escrevinhanças & scribbles

by Carol Stampone there is still some pink out there my feet want to dive into the hopeful pink able to fascinate kids of all genders and capable to bring us to the present for a moment my belly is hungry for it my uterus cries  every morning empty it begs for some pink that can grow inside its walls my body dreams of days  where pink will not be hidden in the corners of all that did not happen    my mom repeats that I am too old for pink she had different plans for me i’m not supposed to be another good girl caged in a shiny house she sacrificed so much for my independence   i try to tell her mom, the pink that I’m pursuing is not the same pink that you fear the pink that I am constantly looking for is not the color of capitalistic modern women with their housewife dresses,  their dollhouses and their obligation to reproduce the pink that is out there and speaks with my dreams is  wild  whole primary it smells like rain it speaks the languag

"I wipe it away and breathe" by Rhiannon Inman-Simpson On the 03rd of July 2020, with some friends that are part of a writing collective, I went to Rhiannon Inman-Simpson’s powerful and bold exhibition. She chose to call it “all blue after eyes closed in the bright” after one of her sixteen exhibited paintings. This is not a post that has the ambition of saying what her exhibition is. Rather, it is a humble sharing of how I experienced it. It is also my way of saying thank you for the gift that such an exhibition was for me. Luckily, the ability gained a few days ago, during the workshop on Subterranea, allowed me, once more to enjoy art without the pressure of having to understand it. I went there to have an experience with those paintings. I am a distracted person. I did not notice that in a corner we could find a piece of paper with the location and the names of all the paintings. Neither I saw the beautiful booklet that accompanies the exhibition. Thus, I had

“Ostra feliz não faz pérola” (Rubem Alves) um outro eu, mais jovem obcecado com o fogo e com a escuridão teria abraçado essa provocação como seu mantra mas hoje essa verdade não me serve ao menos não sem porquês e descontrução vamos a todos os seus pedaços então no começo uma ostra Rubem está a falar de ostras que criam ostras são fechadas ensimesmadas existem no fundo do mar escondidas separadas? eu hoje tenho forças pra admitir que é mentira eu não quero existir ostra escolho ser do mundo quero criar no mundo e para o mundo e pra fazer isso tenho que aprender a conversar com mais alguém além de mim mesma Rubem questiona se ostras felizes são capazes de criar pérolas hora de abraçar a velha pergunta então o que é a felicidade? um estado temporário desconfio eu imagino que sim Rubem está certo provavelmente na hora exata em que a felicidade toma conta da vida da ostra ela não cria pérolas nem nada afinal está ocupada