De uma Fazedora de Versos e sua Estada

I live in a country where the language spoken differs from the one I grew up speaking. The comfort of my mother tongue is absent. Words fail to come, escape, or simply don't arrive. Even as I gradually learn the language of the locals and manage to communicate in it, the prevailing feeling is still that my tongue is veiled. It's like a hand wearing a glove, grasping an orange without feeling the wrinkles of its peel. My tongue feels coated by a layer that, no matter how thin, never lets me forget that here, my body is a foreign body.

The title De uma Fazedora de Versos e sua Estada is a homage to the Brazilian poet Hilda Hilst, and I chose to keep it in Portuguese to imbue it with the sense of strangeness that I want to narrate with the photo, even though I present my work in countries where other languages are spoken.