In a world saturated with noise, Keila Pommer’s art listens. Not with ears, but with the soul —
that ancestral part of us still moved by the whisper of a decaying leaf or the solemn silence of
a root stretching out in search of life. In her work, the forest is not a backdrop: it is a character,
a womb, a verb in its rawest form.
Keila paints with reverence. Each brushstroke is a kind of prayer — not a plea, but an
acknowledgment: we are not masters of nature, we are her children. And in that recognition,
her work takes root: like someone planting an idea, cultivating a memory, or returning dignity
to a forest long stripped of it.
For Keila, the Amazon is a mother — exhausted, but still loving. If portrayed by her, she would
have hair thick like the treetops, eyes dark like the igarapés, and skin in earthy tones — the
planet’s dermis that shelters everything. The artist sees her as a generous entity, even in her
fatigue. And it is this quiet generosity that spills across her canvases: colors that don’t scream,
but assert themselves through presence; silences that don’t end, but teach.
Her artistic practice is not only aesthetic — it’s ethical. By representing Indigenous peoples and
elements of the forest, Keila invites us to reflect on the role of these natural guardians — men
and women who don’t own the land, but belong to it. Her work becomes a subtle protest and a
raw poem, where human figuration merges with ancestry and resistance.
The strength of a river and the fragility of a leaf are not contradictions in her art, but symbiotic
parallels. The river, powerful and instinctive, flows like courage. The leaf, discreet and essential,
reminds us of the vitality in softness. Both inhabit Keila’s imagination — visual metaphors for
her own artistic journey: an artist who moves between strength and grace, protest and
wonder.
If she could spend a month inside the forest, Keila would paint the Samaúma tree — not just
for its grandeur, but for everything it represents: resilience, ancestry, presence. And perhaps
that is her silent mission: to paint the forest so it doesn’t vanish from our consciousness, so
that its lessons continue to echo even as the world tries to forget them.
When we look at her work, we are invited to dive in — not into rivers, but into truths. The
Amazon that Keila offers is not the one seen on maps or in statistics. It is symbolic, alive, and
urgent — an artistic organism pulsing with color, memory, pain, and hope. And above all, it
reminds us that preservation is not a noble gesture — it is a necessary one.
Instagram: @estudiookan_artesvisuais