PREFACE
The collection of watercolors that make up the book Boats of the Amazon, by Edilberto Lima, deals with nothing less than the world of waters as the artery of Amazonian life. Rivers, streams, channels, and lakes are far more than natural resources; they are the vital force that connects and sustains all ecosystems and communities in the region. Here, boats travel along the liquid roads of the Amazon. Vessels are the backbone of transportation and daily life in the Amazon, since for riverine communities they are the only means of access to municipalities and settlements.
The images are the substance of journeys, memories, and lifelong observation. Although they portray dated scenes, they ultimately convey content that transcends mere documentary record. They are visual poetry, recalling for us the work of Manoel Bandeira, Bruno de Menezes, Paulo Plínio Abreu, and Max Martins. The first glance carries the desire of testimony, which can be perceived through four fundamental perspectives. First, boats as means of transportation and commerce. Edilberto Lima depicts vessels carrying people, connecting remote communities to urban markets, and enabling the circulation of essential goods—fish and açaí. There is also a visual reflection on identity, since shipyards and the entire field of naval engineering—an area of great interest to the artist—constitute a traditional art transmitted across generations, with specific techniques and knowledge that reflect riverine culture and material wisdom. One cannot confuse a vigilenga with a rabeta, a skiff with an igarité, a canoe with a montaria.
A third perspective reveals a clear idea of adaptation to the environment. The variety of Amazonian boats, once referred to as ubás, demonstrates how peoples adapted to their surroundings. These vessels are designed to navigate large rivers and lakes, accommodating fluctuations in water levels, and are often the sole means of transportation for families. Finally, the boat emerges as a place of life and labor. Beyond transportation, vessels function as floating shops, such as those of the regatões, or as floating homes—spaces of dwelling and social interaction—rooting riverine cultural life in the very dynamics of the waters.
That said, I would like to highlight two crucial themes in the book, seldom emphasized even within the rich tradition of Pará photography. The first concerns the relationship between shipyards and Amazonian naval culture. It is evident that this entire craft and nautical industry extends far beyond the simple construction and repair of vessels; it is fundamental to the economy, culture, and everyday life of the region. The artist shows—and subtly suggests—that wooden boatbuilding in the Amazon is grounded in ancestral tradition, passed down through generations of master carpenters, cabinetmakers, and caulkers. This cultural legacy forms part of traditional knowledge, and the images presented here, arranged almost as a repertoire of drawings, invite reflection on expertise in wood, construction techniques, and adaptation to river conditions.
There is also, undeniably, a sense of nostalgia within this visual culture—a longing for what has passed, for what still exists, or for what may disappear. By creating a notebook of drawings of Amazonian boats, the artist immediately affirms the culture of waters as cultural heritage, a theme partially musealized in the Amazonian Navigation Memorial at Mangal das Garças, in Belém. Yet far from belonging solely to the past, the economic importance of shipyards remains crucial to contemporary daily life. In the language of logistics and transportation, these boats lie at the heart of Amazonian supply chains. Without them, life in the Amazon would be unfeasible—from transport to Marajó Island cities to crossings to the island of Combu, documented by Edilberto Lima, with its small ports where stairways, docks, and restaurants coexist alongside homes and backyard gardens. This knowledge has also generated networks of employment and income for cities. Master naval artisans hold valuable and vital expertise for the region, constantly renewed and expanded.
Beneath these images, however, lies a call to reflect on the challenges and sustainability of these forms of knowledge. Images are never innocent, despite their playful and simple appearance. When viewing traditional boats, we must recognize that Amazonian traditional shipbuilding faces competition from modern vessels and a lack of public policies that value and promote artisanal practices. At the same time, boatbuilding must address sustainability, rational use of wood, and the encouragement of reforestation of commonly used species—issues already present within local communities, given the ongoing need to renew the regional fleet.
Another crucial theme in Edilberto Lima’s work is the relationship between boats and riverine cities. The artist is clearly an observer of arrivals and departures along the beaches of Salinas and Mosqueiro, while also documenting the movement of people and goods, architecture, and the way rivers shape urban life in Belém—particularly at the Ver-o-Peso dock, a landscape with over three centuries of visual narrative. Here, rivers and sea constitute a vital and multidimensional link to existence itself. Where roads do not exist, rivers are pathways. Scenes of labor and rest unfold alongside enduring images etched into our collective memory, populated by familiar figures of the ports, whether fishermen or vultures.
The black vulture (Coragyps atratus) reigns supreme at Ver-o-Peso and is the species most adapted to Belém’s urban areas. It appears in these images as a central figure in our cognitive landscape. We know they clean what remains—fish waste and viscera—an aspect widely noted by European travelers and naturalists, particularly in the nineteenth century. There were even debates in the Belém City Council regarding the vulture’s role in disease control, since by consuming carcasses they prevent the spread of bacteria and pathogens. Vultures have long been essential to maintaining cleanliness, reducing decomposing organic waste. Finally, as in the engravings of Oswaldo Goeldi, they signify that everything is in its place. An ecological balance does not imply flower gardens, but the presence of living beings sensitive to environmental change.
Thus, Edilberto Lima presents an Amazon both to those unfamiliar with it and to those who believe they already know it well. This narrative rejects isolation. Contrary to romanticized images of boats arriving at or departing from isolated communities, what we encounter here is a visual testimony of connection—linking communities to larger urban centers with relative speed, allowing riverine populations access to essential services such as healthcare, education, and tourism. Boats also foster integration among different communities and municipalities, weaving together a network of interconnected cities, islands, and villages through waterways.
The açaí and fish depicted in the watercolors are signs of a vibrant economy. The transport of goods—from food and basic products to vehicles and construction materials—relies primarily on boats, ensuring supply for riverine cities. Production flows through the waters. The extensive networks of açaí, Brazil nuts, other fruits, and fish reach larger urban markets by boat, driving regional economies. Yet above all, the artist’s line seeks culture and identity—a rhythm of life shaped by rivers, arrivals, and departures, experienced by the artist and his family during their stays in Salinas. Boat travel fosters continuous exchanges, where stories, knowledge, and traditions circulate among passengers.
Edilberto Lima asserts an Amazonian visual identity in which boats are integral to urban life: Porto do Sal, Porto da Palha, Estrada Nova, Vila da Barca, Doca do Reduto, Ver-o-Peso. Ports large and small. Boats in brackish waters and calm currents. From major centers such as Belém and Manaus to small villages with their piers, river infrastructure is essential to social and economic life. River markets escape nothing; fairs along riverbanks embody this relationship, where inland production meets urban consumption, mediated by arriving vessels.
Everything is a matter of perspective. The fishing culture of the Amazon, seen through port life, holds multifaceted importance. It sustains the economy, preserves traditions, and shapes regional identity. Ports serve as meeting points between fishermen and the city, where production and consumption converge. If the artist’s gaze emerges from Pará’s knowledge, it inevitably encompasses food culture. Ports are gateways for fish, the primary staple of Amazonian populations and the foundation of Pará’s celebrated gastronomy.
There is dynamism and challenge in this experience. Ports and boats are negotiation centers. The figures in these watercolors belong to the lived reality of commerce, competition, and the struggle for space and better prices. These images also reveal conflict—competition within artisanal fishing, closed seasons, social protection for fishermen, and environmental degradation that directly affects fish stocks. Greater awareness exists, yet it is on boats and in ports that these challenges manifest, often through declining catches or shifting species, exposing vulnerabilities within the production chain.
Ultimately, these watercolors reflect nature itself. Fish flows through ports mirror river health, while fishing and açaí harvests fluctuate with natural cycles, directly impacting the economy and livelihoods of fishermen. These records can be read as reflections on issues inherent to water-based cultures, without losing lyricism, brushwork contours, or the rich chromatic palette of Amazonian visuality. In closing, we are struck by contrasts between the rustic and the modern, life continuing to flow, and the presence of what seemed to have vanished—such as sails recalled in the poetry of Manoel Bandeira. Fish, vultures, humans, scales, and boats form a cycle of life and death that embodies the riverine ethos and the deeper meaning of the book in the reader’s hands.
Belém do Pará, October 12, 2025,
on a Sunday of the Círio de Nazaré,
Aldrin Moura de Figueiredo