Here is to a free dive into the depths of my mind.
I feel so relieved since I decided that, yes, it was nice and very complicated, as I dealt with so much entitlement hidden in labels like “queer,” “crip,” “community,” etc. But the truth is: I got enough funding to sometimes survive, sometimes even live with less worry—but this was only for 4 years. Now it is gone.
The thing is that, before these 4 years of enough funding, I was already working with arts for 12 years. Teaching dance (which I can’t do regularly anymore due to growing disabilities), sometimes doing art entertainment jobs (often with less complicated people than in the “alternative scene”—egos less central, as we were working for others’ ideas anyway), sometimes getting 50 euros for a performance.
I’m done.
O Veado Ferido, 1946, Frida Kahlo.
I do not wish to be kept in suffering. I have been applying constantly since the beginning of 2025 (last year I did, what… 50 project applications? If I count the amount of times I applied to work for others, the number is much bigger), and currently I am living below the level at which people in Europe apply for social/financial help from the government. Since I acquired the privilege of a European passport, I know what my next steps are. Wish me luck, because often, when they read my very Brazilian name, I face resistance.
I am not saying that I won’t work with arts anymore—luckily, I still get a few invitations throughout the year. What I am not doing anymore is sitting in front of this computer and spending hours and hours trying to prove my worth, to then get nothing in return. My mind has gone to many places—this is a characteristic of how my brain works: it makes associations, it sees connections where most people don’t, while also having trouble reading people when they talk “between the lines.” It can go abstract very quickly. My brain also demands that I stay informed, so I know a lot of what is going on politically.
I still live in social housing that is not exactly safe. I just found out that one of my herniated discs has been completely out for years (surprise: apparently another surgery). I am constantly researching my own body, my social status, and, until recently, I was often analyzing the art field and maybe being too direct about what I think is not working. But no—actually, I have read and heard much harsher criticism. Of course, it is accepted when it comes from someone who had access to good universities, who was born “in the right place” (aka the Global North)… the list goes on. And I honestly do not want to keep analyzing this list—why I am excluded from the list of artists who are still working regularly, doing their art; why museum X stopped following me on Instagram; why disabled artist Y stopped following me on Instagram. I just cannot do this anymore.
I have been working as a professional artist since the end of 2009, and I’ve had 4 years of funding that allowed me to live.
I have also studied Biology and I have a Master’s in Communication. In both fields, I was told I wouldn’t make it—by people in positions of power. Many years later, I found out that other poor people were also told the same, by people with privilege. I have my certificates—they didn’t stop me so fast—but lately I have been thinking that maybe, although it is hard for me to admit, I did not have the structure or support system that would allow me enough time and resources to develop “careers” in these areas. Most people in the arts were more welcoming in the courses I did. Of course, ableism was always there. But as I said: I don’t care when people say I can’t do something.
But I do care about myself—about living a life that is not only suffering. And I definitely did not start working with arts professionally just to suffer. I care about the world. I wanted to express, but I also wanted to change something and, believe it or not, I wanted to heal something.
I still fully believe that movement has healing power—that movement, when done consciously and with respect for accessibility needs, is a beautiful thing that can go deeper than pain and heal parts of us that were hidden from the world. This—I don’t know how, I don’t know with whom—I would like to keep doing, or better said, return to. I have spent a lot of time writing applications and creating choreographies to be shown in theaters. It did not work out.
I am looking for something in this direction. I have to see how much I can invest in a massage course—to have a certificate, more knowledge (I am good at it and have been helping friends in pain), and some financial stability. If you like what I write and want to collaborate, feel free to buy me a coffee here. Just know that I am asking for support for my work and for what I want my work to expand into. I am not starving, I am not in the middle of the sea desperately in need of help—this is not my case. And I want to recognize the suffering of the human and more-than-human world.
Ok, good—I will stop here, in this imperfect ending, because my fingers are starting to hurt a lot. Thank you for taking the time to read this.