A letter from Amsterdam
and why I'm traveling around Europe
Hey there,
I’m writing to you from a cafè called Bar Vasari, looking out over one of Amsterdam's many canals and an impossibly charming garden. How is it that I feel so at home here?
After a few days in London, where I ran two workshop sessions for my Astor residency, had a jam in a new venue, rehearsed with Sara, and even wrote two new songs (which I’m OBSESSED with and can’t wait for you to hear!) I came to Amsterdam. My dear friend and colleague Tereza is being featured in a show, and a project I collaborated on is being displayed alongside her work. I’m so happy.
I’ve been to Amsterdam before, but this time, I’m seeing it through my own eyes, without compromise. I had two days to myself before Tereza arrived, but I’ve been saving the independent galleries and quirky brunch spots for us to explore together. Like I mentioned, I’m sitting in this bar located in the basement of a lavish canal house, designed by the architect Philips Vingboons. It’s one of those open secrets: paintings by Jacob de Wit, a richly decorated staircase, an authentic 17th-century kitchen, and beautiful garden rooms. The owner took me into that old kitchen (now closed to the public) and showed me a hole in the floor where rainwater has been collected for 400 years for cooking! It doesn’t smell, and honestly, it’s a marvel of engineering. Maybe that’s an odd thing to get excited about, but for me, it was such a delightful surprise.
I always find myself drawn to the secret places in a city, and I’m eager to experience Amsterdam’s music scene. The gallery’s opening event is on on Friday March 14 from 17:00 (tomorrow!). Curated by Simone Iris de Haan, Seamless Tissue Might Fray is a group exhibition that explores the ways in which contemporary artistic practices call upon the potency of textiles in pulling closer our memories faded by time, as well as historic realms of making. Serving as portals, textiles enable access to past practices and systems of knowledge, leading us to lived experiences and generational stories. Situated around the phenomenon of textiles as triggers of our previous perceptions, this group exhibition brings together artists who, through their practices, reactivate the material remnants of realities we’re close to losing grasp of.
But circling back to this feeling of being at home everywhere, do you feel that too? Or does it take you time to adjust to a new place? For me, it’s a mix of many things, but fundamentally, where there’s art, there’s home. And I don’t say that to sound poetic or profound, it’s just my truth. Art is comfort, like a childhood teddy bear you can’t sleep without. No matter where I go, if I step into a space filled with art and culture, I feel like I belong. I love seeing how different cultures curate their spaces, how local styles reflect a country’s deeper influences. Art is never just decoration; it speaks volumes.
I’ve been working on the synopsis of the new project with Sara (and I think I got the name and she likes it too! Yay!) and suddenly, I miss Madeira. Islands have this thing, “island blues”, that bittersweet feeling of wanting to leave because they can feel too small, too confining, yet missing them fiercely when you’re away. There’s a rhythm to island life, a healthy slowness that feels more human. Not that Amsterdam feels rushed! In fact, I think it strikes a perfect balance. People here are active and committed to their work, but they also take the time to cycle, linger over breakfast, and create beautiful, cozy spaces. No one rushes you in queues or at the bar; there’s an unspoken agreement that there’s time for everything. And that’s the balance I crave in my own life. Is it possible to achieve it? What is your purpose? London was amazing, and it’s really home to me. But I kept having the same conversations with people who aren’t happy. They’ve been there for six, eight, ten years, stuck in jobs they dislike, living in places they don’t want to be, sharing flats with too many people, unable to carve out time for their real dreams or meaningful relationships. Why do we do this to ourselves? What’s the story behind it? And what does it take to change?
Thinking about it, change for me has always come from desperation. I’ve only ever transformed my life when I felt I had no other choice, when something dramatic forced my hand. But I wish it didn’t have to be that way. I wish I could be braver. We shouldn’t have to reach the edge before we choose happiness. And when it feels like we have no choice, like it’s too difficult, well, that’s just our brains tricking us. Everything is possible. The older I get, the more I believe that.
Even something as simple as traveling: I used to be terrified of flying. I once limited myself because of it. And yet, here I am, hopping from city to city. (And let’s not forget, I chose to live in Madeira, home to one of the most infamous airports in Europe, masochistic, right?) But I do it anyway. I push through because it brings me something meaningful. And I think that’s the mindset we need as human beings: just do the thing. Everything else follows. Life expands when you step forward. It’s working for me and I hope it works for you too.
Now that Tereza is here we’re off to install everything in the gallery space in Amsterdam Noord.
I just wanted to share this days and thoughts with you. I know you understand. And if you feel like sharing back, DM me on Instagram or send me an email. Let’s connect.
I’ll write again after this little tour, when I’m back on my oceanfront porch with my cats.
With love,
Bri