This literary project stems from the need to retrace my recent journey of momentary loss of sanity and the rediscovery of myself. The book is an open letter to myself and my loved ones, a kind of diary in which I recount the darkest moments of the Shadows, going through the healing process until reaching the Light.
The book/diary is divided into three parts, which portray my process and how I perceived each of the phases I went through. In each chapter, I seek to elucidate this journey and recapture my experiences, sometimes in the form of poetry, sometimes in poetic prose.
The reader is guided through this journey in an affectionate way, despite the raw narrative. I bring references from my religious beliefs, my relationship with my mother, and with other characters who had a significant presence in this process – for better or for worse.
This is also a visual project, so the illustrations and collages I produced are essential to telling this story. They are as important as the words, because they help translate my story, imprint rhythm and cadence, while also revealing fragments of my unconscious.
I hope this reading inspires deep dives and awakenings.
And may favorable winds always guide us!
Laroyê!
Presentation
A dive into the abyss of femininities, songs, and beauties, sometimes dreamlike, sometimes concrete, by Luana Dalmolin. With a Hilstian atmosphere, permeated by powerful writing and revealing images, the literary project "Eyes closed, only if it's to intend good winds," completely captivates us without losing its subtlety.
Dark and confessional, the beginning of the work takes us to the ruins of the author's soul, with exposed details and intimate poetry. Her fragmented, drowned images immediately transport the reader to the subconscious and deeper waters of themselves. Breathless and urgent.
From there, we travel alongside the character/author and follow her poetic journey. How did we actually begin to strip ourselves of soul, spirit, and life without even realizing it? At what point did we begin to lose our sanity?
“No one messes up your house if you don’t give them the key,” the author shouts, through the voice of Exu. With the strength of thousands of full moons, with the biggest hug she can give herself, she lays everything on the table. Without fear. She narrates her fall. Her escape. Her defeat. With mirror images, words, and themes, we fall along with her, praying, crying.
From there, healing comes. So feminine, the author dances. She dances with words, turning pain into a waltz. And she changes her course. She retraces her steps. Dissipating her ills, sculpting with them a new woman. A woman who emerges from her disappointments, from her sorrows. A woman who comes from all of us.
It's time to reap the rewards. Not just from this beautiful book, but the rewards of a life filled with the courage to face one's own shadows. I see in this work all of us, all the women who trace crooked lines and sparse inks, and who in the end become beautiful works of art.
With love and much gratitude,
1. THE SHADOWS
From the definition.
The shadows are like a sadistic oracle, inhabited by dying and hateful beings intent on evil. Hatred reigns like a greasy king seated on his moldy throne of saturated and somber colors. In a hallucinatory darkness, in the shallow well where the noisy shadows reside, the warlike self remains bound. And then, bitterness and rancor take up residence.
From what I've experienced.
It was a long period in the shadows, during which I lost myself, to the point of believing I would never escape that tangle that suffocated me almost to death. I even doubted if I would ever emerge from that dark and frightening place. I'm sure that, momentarily, I lost my sanity.
In my most delirious moments, I would tear up clothes and books, really wanting to have the courage to tear myself apart completely.
Sometimes, he would find a certain peace in some object, and there with it, he would remain for hours on end, as if there were a great secret to be unveiled. He would twist and turn it until it was completely disfigured.
During one of these crises, I came across my mother, who could only kneel and pray.
She told me later that it wasn't her daughter who was there. The eyes were two empty cavities, there was no soul left.
It is when we descend into the depths of our own shadows that vampires approach to suck every drop of energy, vitality, brilliance, and ultimately, the will to live.
The Narcissus Crack (or Letter to a Vampire)
I've been thinking about it.
In what you did and continue to do with cynicism.
I pointed, and then you couldn't stay.
Leaving is a moment, a crack in time.
But just look:
This crack is also a hole.
that leads to the bottom of a mirrored well,
where Narcissus gets trapped
Never again.