Gabriella Achadinha
Gabriella Achadinha (b. 1990) is a South African-Madeiran artist whose practice draws on her background in film production and unfolds across a mixed-media format encompassing video, photography, and installation.Looking into the embodied and the personal-political through archival research presented within speculative and poetic frameworks.
i count the knots of resistance
€800 for 30 minutes of divided attention.
The metatarsophalangeal joint is jutting out; the first toe hides behind the second. The bunion, a genetically gifted orthopedic deformity, worsened by the consequences of a mid-2000s pointy heel trend. Walking is painful. Has been painful for the past 13 years.
He: The Doctor confirms the level of misalignment could justify surgery.
Interrogation:
You’re 35 years old, correct? (Yes).
And you have children? (No).
You’re planning to have children, right? (No).
Hormonal changes could reverse the procedure, the bunion could grow back, you’re aware of that? (Yes, I am intentionally child-free. I will not be having children.)
He: The Doctor sighs with slight annoyance and delivers that eyebrow lift, the one ordained by the masculine, medical-degree, God-complexed.
Ironically, five minutes prior to said questions, He: The Doctor re-affirmed another genetically gifted diagnosis of Ehlers-Danlos syndrome with: “This actually complicates pregnancy; you should take precautions when preparing for childbirth.”
€800 for 30 minutes of walking in these circles.
Recommendation:
10 sessions of severely overpriced rehabilitation, not covered by medical aid. The assigned physiotherapist is He: The Doctor’s friend.
He winks: We will return to the surgery option. The angle is severe, but after 5 years, or sooner, depending on when you have the kids.
I slightly hallucinate money and time slipping as I lie in bed at 19:00.
Waves of fibromyalgia pain fight against a self-induced marijuana coma.
I turn to the herb of alleviation; the internal thudding of pain dissipates, brain fog is aggravated — a price to pay for some form of momentary body “normalcy.”
My body is conspiring against me. It works with the darkening of day, slithering and hissing between the connective tissue that hides beneath flesh that presents itself as uninflected.
Bipolar disorder, fibromyalgia, manic depression, Dercum’s disease, etc.
I count the list of matrilineal inheritances bestowed upon the women in this family.
Rituals of pulling the curtains back, propping pillows up, retiring to the bedroom.
The sharp stabbing, the dull aching, dictating its owner’s ability to function in a setting so determined on peak performance, consistent productivity.
I count the knots of resistance embedded in this DNA.
We are not perfect players.
We have to rest, retreat, withdraw.
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