Some believe he is dead. Others believe he is a collective—a school of anonymous writers who have adopted his style to keep the myth alive.
In 2018, a documentary crew claimed they had tracked him to a small town in the interior of Minas Gerais. They found a wall with a fresh AZ tag. They set up cameras. That night, the cameras captured only a stray dog and a plastic bag blowing in the wind. mestre do az
Today, art critics in São Paulo argue that his work is a direct response to Concretismo —the 1950s Brazilian art movement that valued geometric objectivity. "While the Concrete artists put their work in galleries for the elite," wrote critic Ana Cecilia de Mello, "Mestre do AZ put his Concrete poetry on the walls of the favela, where the rain, the smog, and the police would eventually erase it." Despite his legendary status, no one knows who Mestre do AZ is. A grainy photograph from a 1987 edition of Folha de S.Paulo shows a man in a dark hoodie painting a letter "K" on the Minhocão (an elevated highway), but his face is obscured by the shadow of the viaduct. Some believe he is dead
In the sprawling, chromatic chaos of São Paulo’s urban landscape, where pixação (graffiti tagging) screams from every vertical surface and commissioned murals battle for attention with commercial billboards, one name is spoken with a mixture of reverence, fear, and curiosity: Mestre do AZ (The Master of AZ). They found a wall with a fresh AZ tag
Visually, the Mestre’s work is unmistakable. While São Paulo’s pixadores are known for their aggressive, illegible "angelic" scripts (often compared to Gothic runes), Mestre do AZ practices a form of . His letters are hollow, skeletal, and three-dimensional. They look like blueprints for a building that defies gravity. There are no curves in his work—only sharp, geometric angles that fold into themselves, creating shadows where no light source exists. The Legend of the Midnight Calligrapher Mestre do AZ reportedly emerged from the Periferia (the outskirts) of Zona Sul in the late 1970s. According to oral tradition among old-school pichadores , he was a typographer’s apprentice who was fired for altering the font of a corporate logo without permission.
Enraged by the rigidity of commercial design, he took to the streets. But unlike the pichadores who wrote their crew names (like "Os Trutinhas" or "Vermes") to mark territory, Mestre do AZ only wrote the alphabet. He believed that by deconstructing the letters A through Z, he was deconstructing the language of oppression.