A couple weeks ago, I was looking through an arts magazine in a bookstore in Rio and noticed an event listing for a Glauco Rodrigues show in São Paulo. I did one of those slow, shocked-face pan-ups from what I was reading like they do in the movies then proceeded to scribble down the details about the show on my hand (above which I wrote a threatening reminder: “WASH HAND AND DIE”). I was visiting São Paulo the next week and probably would’ve had a conniption if I missed it.

What can I even say about Glauco Rodrigues? I feel like any attempt I could give to describe his work would only diminish its impact. Suffice it to say, he was (and is) an extremely iconic and influential Brazilian artist – he depicted Brazilian culture in familiar terms (its vibrancy, its color, its larger-than-life appeal), but did so in solemn and reverential tones. Glauco had a really remarkable sense of restraint that allowed his work to dance along the edge without going over. It was self-conscious kitsch at its best.

Needless to say, I made it to the show.

(Photos from Eye4Design)

Turns out it was all print work (gorgeous screen, litho, and relief prints - he was a master) which was a nice surprise since I’d only seen his paintings and drawings before. I tried to take time to enjoy the prints, but I was mostly preoccupied with trying to figure out how I could sneak out with one under my shirt. That’s why I kind of geeked out when I went up to the second floor of the exhibition and noticed some vinyl record sleeves he’d illustrated for João Bosco on display (another Brazilian legend, this one a musician). It occurred to me that I could have my very own Glauco Rodrigues prints if I could manage to get my hands on one of these Bosco records.

The following weeks were spent scouring record shops for any LPs with Glauco Rodrigues illustrations on them (two sleeves in specific that I was really pining for), but I wasn’t having much luck. I started thinking like a crazy person. I thought about all the people who owned copies and kept them in privileged spaces next to their record players. I thought about them running their hands over the sleeves, putting the records on the player, closing their eyes and reveling in their smug euphoria. I didn’t blame these people for holding on to those beautiful treasures, but I loathed them for it.

Just when I thought I’d seen every single record in Brazil, I came across a pop-up record stand today on the way to take care of some government paperwork downtown. I started sifting through the records one by one, my soul barren of any hope at this point, and then suddenly… could it be?

My heart stopped. My knees got week. I’m fairly certain I blacked out for a second. Lo and behold, there they were, BOTH of the copies I was looking for, sitting there like God’s little angels welcoming me into paradise. And I somehow managed to pay under $15 for both of them.

The heavens smiled on me today.