I write from Fabre Street, second floor, at the Plateau Mont-Royal, Montréal, the ancestral territory known as Tiohti:áke in Kanien’kéha, where I live now. I write on a computer with multiple tabs open, a collection of writing tools, and text references. I write that I'm at Fabre Street writing on this computer, where I live now. I look out through the window, and I see the snow slowly flying in every direction, I think it's just the wind. I love this silence. It has been a month that I lived here but also, it has been ten years. Once, a psychologist said to me that I do things too slowly, and I've kind of incorporated that, made a flag, a bio, a mantra. Because the image of doing things slowly is still an image of movement, a movement that you can feel little by little, that you can almost touch, there is time to see all and see yourself in the middle, you can have pleasure from that. I like to start writing from this position, nowhere, in the movement, and as I move slowly there is time to pay attention and write about it. Last week I started two online courses, Como Sumir (How to disappear), an initiation on Simone Weil's texts, with the Brazilian writers Leda Cartun and Sofia Nestrovski, and one about Creative Art Criticism with Belgian curator An Paenhuysen. And while Weil's words were still living in my head An asked us to write a piece about beauty. Weil says that beauty is attention, in-depth attention, I agree, and maybe - if allowed - I would say that it can be playing with attention. Before, I was writing from a different country, and part of the motivation to move here was a desire for a certain feeling of being an outsider, an observer, and a discoverer. This necessity to be aware, and pay attention to all details, maybe a desire for beauty. But I also think this is not a static thing, it's moving with us. That feeling that brought me here is a desire to be, live, see, appreciate and change things a little. Take pleasure. Well, the point of this is to observe and to write. Be present and active. Slowly.