The Seven-Hour Tour of Rio Ends Across the Bay in Niterói

Is this a perfect example of "retrofuturistic"? Yes. Yes, it is.

There is one reason to visit Niterói. Well, two, actually. The second is the spectacular view of Rio de Janeiro from across the Guanabara Bay. But the first is the one Oscar Niemeyer masterpiece located in the Rio de Janeiro metropolitan area: Museu de Arte Contemporânea de Niterói, or the Niterói Museum of Contemporary Art.

The collection inside the museum is laughably awful, even by the ultra-low standards (if indeed there are standards) of a "modern art" museum. The reason to go is the building itself, which is an artistic masterpiece of its era, even if it was built after its era passed.

The museum will built on a small bluff that provides a nice view of Guanabara Bay (but not as nice as the views we will see later).

On the roof are frigatebirds, which, I believe, generally stick to the lands between the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn.

 

And here I am, soaking in a perfect example of retrofuturistic architecture.

The general opinion is the building looks like a UFO.

Which is bizarre, since the building is obviously tethered to the land, albeit by a thin stem at the base. It's not "flying."

The building was opened in 1996, which is well after the end of the Space Age and the end of futuristic design. This is why we call this look "retrofuturistic," because it was what people used to think the future would look like. But doesn't. We don't have jetpacks or flying cars. We don't get our meals in pills. And our buildings do not look like tethered UFO's. Thus, this is a perfect example of "retrofuturistic" because it never passed through a phase of being merely "futuristic." The era of futuristic architecture had passed by the time it was built in 1996. The Space Age was over.

Let's have a look-see, shall we?

Walking down the corridors, searching for the art to be found within:

Does the building give off a very '60's vibe? It does.

That's because Niemeyer designed the building at the height of the Space Age in the 1960s, fresh off his masterwork designing the City of Brasilia. And although it was designed in the Golden Age of the Futuristic, it was not built until the 1990s, after the futuristic morphed into the retrofuturistic.

The building is the work of art. And the mnost beautiful sights are the views of Guanabara Bay seen either outside or inside the Niemeyer building.

Again, the building is the work of art here. Not the "art":

That is a giant four foot by four foot ashtray and a giant cigarette.

And it's not even a particularly well done giant ashtray and cigarette. Both look someone amateurish. The cigarette doesn't look like an actual cigarette. And the ashtray looks like it is covered in cheap off-brand aluminum foil. Not the good stuff. Not Reynolds Wrap. The cheap supermarket label stuff that rips before you are done unscrolling it.

Here's another view to give you some perspective on the size of the ashtray and cigarette.

I really feel sorry for the artist who did this work:

Shoes. You work hard (more or less) to create your "art" and they place in a world-famous Oscar Niemeyer-designed retrofuturistic modern art museum ... right next to the damn four-foot-by-four-foot giant ashtray and cigarette ... and suddenly you realize your own inadequacy. How can your work of shoes ever possibly compare to the transcendence of the giant four-foot-by-four-foot ashtray and cigarette? Why it would be enough for to force you to forsake your art career and get a job in an office.

What about this? Is this art?

It would make a cool chandelier. But I've seen many cool chandeliers in my day and I can't think of one that should be hanging in a museum rather than, say, over a dining table.

Maybe looking down on this work from the floor above will improve its artsiness:

Not quite, I fear.

As anyone who has ever taken a middle-school art class knows, collages make for art masterpieces:

Especially if you were to include broken used eyeglasses. I know Leonardo da Vinci is, somewhere, kicking himself for not including a real pair of broken used eyeglasses in his Mona Lisa. Michelangelo knows his Pieta is lessened by his failure to include a real pair of broken used eyeglasses.

Let's return to the motif of ashtrays and cigarettes. What would happen if you would shrink the size of the ashtray and cigarette down to, say, life size, and add some Michael Jackson?

In all honesty, I don't "get" the Michael Jackson/cigarette-and-ashtray combo plate. But, then again, I'm an uncultured philistine. Even worse, I was on Team Prince during the Prince vs. Michael Jackson wars in the 1980s. Keep on with the force don't stop.

This one giant canvas is not awful.

I know. "Not awful" is the highest praise I'm doling out here. It's derivative. It has an Henri Rousseau vibe to it. But derivative Henri Rousseau is superior to ashtrays, cigarettes, and MJ, is it not?

This one is a little to macabre for my taste, but it looked like some actual art-skill was involved.

Making fun of ultra-modern art is the easiest thing in the world. It takes as much talent as does creating the modern of which one is making the fun. Still, this photo is artsier than anything we'll see in the museum:

Off to the Niterói City Park hoping the rains keep holding off.

And here we meet Sri Chimroy.

Sri Chimroy was a big proponent of world peace. And that's a good thing. Worth a statue, if you ask me.

At this point in the city park you can stand on the paragliding launch pad and soak in the views of the Guanabara Bay.

Or look down on the City of Niterói.

I don't mean "look down" in the condescending way. Sorry. Although Rio de Janeiro is accused of "looking down" on Niterói in that very way. I meant "look down" as in I'm high above the city and the city is below. 

 

The bay too, I will not condescend to Guanabara Bay. Fun story as told to me by my guide. The original sailors who found Rio de Janeiro, upon sailing into the narrow entrance into the harbor from the Atlantic, thought the Guanabara Bay was a river. It was January. Hence the name: Rio de Janeiro. Rive of January.

Here I am standing on the paragliding launching pad.

Obviously I am not about to go paragliding. This seven-hour tour concludes because the clock has expired. Not because I have expired in a grotesque paragliding accident. Which would be the only possible outcome if I were to go paragliding.