SLOW MAKING, RADICAL CARE AND COLLECTIVE CRAFT
Project X - Story Unfolding
The Sound of Boundaries Breaking
There are moments when violence doesn't shout — it taps, it knocks, it insists in subtle, invasive ways.
It announces itself under the disguise of "routine maintenance" or "concern." But make no mistake: when someone crosses your threshold without consent, it is violence. Even silence in the face of it is complicit.
In my own story, I had set clear boundaries: my home was my sanctuary, my no meant no.
Yet the knocking came — unexpected, uninvited — sent by someone who should have known better.
What startled me most was not the sound on the door, but the understanding that followed:
I was not being respected. I was being tested.
This realization rattled something loose inside me — the part of me that had long believed that politeness, patience, and understanding could protect me.
They couldn't.
Only a loud, clear NO could.
Boundaries are sacred. They are not conditional. They do not bend to the convenience or urgency of others.
That night, I decided something important:
I will no longer be quiet about the spaces that are mine.
I will no longer make myself small to avoid making others uncomfortable.
My home, my time, my body — they are not public property.
Not for the landlord.
Not for the worker sent.
Not for anyone.
It's not just the knocking. It's the pattern — the daily paper cuts of disrespect:
A landlord’s accusations. A cashier’s scorn. A bus driver’s cold shoulder. Alone, they bruise.
Together, they try to convince you that you're the problem.
But I’ve learned: I am not responsible for the instability of others.
When the silence is polite, but the harm is real.
Disadvantage That Wasn’t
Effort: Nearly two months preparing an application — one of those months spent implementing a major project abroad, in a country where I didn’t speak the language. Financial strain. Time pressure.
Repeatedly asking for communication.
The official response: silence. Then, eventually, a flat denial of harm.
A line that quietly erases everything it took to try.
When the silence is polite, but the harm is real.
Your Silence Will Not Protect You
(inspired by Audre Lorde)
In spring 2025, I reached out to a Portuguese cultural institution with a project proposal rooted in care, community, and collaboration — aiming to connect with small rural villages and local schools.
After a week of silence, I finally received a cold, generic reply. There was no reference to my project, no engagement, just a redirection to their website — where, under "Open Calls," I had already found outdated PDFs, long since closed. I had spent hours translating and reading those documents, only to discover, at the very end, that the deadlines had passed two months earlier.
I replied to their email, voicing concern — about the misleading information, the lack of communication, and the gap between their stated mission and their actions.
I am documenting these moments — of dismissal, disconnection, and institutional silence — because staying quiet does not keep me safe. It only keeps everything hidden.
Your silence will not protect you. Mine didn’t.
All I did to be heard — and how the world answered.
En résonance avec le vide
In April 2025, I proposed a collaborative project centering on weaving, rural communities, and collective memory to an international contemporary art institution. A project about listening, land, labor, and value. Their reply came after a week: “Nous espérons que vous trouverez une institution partenaire dont le travail entre en résonance avec le vôtre.” Apparently, labor, community, and care were not in resonance. Sometimes the silence is not silent — it’s form-letter politeness, coated in cordiality. But it still says: this doesn’t matter enough for our attention.
This episode reflects on institutional disengagement. On the gaps between mission statements and lived values.
“In resonance with…” what?
Lost on the Way
A week of printing struggles. A parallel week of daily correspondence with the Portuguese post office — just to answer two questions: How much does it cost to send a registered package, and how long does it take?
The day of finally sending: heavy rain, rejection at the counter, a hasty re-wrap under storm clouds.
Ten days pass — no confirmation of delivery.
Silence from the organizers.
Then: the absurd discovery that the parcel had been sitting unnoticed in a small village for two weeks
What it took to send it, and what it meant when it was left waiting.