The Stab Interview: Tomas Hermes

Brazilian poet Paulo Leminski wrote something along the lines of, “Wanting to be exactly who we are is what will take us far”.

Even though Tomas Hermes comes across as someone who whistles while he works, his story is one of hard work, perseverance, and redemptive serendipity.

After seven long seasons of drudging through four-man heats in the QS, Tomas qualified for the CT in 2018, kicking off his rookie year with a semi-final finish at Snapper Rocks. Although he failed to requalify, the milestone brought him closer to where he is today, exactly where he wanted to be.

With a paced yet solid output, his edits and films could be considered labors of love in a literal sense. His wife, Ana Romanio, doubles as filmer and collaborator to one of Brazil’s most prolific free surfers. Tomas’ foray into editing and self-generating content goes back to 2010 when he went online with a dedicated website, placing him alongside surfers like Dion Agius and Dane Reynolds during the infancy of a global movement that culminated with the age of hyper-contemporary self-published content.

Not unlike the aforementioned examples, the advent of social media hijacked traffic away from blogs, eventually leaving his url vacant. However, with a looming cultural shift from individual to collective (see Chapter 11, 2%, Metal Neck, Rage, et al), Tomas hints at the creation of a platform to showcase the talent along the coast of Santa Catarina, where he’s from.

Below, we talk to Tomas about his latest film, Vertentes, his creative process and how to make it as a Brazilian free surfer.

Olá Tomas! Did you make it to Rio for the Duct Tape?
I did, we actually premiered the film there. The Duct Tape is so good, it’s a four-day party — freedom at the beach!

Could you tell us a bit about your new film?
The idea for it came after surfing a swell at home, at a wave that breaks very close to a river mouth [the amber-toned beach break at 07:23]. The title Vertentes can be used to describe a river mouth or affluent, but also the different facets someone has. I tried to show some of my own facets aside from surfing. I love making art and editing films, so I allowed myself some space within to work from, with that nearby wave as a starting point.

Did you travel much to film?
There’s some black and white footage from Costa Rica in the credits section, and a few waves at Lowers, but 90% of it was shot around here. My idea was to work with the resources available around my local area. If you pay attention and care for what’s already around you, it’s possible to come up with something really cool, even on a tight budget.

In 2018 you spent a year on the CT, but failed to requalify. Did you ever compete again?
As kids — especially in my generation — we dreamt of being on tour mostly to be around the world’s best surfers, but once you get there the shine starts wearing off a bit, and you lose the sense of wonder you had as a child. Still, it was an incredible experience to be surrounded by the best in the world, it really helps to raise your own level. I remember watching those guys during free surfs and saying, ‘no chance they’re going to do an air on that section’, and sure enough, they’d do it! There’s a really cool side to being surrounded by those bloodshot-eyed competitors, but I eventually lost the spark to compete during that year. However, it felt like an important milestone in my personal evolution as a surfer.

Would you say you lacked the competitive drive?
Becoming a world champion was never my dream. Instead, it was a desire to share the lineup with guys like Taj, Dane, and others, and improve my own surfing in the process. That was my biggest motivation.

You had a namesake website during the age of the first surfer-run blogs. What made you want to produce your own content?
I started doing a few things around 2007, but it wasn’t until 2010 that I launched the website with my first production. There was a really cool movement going on during that era, even though at the time, no one really had their own website in Brazil, and I remember my former sponsors not being so interested in it either. I loved editing and making things, so I’d just do it for myself regardless of external incentives, and that allowed important mental space to experience surfing from a different perspective, one outside competition. Ten years ago in Brazil, if you weren’t winning contests, you wouldn’t really have a place within professional surfing.

How did you support yourself during those times?
Contests provided a way to earn money or make a living through surfing, all while being able to make art and producing content that resonated with me.

Just today, I was talking to my wife about how crazy it was to invest our money into stuff like that back then, and now I’m supported by a company that not only appreciates such an approach, but also enables me to make a living from the things I created for myself and always loved doing. It’s something I never thought would be possible until Vans came along. 

Were their terms that different from other companies’?
Vans is a company that sees their team riders as individuals, not just athletes. They allow ideas to develop, and I’m fortunate enough to receive an advance from them, which gives me time to think about, and pursue my own projects.

They encourage us to be who we are, particularly in creative projects. I consume a lot of art and try to bring some of it into the work that I do. That kind of support is something extremely rare among brands these days.

You’ve been releasing your films and edits through Vans’ channels. Will this change in the near future?
I’m in the process of creating a new platform, something a bit more inclusive, not just for myself. But it’s still in its early stages.

Are you considering producing content with surfers other than yourself?
Some of my next projects involve other surfers, and we’ve been shooting with like-minded people over here. Nowadays, it feels like you have to choose between being a contest surfer or a vlogger pushing surf content to the extreme, but a middle ground seems to exist, and I’d like to find it without limiting the output to one extreme or the other.

Sometimes you wonder if you’re alone in that space or if it’s possible for surfing to be something other than those things. My goal is to bring together those people who have to deal with competition but also value a side of surfing that doesn’t only depend on social metrics, and focus on bringing back that childhood stoke into what they do.

From an outsider’s perspective, it’s hard to see past Brazil’s hegemony in professional competitive surfing, but in your area alone, there are surfers such as Yago Dora and Mateus Herdy, who have the ability to excel in both competition and free surfing. Do you see them as part of those like-minded people?
My next film will actually feature Mateus, we became very close over the last few years. He’s someone who also appreciates and values the various aspects of surfing. He’ll save clips, and avoids sharing them online, directing his energy into working on something more consequential instead. My intention is to create connections with such people and collaborate with them.

Do you see many people like that among Brazil’s next generation?
I must say that it’s very difficult to find people like that, who don’t already have a coach or plan to follow the competitive path. I’m sure many surfers put 100% of their focus on competition because, whether they want to or not, it’s a way to make ends meet.

However, I’ll add that I believe it’s a mistake, including my own, to not bring those other options to the fore. That’s one of the reasons why I want to continue working on these projects and help guide people who, like myself, feel somewhat isolated in the creative space.

Do you think the influence of surfers like yourself and Victor Bernardo could help open up this space within the Brazilian surf industry?
I feel there’s a side of surfing that is more treasured in Australia or the United States. Victor is a very talented surfer but had to move to California for a partnership with a brand like Album to materialize. He’s now surfing better than ever, even better than when he was fully determined to qualify for the CT. I think he’s the perfect example of someone who might’ve viewed competition as the sole means of making a living, before a new world unfolded before him.

I do believe there’s some change coming and people are finally appreciating surf films that deviate from the conventional and how someone can ride different boards in different conditions really well. Victor is one of those surfers. A similar movement seems to be emerging in Brazil. Let’s hope!

Could you tell us a bit about your partnership in life and work with your wife, Ana Romanio?
We’ve been together for a very long time. She started filming around 2007 — when we were in our late teens — with a handheld Mini DV camera. At times I’d be traveling, experiencing incredible moments, cultures, and people, but without her by my side, it just didn’t feel as good. We’ve developed a very strong bond and have always had deep creative discussions. She’s an architect and has an eye for detail, a sensibility for light, contrast, and framing. Filming came naturally and was something she felt control over. It was a win-win situation.

It’s great to be able to work, live, and travel together, and she’s pretty much part of the crew. We support and add to each other’s practices. I’ve created logos for her architectural practice, whereas at times she’s the one that’ll go, ‘The waves are going off, let’s go film!’ She’s a motivator and the brains behind my process. Without her, I’d be fucked (laughs)!