, an eternal return to childhoods. Many childhoods.
My own, borrowed and invented. Dreamed childhoods.
Since childhood, she has been drawing and creating narratives, always knowing this would be her profession. Her work has been exhibited in various cities in Brazil, Europe, and the United States, and she has been selected for important Artist Residencies. Thais’ illustrations have been featured in numerous national and international publications, including Juxtapoz Art & Culture magazine and the Munich Opera magazine. Over the course of her career, she has illustrated dozens of books, some of which have received prestigious awards, such as the Jabuti Prize, and have been included in notable selections.
Recently, she debuted as a writer, with some of her texts published in the anthologies Contágios, by the Portuguese publisher Visgarolho, and Esquizoestórias – Experiments with Literature and Schizoanalysis, by Fábrica de Cânones Publishing House.
With over 20 years of experience, Beltrame was born in São Paulo but has lived in various places. In 2020, she moved to a small town in the Mantiqueira Mountains, where she dedicates herself to creating her own illustrated books, observing birds, and, when the fog allows, the moon.
You can find out more about Thais Beltrame at: @thaisbeltrame // thaisbeltrame.com
Photos B&W: Anita Goes. Other images: Courtesy of the artist.
