If you seek to blend your literary forms into a single dish, then Crônicas might appeal to your tastes. This remarkably adaptable form mixes personal narratives with short stories, the fictional with the factual, the social with the cultural, and, on some days, simply tosses out all the rules. There’s a rich tradition of Crônicas in Portuguese literature, particularly in Brazil, where they have long appeared in newspapers—offering a flavor of city life, a brief opinion, a telling anecdote, or something very serious that might not be very true.
In a coffee shop, this past week, an old man sells tiny drawings. Though they are portraits, done in pen and ink, they are all symmetrical, the faces and backgrounds and compositions structured by an invisible grid.
“For as long as I can remember,” he waves his hand behind him, the pen in the air, “way back.”
He has been, he says, working in this style for a long time. Always symmetrical. Always a tad exaggerated. Always portraits of amusing faces. He wears a suit that commiserates with the beginning of his drawing style.
“People I know, sometimes, or just people that I see. This is a good place for people watching.”
The prices look reasonable. But sales, the man claims, are secondary. Some people buy. Most people don’t. But that can’t be the measurement—can it?—when he’s trying to evaluate his work.
He wants to create. That much is clear. He has a desire to lift his pen and place it on the page, tracing lines that reveal the visible manifestation of his desires. To shape at least a part of the world based on what’s stirring within him. But what determines success?
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