As João-Maria, I was born on the first unravel of December in the year of ninety-five, along the far outskirts of Lisbon, in a rural village composed of fewer heads than those harvested from single ear of dried wheat; my youth was laden with verdancy and a dense, illusory distance from the sea, replete with holly and cork oaks, with the occasional pear tree. As the intimate second child of a carpenter and a seamstress, my upbringing was as silent as it was overwrought, and the space under which my solitude was allowed overlapped with the time in which it was forced upon me. At the age of eleven and critically short on expendable income, I began purchasing books in the English language, for they were much harder to sell and thus, much cheaper to purchase, and I’ve been both reading and writing in English hitherto.
(CALIATH) as a designated project of artistic aperture exists only since the middle threadings of 2018, and serves merely as a vessel of contexts in which I purport the creation of a symbolical lexicon, or, perhaps with some over-ambition, a domain of personal mythologies, with which I am to be artistically observed. This is, however, a child’s oneiric haze sliding in front of the eyes of a solemn world, and I do not wish to be brilliant or impactful nearly as much as I wish to feel less alone.
This parsonage and thus, this website, serve as a contact not only with you — the I which exists in you in symbiotic covenant with the I which I’m unable to perceive — but also the I which I’m able to perceive and am expected to preserve.