A narrative poem which is a path, but a path without order. Order, when it exists, is found in the brushstroke. Here we are not seeking explicit time but a timelessness of magic colouration. The Atlantic Forest, European gardens, extended plains of cactuses: all summed up in a human gesture. Or as someone once said, the hearts of men fit onto these giant canvases. Gabriela Machado’s work is a pure means of expressing the love between man and nature. Between blood and water, between the line of an arm and a drawn line. This is painting of eternal birth, of constant renewal. These are strong, rough, firm, soft, compound colours. An entire, wholly natural body, both inside and outside the museum. This is the expression of dance, and dance is everything that breathes and sings. Within these walls is the garden of the world.