Waking up to spring with alien tea

P.S.: Now you can listen to these letters.

Friends,

Blue tea.

The color freaks out my sweetie a little bit. A blue elderberry, lemongrass, and milk potion. I’ve poured it into a cracked yellow mug, printed with a red portrait of U.S. American criminal George W. Bush growing devil horns.

It’s this blue.

The color combination of pale blue, eggy yellow, and red is kind of awful, and I think that’s wonderful. Quite like how a drunken scribble on the wall of a pissy bathroom can be full of wonder. But I think I love this blue tea so much because it’s the same color of the humanoids in René Laloux’s 1973 film, La planète sauvage. Thoughts and moments like these keep me happily afloat while also grounded within the chaos.

Perhaps you noticed the little play button at the top of this newsletter. That’s right, now I get to speak to you. I’ve always felt some comfort in listening to a voice. Hopefully you do too. And hey, now you can listen to me as you make a cup of coffee or rage across a landscape as you sit on the train.

Movement.

There is so much of it. As I putter around the house, a scattered infinity of back and forth, the alfarroba (carob) seeds I picked up from the ground in the Algarve are growing like teenage varsity athletes. The hortelã (mint) are veiny and strong. They intimidate me a little. The Gazanias stretch upwards in their yellow and orange dresses and remind me of Alvin Ailey dancers. The baby cravos (carnations) are on their way to be ready for 25 de Abril, the annual commemoration of the 1974 revolution that led to the fall of the dictatorship in Portugal. I hope I’ll be able to give some homegrown cravos to the aunties and uncles at my local snack bar and the mercado.

And just like my plant friends, I am coming to life.

Sunny Gazanias on the porch

My self-directed hibernation came to an end during my self-directed artist residency in the south of Portugal earlier this month. I worked on the script for a new picture book and was surprised to see them leap out of my hands, cross their arms, and demand that I make them “adventurous and fun!” I tried to reassure them by giving them some of the usual snacks, like existential questions, but it didn’t work. Adventurous and fun, adventurous and fun… that’s new for me, but I am going to give it a try.

At Casa Fuzetta, thawing out and coming to life.

Soon, a poet from the desert (my mother-in-law) will arrive. Because I want to spend time with her and not be flailing around in a sticky spider web of work, I am trying to get a big chunk of the book’s script and sketches done by then. If all goes well, I will mail the idea to a literary agent in the middle of spring, when andorinhas (swallows) begin their stellar swoop-de-woop shows in the sky. A furious feast of insects at sunset.

Being held by a gigantic sun creature.

The Rights of Every Child invited me and a caring group of artists around the world to select and illustrate a guaranteed right from the 54 articles of the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child. I chose one that especially felt close to me: the right to protection from mental violence.

As I was putting this piece together, I thought of the times when kind people protected me from mental violence. Their love and support felt like a warm embrace where I could relax and be taken care of. You can see some behind-the-scenes photos of the collage and read my full statement on this piece through this link.

The Rights of Every Child was created by the wonderful Danielle Davis, who I got to know through our shared advocacy for Palestine and love for diverse storytelling. Danielle is a children’s book writer and editor, collaborator, producer, teacher, and child advocate. There will be more artworks coming out of The Rights of Every Child, so be sure to follow along.

Thanks for the apple tarts.

As a foodie, apple tarts (folhados de maça) and other beautiful edible things directly fuel my writing, my art, and my life. Not all of the money that I receive through this newsletter goes to apple tarts. That would be a lot. Most of it goes to my living expenses. But you certainly make my favorite apple treat more accessible for me.

For those of you who would like to newly contribute to the apple tart fund, you now have the option to do that here:

There will never be a paywall for this newsletter because I don’t believe in creating walls like that, but if you enjoy my art and want to support me, you can “upgrade to paid” and participate in this secret deal involving baked apples.

If you think a weird friend, crush, parent-in-need-of-inspiration, or neighborhood ghost whose birthday is coming up would like this stuff, you can gift a subscription too. Here’s the button for that:

Keep smelling the flowers and resisting fascists and fossil fuels. Keep helping our fellow earthlings who happen to be Black, Brown, “undocumented,” or trans. Keep using your five-year-old smartphone and enjoying your blue teas.

I’m ending this letter with a photo of some paper hearts I learned to fold at the crafts workshop I attend at my local library. I get to spend hours with a group of older ladies and listen to them speak Portuguese, and this brings me joy.

Hugs,

Haruka