Ponto D’Orvalho is a festival that brings together national and international artists and cultural programmers in one of Portugal’s most unique regions—Alentejo. Projects from local to global perspectives converge here, united by a shared commitment to environmental practices and community building. This culturally rich region, steeped in tradition, is anticipated to be the next target for policies that promote growth through gentrification. For three days in rural Montemor-o-Novo, at Freixo do Meio, a variety of workshops, performances, conversations, dinners, and installations unfold around art and nature. These events serve as a reminder that community-led initiatives and sustainable practices are essential to shaping the future of Alentejo. The conversations published here capture insights from artists, organizations, and researchers, showcasing their diverse approaches and experiences as they navigate Alentejo’s shifting dynamics.
Cooperativa da Estação da Casa Branca
Rita Torres: Tell me a little about Cooperativa da Casa Branca. When did this project begin?
Manuel Correia da Silva: The Cooperative’s activities officially began in 2023. We established the Cooperative formally prior to that, following a contract we negotiated with the Portuguese infrastructures agency. This agreement, which spans the next 30 years, is a sub-concession of an old village that grew around the Casa Branca train station, still operational in the 1960s. Much of the village is in ruins, so we’re working to develop missing infrastructure as well as rebuild existing structures. Our aim is to repurpose these spaces primarily for social and cultural activities, breathing new life into a village with an aging population averaging 68 residents. Without revitalization, the village could soon disappear.
RT: You’re a self-managed, community-driven space in Montemor. Do you feel there’s a tradition of such spaces here, or are you pioneers in the region?
MCS: We’re certainly not the first. In fact, this cooperative stems from the work of Oficinas do Convento in Montemor-o-Novo, which has a long history of cultural initiatives and activism in the region. Casa Branca extends that mission, building on a heritage of community engagement within the rich cultural ecosystem of Alentejo. If you dig a little deeper, you’ll find that cultural activities and initiatives are vibrant throughout this area.
RT: Collectivity can be a powerful force in political spaces, mobilizing communities. Did you establish this project out of necessity for community mobilization, and has it been effective so far?
MCS: It’s still challenging to predict the full impact we might achieve. There’s clearly an active community of young people in the area, but we also feel a responsibility to engage the local residents of Casa Branca. This brings a new challenge—physical rebuilding is one thing, but we also need to rebuild relationships. Establishing a rapport between us, the newcomers, and those who’ve always lived here takes time and presence. Our goal is to stay long enough to nurture these connections and activate the spaces meaningfully with that foundation.
RT: In terms of gentrification in Alentejo, do you feel able to balance regeneration with preserving the region's authenticity, avoiding an unintended occupation?
MCS: It’s a difficult balance. The gentrification pressures from Évora, Lisbon, and other nearby urban centers are palpable. We hope to contribute positively and, over time, help counter some of the negative effects. Yet, we’re realistic; even our actions may inadvertently bring change, drawing new people and creating reasons for them to stay. Our aim is to approach this growth in the most fair and sustainable way we can. It’s a learning process.
RT: How do you engage with the community in your work?
MCS: We’ve come to see that time is the most important factor. We’ve hosted many creative and cultural residencies in Casa Branca, though these tend to be short-term. We need to establish systems that allow people to develop their work over longer periods. Equally important is allowing Casa Branca’s residents time to be receptive to newcomers, which we can’t force. This is why our contract spans 30 years—it gives us the opportunity to work with long-term goals in mind. With the right conditions, these relationships and projects will grow naturally.
Institute for Postnatural Studies (Yuri Tuma)
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Rita Torres: Why did you come to Ponto D’Orvalho, and how does it connect with your artistic practices?
Yuri Tuma: The invitation to come here was irresistible. When given the chance to practice or experiment with pedagogical or collective types of workshops, it’s always appealing to do so in a natural rather than urban environment. Especially for me, as I explore collective ways of creating and thinking together.
It’s one thing to talk about eco-sexuality, for example, on Zoom or in a building; it’s quite different to discuss it here, where people can actually connect with specific elements—plants, the sun, or other species. When researching sound, this idea of "nature’s silence" often comes up in city conversations. We’re constantly searching for a quiet space, a return to nature. Coming here and exploring the complexity of nature’s silence with others allows me to understand that true silence doesn’t exist in nature. The notion of silence is actually a capitalist strategy that sells well. Many people I talk to are looking for this “advertised” moment of silence outside the city.
RT: I’ll come back to sound soon, but first, when we talk about nature, the concept often seems self-evident. What’s your understanding of nature?
YT: One of the Institute for Postnatural Studies’ core principles is to recognize that there isn’t a single concept of nature. Nature and culture are constantly entangled. Your idea of nature depends not only on the culture you grew up with but also on your personal worldview. Nature is infinite. It’s woven with culture, technology, artificiality, politics, economy, social justice, and gender studies—it’s far more than the lush rainforest you might see on National Geographic.
RT: That’s interesting. I recently read Techgnosis by Erik Davis, where he references Bruno Latour, especially his book We Have Never Been Modern. Latour discusses the false divide between nature and culture, suggesting that nature is, in fact, culture. Do you feel your platform creates space for the “natural,” or is it more about recognizing this so-called “post” state?
YT: I don’t think I’m able to create space for the natural. In my practice, I prefer to explore how we can inhabit these spaces. For me, it’s a way to engage with territories through sound, collective practice, and our relationships with one another—which I also see as nature. It’s about creating moments of kinship, care, and sometimes critical discussions. I think these spaces might feel different, maybe more welcoming in a way.
RT: Latour also wrote, “(...) mixing plastic buckets and animal skin vessels (...) Mixing up times. (...) We have all become premodern again.” Your platform explores post-humanism; do you think the post-humanistic and premodern states can coexist?
YT: Absolutely. I like the idea of contradictory temporalities coexisting, particularly in Western culture, which typically views time as linear. By merging these super-human-centric categories—postmodern, premodern, post-human, prehistoric—we can break away from this linearity. It helps us see that history isn’t simply an evolution toward our current state but a complex, interwoven way of existing. Things aren’t so clean-cut.
RT: Your workshop here was about sound ecologies and active listening. What is the focus of your current work?
YT: I’m exploring various aspects of sound ecologies. Right now, I’m also studying the phonocene, an idea Donna Haraway proposed—a possible era where sound and listening are central to our relationships and could foster greater care, empathy, and attention in society. I’m also examining soundscapes and field recordings, questioning how art interacts with the sonic environment. For instance, when we record, are we appropriating sounds that belong to others? If we record a bird’s song and play it in a museum, are we appropriating its culture? Similarly, when AI attempts to interpret whale songs with human-centric definitions, are we truly translating?
I’ve recently begun researching sonic gendering, exploring how certain sounds are perceived as male or female. What happens when we start considering queer sounds? It challenges the normative ways we perceive feminine and masculine sounds.
RT: Where do you envision your work with the Institute for Postnatural Studies heading in the future?
YT: The concept of post-nature is so broad that it can encompass many research areas. Personally, I’m going to continue researching sound—it’s such a vast field. I’m also collaborating with Carmen Lael Hines, another Institute member, on a seminar called Cyber Witches and Feminist Technologies, where we’ll explore feminist theory in the digital space with invited guests. Queer theory and queer ecology are crucial to me, particularly in how we apply queer theory to sound, post-humanism, feminism, and fiction.
One thing I love about this work is how my colleagues’ ideas inspire and broaden my perspective. Sometimes I find myself thinking about sound through the post-natural landscapes they’re researching, which keeps the work dynamic and collaborative.
Cru Atelier (Miguel Castilho) & Pietro Degli Esposti
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Rita Torres: Tell me a bit about your artistic practice and what brings you here to Ponto D’Orvalho.
Miguel Castilho: I’m an architect at Cru Atelier, part of Minga, a cooperative based in Montemor-o-Novo. Minga includes various professionals: architects, engineers, farmers, shop owners, carpenters, and more. We came to Ponto D’Orvalho to conduct an introductory workshop on building with earth, using materials borrowed from Oficinas do Convento, an association in Montemor-o-Novo.
Pietro Degli Esposti: I’m also an architect. Personally, I believe in the potential of bio-based materials. They work in harmony with nature—they don’t try to overpower it but work alongside it, and they’re healthier for the environment. For me, it’s always a pleasure to work with and learn more about these ancient materials, which sometimes feel a bit forgotten. It’s amazing how materials with thousands of years of history can feel so relevant and timeless.
MC: In workshops like these, people usually leave with a sense that these materials and techniques aren’t distant or abstract. They’re very hands-on and adaptable to the user’s experience.
RT: In your workshop, you focused on brick-making. Harun Farocki, in his documentary In Comparison, says: “I wanted to find an object that had not changed too much in the past few thousand years. This could have been a shoe or a knife. But a brick becomes part of a building and therefore part of our environment. So, the brick appears as something of a poetic object.” The brick, besides being a building unit, becomes a symbolic material as well, a component that, when multiplied, builds walls, houses, and shelters.
How important is it to understand this material and its process—something so ancient, yet often distant from us today?
MC: There’s an Egyptian deity named Sekenet, represented as a brick with a woman’s head, symbolizing the significance of the brick. It was seen as something divine and as a building block of something larger. Working with masonry isn’t just about understanding individual bricks; it’s about understanding how they function in a system. A brick in a masonry structure collaborates with other units and structural components—mortar, reinforcements, beams, or columns. A brick can be a filler or the primary structure, depending on its intended use. Louis Kahn famously said, “Ask the brick what it wants to be, and it will tell you.” So, if a brick wants to be an arch, you have to respect that.
PE: In Kahn’s story, when someone said an arch was too expensive, the brick still replied, “I want to be an arch.” That was the end of the discussion! In a way, the brick is a foundational element—ancient yet essential. For example, adobe bricks alone aren’t particularly strong. But when combined as masonry, they form a strong wall. Testing one brick alone doesn’t reveal its true strength, but testing them together shows their potential. It’s a kind of metaphor.
RT: Like people.
PE: Exactly, like a community. Like a bundle of sticks.
MC: Before a brick is even a brick, it can also represent a unit of community. Dr. Maria Fernandes, an expert on adobe, shared with me how, in the council of Mira, they organized initiatives for communal adobe building. It’s a way for people to come together, and it speaks for itself.
PE: Working with these materials and techniques also connects you deeply with local culture. You’re not just learning a construction method—you’re learning part of the community’s heritage. Brick-making in Alentejo differs from other regions or countries. The dimensions reflect the people’s hands, as molds were historically sized for easy handling. In Mali, for example, traditional bricks are hand-molded, often due to a scarcity of wood for formwork, resulting in oval shapes that even bear the maker’s fingerprints. Though each brick may vary, they still serve the same purpose. The brick is a humble yet powerful symbol. If you can make a brick, you can make a wall. And if you can make a wall, you can make anything.
RT: This idea of communal construction reminds me of the documentary Os Índios da Meia-Praia, which is also the name of a Zeca Afonso song. It’s about a community, part of the SAAL projects in post-dictatorship Portugal, who took on building their own houses. There’s an iconic image of people lifting and carrying a house to place it where they wanted. Though they used wood, not brick, it was an incredible moment.
MC: Yes, I’m familiar with the SAAL projects. They were very significant.
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RT: How long has Cru Atelier been based in Montemor, and how has your presence impacted the local community?
MC: Cru Atelier started in 2019. I’ve been in Montemor for two and a half years, collaborating with local architects on land projects and renovations.
PE: I feel like my knowledge has grown significantly, thanks to my colleagues and other professionals. I’m very grateful to be part of this network of friends and architects. The collaborative environment at Oficinas do Convento, within the Minga collective, is inspiring and powerful. It’s based on community and shared knowledge, which feels like a meaningful and alternative way of working. I’d be happy to keep moving in that direction.
Manuel Calado
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Rita Torres: We’re in the Alentejo region, near Évora, a site of rich cultural and historical heritage. In your guided tour, you spoke about the uniqueness of this region due to its megalithic monuments. Could you expand on that topic? What drives you to focus your body of work on this region?
Manuel Calado: First of all, one of the main reasons is that I'm from Alentejo. Secondly, many years ago, when I was still a teenager, I had the fortune of encountering these monuments and being deeply impressed by them. They fascinated me. While such monuments are special all over the world, those here in Alentejo hold a particular significance. They symbolize an attitude we have today towards nature—that we are the masters of it all. We can transform the world, and we’ve made it our mission. This was also the mindset of the people who constructed these monuments. They operated on the conception that nature has flaws that we must improve. However, if nature is "wrong," do we truly have the capacity to transform it for the better? I don’t think so. All the changes we make to natural processes will inevitably have unpredictable consequences, and that's the problem. This also excuses the Neolithic people, who, like us today, didn't fully understand the implications of the changes they were making to the landscape and the world.
I think we’re at a crossroads where we realize that technology is advancing too far in many ways, but the idea of reverting to prehistory obviously doesn't make sense. Perhaps we can draw inspiration from some of the solutions we left behind, which could still be useful today. One example comes from the Western practice of anthropology. In the 19th century, there was a belief in the linear progression of cultures, culminating in the so-called "civilized" Western culture. However, in the 20th century, anthropologists began to question this notion, suggesting that all cultures are equivalent. For instance, American cultures have a different worldview compared to African cultures, but neither is inferior—both are valid in their own right. Modern anthropology has gone even further, proposing that we should learn from these cultures while there’s still time. Amazonian natives today, for various reasons, resist this interaction. They recognize that, in today's world, they possess secrets, solutions, and wisdom that could contribute to our understanding of the contemporary world. Of course, I don’t intend to resurrect prehistoric solutions or to live as people did in those times. While it might be beautiful, it’s not realistic. However, we should remember that if we take a wrong turn, we can always backtrack and explore whether the alternative path would yield better results.
RT: In your article “Sacred Valley of Lucefécit: Loose Rocks for the Construction of a Myth,” you discuss the intersection of popular storytelling practices in the region and its archaeology, and how these myths permeate the constructed fabric of the city. Do you find that archaeology tends to reveal itself as communal?
MC: Science, wisdom, and knowledge are neither inherently good nor bad; it depends on how we utilize them, and archaeology is no exception. I do view it as communal in the sense that the questions I pose to it and the answers it yields are not for individual consumption. From the outset, I perceive them as collective community issues. In Brazil, for example, the concept of archaeology linked to community has a very particular meaning. An archaeologist won't excavate a site without first engaging with the local community—explaining what they’re doing in their territory and, at the same time, asking what the community knows, facilitating knowledge-sharing between them.
RT: You taught at the Faculty of Fine Arts in Lisbon. How do you find your study of archaeology relates to contemporary artistic practices, and how do the two mesh and complement one another?
MC: Rock art represents the earliest instances of pictorial and graphic manifestations. Menhirs are often categorized as architecture by history teachers; however, I don’t view menhirs solely as architecture, but primarily as sculpture. In fact, they are not just sculpture but also statuary and engravings. Menhirs belong to the history of universal art in many ways. On one hand, art has a communicative dimension, whether aesthetic or ideological. Megalithic monuments served as public works that communicated information—when you create a massive, monumental piece, you're showcasing what you’re capable of doing.
On the other hand, I see the history of Western art as having two main trajectories. Approximately 70,000 years ago, we have the oldest known engravings and paintings of linear geometric forms—zigzags, squares, circles—which are references to the material world and represent abstract concepts. Subsequently, we see the emergence of figurative art, exemplified by European Paleolithic art with its depictions of horses and bulls. There is a theory in European art, particularly in archaeology, suggesting that these geometric images stem from the central nervous system and altered states of consciousness, hypothesizing that it was from this inner psychological experience that the externalization of such motifs developed. Personally, I disagree. I believe it relates more closely to baskets and handicrafts, which were likely integral to constructing mental frameworks and functionality. Tim Ingold articulates this beautifully, arguing that we can observe the influence of textile arts in etymology—the similarity between the terms text and textile, line and line, is no coincidence. Writing itself developed in horizontal or vertical lines, in a linear and geometric fashion, influenced by experiences in fiber arts, sealing, basketry, and cordage. Meanwhile, geometric art continues to thrive, enduring for millennia.
In the Neolithic era, figurative art underwent significant transformation, which I term schematism. The most famous example is the anthropomorphic figure, represented by just a few strokes that convey the essence of a person. This remains within the figurative realm, yet embodies an abstracting evolution. Consequently, menhirs inscribe themselves on this evolutionary path of art history, even mimicking the processes of modern art. Therefore, I believe that the megalithic monuments and menhirs I study are intimately linked to the history of art and the fundamental questions surrounding graphic communication and the history of graphic art today.
RT: The textile arts are considered one of the most revolutionary techniques of the time, and textiles continue to drive technological innovations even today. For instance, the loom is regarded as one of the distant relatives of modern computation. Ada Lovelace famously compared the Jacquard Loom to Charles Babbage’s Analytical Engine, illustrating how the logic of computing is also influenced by the pattern-making of textile arts, much like you suggest art has been.
MC: Exactly. For example, the Incas utilized quipus, which served as their method of writing and record-keeping using strings. We have fibers as a basic element of this entire fiber revolution. First, you create the rope, and then all the applications follow. Fiber arts today have diminished in social value—baskets and fabrics are produced by the millions, making it difficult for us to appreciate the importance of this craft on the natural world, its cultural impact, and to understand just how revolutionary it once was. It was a revelation for me to realize that fiber arts, those humble, discrete baskets, played a significant role in shaping our minds.
RT: As an archaeologist studying primarily the past, I would love to ask you about the future. What would you like to see for the future of Montemor as it grows and changes demographically and architecturally?
MC: My greatest hope for the future is that the project being developed in Freixo can thrive. We need to regain respect for nature and cultivate humility. We must relinquish arrogance. We need to manage our resources wisely, and then we’ll see how our future unfolds. Just as in Montemor, the world currently requires forests, trees, and respect for them. We need to understand that our lives ultimately depend on restoring a world we have harmed.
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In its 2024 edition, the festival counted with the participation of Adriana João, Andreia Garcia, Antonina Mowacha, Ari.You.Ok, Cru Atelier, Estação Cooperativa Casa Branca, Francisco Alves, Francesca Heart, Tua Madre, Futuros do Passado, Jacira da Conceição, Joana Bértholo, Lara Espírito Santo & George Macleod, Manuel Calado, Mariana Sanchez Salvador, Oseias, Pedro Alves Sousa, Pietro Degli Esposti, Pousio, Rafael Toral, The Gramounce, Violeta Azevedo and Yuri Tuma.
This year’s edition was supported by CCDR Alentejo, Oficinas do Convento, Convento de São Domingos, Cooperativa Integral Minga, Montado do Freixo do Meio, Município de Montemor-O-Novo, União de Freguesias, O Espaço do Tempo, Umbigo Magazine, Arts Of The Working Class, Aquela Kombucha, Pão da São, Ciclo Vinhos, Nomad PopUp Hotel, Quinta do Olival da Murta, Delta Cafés, and Super Bock.
- IMAGE CREDITS
Cover: “Soil Ecologies” roundtable between Lara Espírito Santo and George McLeod, Francisco Alves, Mariana Sanchez Salvador, Joana Bértholo and Cooperative Casa Branca, moderated by Andreia Garcia, at Freixo do Meio. September 2024. Photograph by Francisco Fidalgo.
fig. 1,2: Yuri Tuma’s workshop “Um Soar Coletivo” at Freixo do Meio. September 2024. Photograph by Francisco Fidalgo.
fig. 3: “Constructive Possibilities of the Soil” workshop, by Cru Atelier and MaTierra, at Freixo do Meio. September 2024. Photograph by Francisco Fidalgo.
fig. 4: António da Cunha Telles, Continuar a Viver ou Os Índios da Meia-Praia, Portugal, 1976
fig. 5: Manuel Calado’s guided tour, “The Origins”, at Freixo do Meio. September 2024. Photograph by Francisco Fidalgo.
BIOS
Cooperativa da Estação da Casa Branca
Cooperativa da Estação da Casa Branca is a cultural cooperative based in the old train station in the village of Casa Branca. It represents a group of people and entities interested in reflecting on the role of culture, sustainability, and innovation in the regeneration and revitalization of desertified and aging rural territories and in laying the foundations for a participatory, collaborative, and empowered collective intervention.
Institute for Postnatural Studies/ Yuri Tuma
The Institute for Postnatural Studies is a center for artistic experimentation to explore and problematize postnature as a framework for contemporary creation. It’s a platform for critical thinking and a network that brings together artists and researchers concerned about the issues of the global ecological crisis through experimental formats of exchange and the production of open knowledge. From a multidisciplinary approach, the Institute develops long-term research focused on issues such as ecology, coexistence, politics, and territories, through seminars, exhibitions, and residencies as spaces for academic and artistic experimentation.
Cru Atelier (Miguel Castilho) & Pietro Degli Esposti
CRU Atelier is a practice integrated into Cooperativa Integral Minga, in Montemor-o-Novo, focused on a responsible constructive premise fueled by an in-depth analysis of the ethical, aesthetic, and energetic qualities of materials and local knowledge. The studio seeks to contribute to the deepening and dissemination of construction and architectural knowledge.
Pietro Degli Esposti is an architect based in Montemor-o-Novo, Portugal, and the founder of the architecture and construction atelier Matierra. His major focus is designing and building with ecological materials, such as fibers and raw earth.
Manuel Calado was a professor at the Faculty of Letters and Fine Arts of the University of Lisbon, who worked in Alentejo, Arrábida and in the Amazon. Works mainly with megalithism and rock art. Likes to walk the countryside, having dedicated a good part of his time to archeological prospecting. Believes in the importance of public archeology.
