Santa Cruz
Matilde Travassos revisits a space that has accompanied her since early childhood: Santa Cruz Hospital, which specializes in cardiology and where she underwent surgeries at the ages of 1, 11, and 33.
It is a place she knew in its existential essence as a patient, but not as a photographer. As an artist, she now examines a physical space rich in history, exploring its architecture, location, and significance as a public hospital that saves millions of lives, regardless of people's social status—a service we can still call truly public.
During this "démarche," Matilde began photographing over several days, blending affection and objectivity. Her images convey a particular attention to others, with deep respect and empathy present in all her portraits, perhaps because she has experienced the same (as she eventually confesses to some patients and their families). But the work is not only about emotions; it also reflects a sharpness of vision, evident in the way the spaces are photographed, the surgeries, and the anticipation of daylight. Through this emotional gaze, Matilde celebrates life, humanity, and beauty.
Read below a conversation between João Paulo Serafim, the curator of the exhibition, and Matilde Travassos.
JP: I would like you to talk a little about this photographic project and explain what this work is about.
MT: The idea for this work came about when I took my daughter to the doctor because of a heart murmur. Since I was born with several heart problems, I was quite worried, but luckily, she was fine. The doctor, who had been my pediatric cardiologist, Dr. Rui Anjos, found it amusing that I had become a photographer and suggested I do something related to photography at Santa Cruz Hospital. I went home, thought about it, and realized it was indeed an interesting idea.
This type of work is not what I usually do. I’m not a documentary photographer—or at least, that’s debatable—but this was outside of what I typically do. I started thinking about the hospital and its architecture, and I made a quick decision. I got permission from the hospital’s management and wandered around with a lab coat and a badge. I started photographing without much direction.
Santa Cruz is a small hospital, so the workers quickly began to recognize me. People wondered, what was a photographer doing with such a big tripod? Sometimes, they were suspicious, and I had to constantly explain myself. And so this project was born, which I will now be showing at Util’s showroom.
JP: How did it feel to return to a hospital that you knew so well?
MT: Yes, I was operated on at that hospital three times. Every year, as a child, I would go there to check on my heart. I was born with an aortic valve defect, among other problems. It was discovered right at birth, and I had surgery at 15 months to repair the ductus arteriosus. Later, at 11, I had another operation to repair the valve, and at 33, after getting married, I had to decide to replace the valve with a pig valve so that my heart could handle a possible pregnancy!
Each of those experiences was very different. I don’t remember the first one, as I was a baby. The second, at 11 years old, was terrifying and very difficult. The last operation, as an adult, was more thought-out. Despite being a very complicated open-heart surgery, it felt easier. Medicine had advanced a lot by then, and I wanted to have children, so I was motivated by that.
JP: From a more personal perspective, how was it to find yourself, as a photographer, in a place filled with memories and emotions? How did you develop your work as an artist while also being a patient?
MT: That personal experience ended up being my way in. I think the fact that I had been through so much there and had surgeries made people more empathetic toward me. The hardest part was the pediatric section, where there are so many children, some newborns, suffering immensely.
I was confronted with my own past suffering, memories I didn’t fully recall, and suddenly, it all came flooding back. Being a mother myself, it was even harder to imagine my own mother’s pain, and the pain of the parents there. I had to manage all those emotions while photographing.
It’s not an area I’ve practiced much, photographing emotionally challenging situations, so I had to pace myself. Some days, I would spend time in pediatrics, talking to the parents, sharing my experience to give them hope—after all, I had been in their children’s shoes, and here I was, fine! But I would come home with a stomach ache from all the emotions. So the next day, I wouldn’t go to pediatrics. I’d focus on the architecture or other lighter things.
JP: Were these choices on what to photograph more spontaneous, or did you plan ahead?
MT: It was a mix. I did need permissions for certain things, like surgeries. But yes, if one day I felt more emotionally fragile, I’d give myself space and focus on something lighter, like the architecture. I had to manage it spontaneously depending on how I felt.
JP: Did you view the material you were producing daily? How did you manage that?
MT: I like to look at everything right away, and at the end of the week, I would print small proofs and lay them out to see what was missing or what wasn’t. Some things just happen by being there—serendipitous encounters or moments that you don’t plan for but just happen.
JP: Do your works usually have an autobiographical element, or was this an exception?
MT: My projects don’t start with that intention, but they end up becoming somewhat personal. My last project was like that—I started photographing a lot because I was pregnant and thought my career as a photographer might end. The project became dedicated to my son. So while it’s not fully autobiographical, it’s personal. This project, however, does have a more autobiographical element, even if it’s not immediately obvious in the images.
JP: Despite the personal nature of the project, the images don’t seem overtly autobiographical. Was that intentional?
MT: Yes, the images are connected to things I lived through, even if they aren’t explicit. I’m a bit shy, and my autobiographical elements are never too obvious. For example, I had a photo of my scar, but I chose not to include it. I’m not interested in exposing myself that way—I prefer to keep things more subtle.
JP: Do you think photography and art, in general, are essential for processing life, memories, and experiences?
MT: Yes, especially now. Photography is everything today. When I started, few people were interested in photography, but now it’s everywhere. However, that also means it’s harder to distinguish what’s truly special. In a project like this, about a hospital, people might expect something very documentary, maybe dramatic. But I’m more interested in showing my way of seeing things.
JP: Have you shared any of your work with people at the hospital?
MT: Yes, I’ve sent photos via text, and they liked them! One particularly touching experience was when a priest told parents about me—he had baptized their baby before surgery and used me as an example of hope. Later, they contacted me for one of my photos as a keepsake of their experience, which was very emotional for me.
JP: Do you feel the project is finished, or do you plan to continue?
MT: It’s not completely finished, as I’ll likely have to go back for surgery again. Maybe I’ll photograph that experience!
JP: Why did you choose to exhibit the work before creating the book you had planned?
MT: I had many images, and it was hard to choose. Your help was crucial in helping me see what I really wanted to show. Some images, I knew right away would be included. The exhibition space also influenced the narrative—my goal wasn’t to show how a hospital functions, but to offer a different perspective, to look at things beyond their function.
JP: Your work conveys a sense of calm and serenity, which is almost contradictory in a hospital setting. But your portraits show a deep respect for the subjects, especially the children. How did you strike that balance between tenderness and avoiding sentimentality?
MT: I try to show my way of seeing the world and hope that it makes people look at the seemingly banal or uninteresting with more attention. It’s not common to see photographs of hospitals that aren’t dramatic. I hope my work offers a different way of looking.
Matilde Travassos
João Paulo Serafim
Solo Exhibition Santa Cruz, Util, Lisboa September 2024
