To Create–to Paint as an Act of Resistance and Agency

A sensitive invitation to women who long to shape the world through self-expression

 To paint is not merely to produce a random image.

It is to open a space of sensitive thought, where gesture emerges as the first language. 

Each brushstroke is a trace of inner inquiry — a form of thinking that does not speak in words, but in matter, color, and presence.

The canvas, in its apparent neutrality, becomes a site of insurgency.

 It throws back at us questions we rarely dare to ask:

 What inhibits my spontaneous creation?

What mechanisms condition me, even now, without my awareness?

The act of painting shifts consciousness into the absolute present.

It is in this crossing — between the intimate and the political, the visible and the unconscious — that creation becomes a gesture of reclaiming one’s autonomy.

It is not about achieving an aesthetic outcome, but about activating a space of elaboration where the self is reconfigured.

Painting, when untethered from normative expectations, functions as a counter-narrative to the colonization of sensibility.

 It is a mode of symbolic reappropriation — of the body, the imagination, and the voice — realms historically denied to women and to those who resist normative frameworks.

To paint, then, becomes a micropolitical confrontation: a practice of unconditioning, where the forces that silence us, tame us, and render us legible according to hegemonic codes are called into question.

The pictorial language — precisely because of its ambiguity and resistance to discursive capture — escapes the control imposed by patriarchal, rationalist, and colonial moralities.

It is a gesture that refutes the transparency of verbal language, offering in its place a poetics of opacity — where desire, memory, rage, and eros intertwine without asking permission.

To paint is to tear a fissure in the dominant regime of visibility.

 It is to affirm the legitimacy of subjectivity as a field of creation and dissent.

It is to reintegrate what modernity violently split apart: reason and impulse, form and feeling, aesthetics and existence.

In this process, painting ceases to be an end in itself and becomes an ethical and political device.

It calls for an art that does not submit to decor or spectacle: but one that insists, that overflows, that asserts itself as an untamed presence.

Through pictorial self-expression, I investigate the feminine as a territory of complexity and subversion —

not as essence, but as a force of rupture.

To paint, for me, is to resist imposed fragmentation.

To think with the body.

To create the world from the flesh.

Welcome.

This is a space that pulses at the edge of noise.

A crossing dedicated to women who think with their bodies, who feel through language, who desire through matter.

Our newsletter is born as a sensitive correspondence — an intimate and collective exchange — among those who choose creation as a way of shaping the world, as a refusal of silence, as a gesture of agency.

Here, painting is not ornament, nor illustration:

it is a tool for self-inquiry, a territory of resistance, a practice of freedom.

Each edition will be a call: to dive into the gesture, to inhabit the in-between, to stretch the limits of the visible, and to re-inscribe presence where once there was absence.

This space is yours —

to create, to feel, to think beyond pre-established contours.

To inhabit the invisible with images that do not ask for permission.

Thank you for joining this path.

May it strengthen us, move through us, and transform us.

Subversion of the brush

(Listen along with the reading)

Filling the void.

I worked on it. Soft. It sniffed out humor. It craved contact. Closeness, he doubted. Roughness. He kept asking. Scratched, provoked limits, the same ones.

Body.

Screams. Crying.

Those voices, in color.

What a memory, what nothing!

Scandalous lies.

It was pure reality. Powerful incarnation. Deposit. Horizon in the round, vast and deep. Photos. Familiar faces.

Medium, small pots. 500 ml. Tubes. Sacrifice. The call.

Throw up, throw up!

I heard you loud and clear, boss. This is the place for it!

He laughed. And the voices... Fucking bitch! Fucking bitch! Yes, you're not crazy.

Yes, you're not embarrassed.

Child. Weight. Heart chakra. Useless! Sacred office. Summon. Motive.

Provokes.

It brings everything together. Death.

It starts from the trisal, from the colors. Essence. Reveal.

Share your cosmos. No return.

To ancestry.

Until the break, the discard.

Aggregate, throw everything away. Power.

It felt everything.

It varied intensely.

It dropped its weight into the water.

Flaccid rigidity, in the water, dirty.

Complexity.

It said what it wanted... from the guts! It was the brush... A medium. One of the mediums.

And it was just 9:11 in the morning on the clock.

To change is to lose

(Listen along with the reading)

It wants change and lives on romantic ideas that favor maintaining the status quo. It wants change and continues to see itself as the center of the world. It wants change and expects it to be televised. It wants change and doesn't want to lose anything. It wants change and is afraid of its own desire. It wants change and justifies itself for everything it doesn't do. It wants change and wants it to come from outside, to be done by it, to be shown how, to be easy, to be painless, to be smooth, to have a manual with a proven positive impact, to not involve twists and turns, to not lose its merit, so that it doesn't take risks, so that she isn't criticized, so that she doesn't frown, so that she doesn't feel alone, so that she doesn't feel lost, so that she isn't displaced from anything important, so that idealizations work their magic in transforming for her what she denies so much to herself. Do you really want a change or do you just want to stay in fashion and not miss the party?