All my family, for the rainbow of affections.

Gabriel Mendes, my husband, whose heart I can’t and won’t try to measure.

My Lovers, for the love given and for the fluids spent.

My Cats, for teaching me how to deal with the art market without self-destruction.

Roze Vieira, who was my first teacher of painting and drawing. Through her ways, she taught me much more than just painting and drawing. I miss those afternoons at the Cultural Center of Porangatu.

Cultural Center of Porangatu, where I spent four years of my life, learning and teaching. Not just techniques, but exchanges that sometimes tempt me to go back to teaching art classes.

Porangatu, my hometown.

City of Portland, Oregon, for welcoming me during a revolutionary year.

Portland Museum, for sheltering me during so many important moments of discovery and learning.

UFG Architecture Program, for graduating me as an architect.

Science Without Borders Program, for shaking me and so many others out of our axes in many layers.

Sister Wendy, a figure from my childhood who connected me with art and the meaning of artistic creation. Damn… it was a nun talking about Warhol, Pollock, and Lascaux… come on!

Márcia Metran, my undergraduate professor, for her teachings on Art History, among other things.

Pedro Henrique, for our exchanges during undergrad, about art, aesthetics, and references.

Letícia Fialho, for her knowledge of the art market and for introducing me to Bourdieu’s thinking.

Ralph Tadeu Ghere, a Master of national painting. I had and still have the privilege of receiving his teachings, so sensitive and essential that I’ll carry them forever. Always loving and daring, but with the class of a Deva.

Bruna Kury, for showing me the possibilities of manipulating pornographic language.

Ben Lustenhower, an incredible painter and master of portraiture.

Horia Boboia, a visual artist who taught me and helped me return to painting back in 2013.

Fernando Bueno, for his immense generosity and support for so many artists and for the local and national art scene. My voice of gratitude is just an echo of many others.

Filipe Chagas, a curator who has been teaching me through his courage, care, and dedication to art. As he says in our conversations: “It’s about life.”

Paulo Cibela, for his incredible work as a platform for so many artists.

Tiago Campos, for teaching me how to work with cement, mortar, and concrete.

Suyan de Mattos, for her daring.

Marlan Cotrim, dear friend and incredible artist who taught me about body and performative presence.

Venâncio Cruz, dear friend who taught me about performance.

Amanda M., dear friend whose exchanges influence my work in such good ways.

Manoela Afonso dos Anjos, who was my first bridge to phenomenology, Bachelard, Merleau-Ponty, Ronik’s cartographies, and the autobiographical gesture itself.

Dimas Calegari, for his teachings on Wilhelm Reich.

Wilhelm Reich, for opening my eyes to the potential of orgasm and making it a personal and therapeutic tool for others.

Vipassana, for helping me stop and sit in silence while so many people run around like headless chickens after nonsense.

Santo Daime, for the spiritual initiations.

Santo Antônio do Descoberto, for welcoming me as home.

André Medeiros Martins, for his inspiring work.

Adriana Braga, for her teachings and exchanges.

Adriana C., friend whose exchanges, anarchisms, and ideas have shaped much of my artistic and worldly thinking.

Aphrodite, for blessing my work with her strength.

The Legend of Zelda - Breath of The Wild and Tears of the Kingdom, that virtual place that welcomed me during moments when I needed it.

Björk, for her aesthetics and music.

Betty Edwards, for the right side of the brain.

Jesus Christ, for pirating Vedic and Buddhist knowledge into an original speech for a bunch of prejudiced and lost people in ancient Israel.

The Holy Bible, specifically: Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Song of Solomon, Matthew, Luke, Mark, and John.

Osho (S.B. Rajneesh), for his mastery, so much more accurate than his contradictions.

Roberto Freire, for his work with anarchism in Brazil and for his teachings and practices.

Clã Destinos, an art collective that welcomed me and taught me so much about collectivity.

Ney Vargas, for teaching me about collecting art.

Eduardo Vasconcelos, for his support and collecting during the start of my career.

Eduardo Bueno, for his lessons in history and life.

Flavio Calile, for teaching me about psychoanalysis and active listening in practice.

João da Mata, for his powerful words and invaluable therapy.

To all who didn’t believe in me, thank you, you taught me something very important.

To all the SOBs who crossed my path, for the lessons learned.

Mario, not the one who did me behind the closet.

All the Saunas, Cruising Bars, Parks, and spaces of lust.

My penis, not for phallocentrism*, but for an aesthetic relationship. *And a note here, anyone who thinks my work is phallocentric didn’t understand a thing.

The Jehovah’s Witnesses, for a few secondary gains, only.

The symbolic exclusion (loss of institutional space) promoted by the systems that devour so many artists and works, thank you for the emptiness.

And, finally, to those I omitted or forgot, thank you.