Introduction
by Renata Azevedo Moreira
“The word queer has ceased to be an insult to become a sign of resistance to normalization, has ceased to be an instrument of social repression to become a revolutionary index.”
Paul B. Preciado (he/him), trans writer and curator
Strange, peculiar, odd.
Appearing or behaving otherwise than normal.
Open to suspicion, doubtful as to honesty.
History is really unimaginable. To look back at the origins of the word queer is to witness the transformative power of time. But, of course, I am not (always) delirious. As queer theorist José Estéban Muñoz has said, queerness is not yet here. It is a utopia, an aspiration, an object of desire. But I believe that, more than anything, queering is a process. A trajectory of multiple traps, constant vigilance, and eventual violence. But for me, more than anything, queerness is a place of genuine, infinite joy and celebration.
It is a party of the marginals, the rebels, the unwanted. But it is also a place of rescue for those slightly exasperated. Folks who are okay with conforming to most norms but struggle with blind obedience. Who think critically, dare to question rules, and love their biological families but can’t exist without solid, extended links that might even be stronger than bloodlines. Where oppositions like right and wrong and good and bad leave the stage to make room for myriads of other in-betweenesses.
Queer is a spectrum of potential energy.
I was looking at him carefully, wondering what he was quietly cooking with that Ilford camera he kept taking off his bag when we least expected. I could sense something was coming. Cézar was born for big things, and those who know him need no convincing. His mind never stops; it goes dormant sometimes when he needs his space, and then, suddenly, it reemerges as powerful and relentless as the Phoenix he has always been.
A non-binary mix of curatorial and artistic project, House of a Kind is born in times of urgent need, when the world around us is more polarized than before. Instead of marching straight toward the destruction of everything that is not us, Cézar invites us to focus on similarities instead of differences. To look for points in common. To honour the stories of those who fought for our very existence. And to hold hands.
This is his project: ever-growing, ongoing, open to all and to everything that includes love and respect. Take a deep breath, set aside time, and enjoy Cézar’s extraordinary, boundless mind.
I can’t wait to see what happens when you join.
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Renata Azevedo Moreira (she/her) is a Brazilian researcher, curator, and cultural worker based in Tkaronto (Toronto). Her process-based curatorial practice is inspired by queer, feminist, and postcolonial gestures.
Once, when Renata was in a crisis about her career, I told her what I believe to be the actual role of an art curator. In Portuguese, if you split the word “curador” like “cura-a-dor” it becomes the one that heals. To me, that is the role of every curator: go around and find those pieces of hope, joy, and spark of creativity that could shake up people through art.
To me, Renata is capable of doing all of that and more. She is a woman of many talents. But I will keep simple, she’s a lifetime-long friend, absolutely one of a kind.
