Demissionary of the submissive position, of the female madness when untreated, firm foot: to be a woman is to reinvent herself, is to construct identity, to conquer power. She discovers that there are only two options: whether to make a woman angry and determined or to go crazy. Submitting herself, ever! Mary was structured in anger. She needed to receive, to recover substance, intensity. She looked at the city and felt the cement inside. She needed to cure the emptiness: while the cars run, she howled inside. She was ready for life with poetry, otherwise, it would be misplaced, shipwrecked. Salvation would come from symbolic wealth – divinity through words. To abandon the futilities, characteristic of the small cities of the interior of Brazil. Standing air, gasping breath – dizziness before the windows. Abundance, boredom, vacuum. Nothing transcended the skyscrapers. The landscape of little shadow, curve, and metaphysics. Aridity. The dry atmosphere of the people dehydrated the brains. She was distressed to desire another world. She stunned by the screams from within, she pretended to run away-throwing her suitcase, jumping out the window, and going down the coconut tree. To search for a new footpath, to scape other backcountries – a life of rich is small inside, it only is stretched by the outside – banality.

With the magic of the rivers in her breast, she wrote to scour the pain, to support her in hope: one can not kill the anguish, it carries signs that save us and guarantee us an ontological flight. She was enchanted with words. There are soft words and harsh words. With them, the incendiary soul is emptied and beautified. Her favorite amusement was to feel: people today prefer to buy what they feel and like. She was wet from feeling so much – plowing the past, appeasing ghosts, subterranean pranks. Fantasies that protect us from madness. How do you stock up on stories of consistent, tasty experiences? Maria could not look at the pots and see no transcendence. Cooking is making sense – putting feelings, words into a sauce. To marinate, along with the flesh, hurts, and resentments. Marinating awareness, preparing for forgiveness. The story that rehearsal tells is woven into the embers – the fire that burns, the emotion that caresses and touches a piece of the sky. The woman’s encounter with the truth, the right language to affirm in her. When this happens, it is epiphany, exhilarating joy…❤️🙏

My watercolors collection – African Children © Beatriz Esmer