Enantios Dromos

Where you’re from, where you’re based now, and can you tell us about them both?

I’m from Bajé, a name of Indigenous origin that means “the place one returns to.” And that meaning stays with me—I return not always physically, but emotionally, retracing the history of my family, and in doing so, my own.

Bajé is a small village in the south of Brasil, on the border with Uruguay, where urban and rural are not opposites but intertwined. I grew up with a lot of silence, but I always had a pulse that never let me sit still. I named my collective Limítrofe because I have always lived at the borders, both literal and poetic.

Like all of the pampa gaúcho region, Bajé was home to the Charrúas, Minuanos, Guenoas, Guaranis, and other Indigenous people long before colonization. Sadly, when people in Brasil think of the south, they see it through a colonized lens—Germans, Italians, the ones who invaded. They forget who was there first, who is still there. The south carries the same scars of colonization and resistance as the rest of the country. My origins are tied to this land, to what existed before the maps were redrawn.

At 18, I took my first big step, moving to São Paulo. That city doesn’t just move—it runs. And it taught me how to run too. Then, in 2019, when Bolsonaro’s government took power, things began to shift for the worse. That’s when the walls started closing in. It wasn’t about dreams of London or Berlin; it was about needing to leave. My own territory began to expel me. So, I crossed the ocean.

Now, I’m here, in Paris. I finally live a calm life. Every day, I try to choose how I want to live—something not everyone in this world is allowed to do. But the moment I step outside, I feel in my body what this continent is about, and the hustle never stops.

In my heart, I’m still floating in a river in Brasil.

When did you first get into the creative work you’re doing now, and how did growing up in Brasil shape your artistic journey?

I come from a house of healers, and before I ever thought about being an artist, I learned how to care, how to observe, how to listen. That shaped me as a person first and prepared me for everything that came after.

I never went to university, never studied what I do now, but I was always learning. My first real, intentional contact with visual arts happened when I was 16, working in communication for the mayor of my city. I followed his agenda every day, photographing events, documenting the political landscape. That experience taught me how power moves in a place like mine—what’s visible and what isn’t. But I was desperate to be close to art. On weekends, they let me borrow the camera, and that’s when I started training my eye, developing a practice before I even realized it.

At the same time, I started volunteering at the Festival Internacional de Cinema da Fronteira in Bajé. That was my first real contact with cinema, both in front of and behind the cameras.

But 2017 was when things really took shape. Moving to São Paulo was my first big move, and it was there that I met the people who would become my long-term friends and collaborators. It was also the first time I had any real access to experiment with whatever I wanted.

São Paulo was pure chaos, but it was the right place at the right time—a moment when a new generation of creators was forming. I found myself right in the eye of the hurricane, witnessing and contributing to it all. Even with all the challenges, we built something real. We learned how to do the most with nothing. That shaped my creativity and my work ethic—to always treat every opportunity like it’s the only one I’ll get.

How do you envision the future for Brazil’s emerging creative community?

On top of everything, I wish freedom and prosperity for all of us. I know there’s still so much to face—we’re still healing from deep trauma, still learning how to navigate our similarities and differences, still figuring out how to truly understand each other. To me, that’s the foundation for a prosperous and healthy development as a society and as a creative community.

But beyond that, the Brasilian creative community is powerful, original, visionary. I believe this is something we inherit from our ancestors.

The future isn’t something distant—it’s not a dream or a nightmare waiting for us tomorrow. The world is already falling apart, and it’s falling on us. That’s why we need to act now, to think and move with urgency. We have to take care of each other today because survival isn’t guaranteed.

I wish that fear never takes away our dreams, that even with everything crashing down, we can still find hope in one another and keep moving toward the futures we deserve.

Your work beautifully reflects the people and environments around you. Was there a defining moment or experience that shaped the direction of your current artistic style?

As I said before, my work is truly an extension of my personal life—whether it’s in the way I carefully choose who I work with, how the process is handled, or how I decide to narrate the facts or the fantasy I create.

From the very beginning, I was intentional. I already understood what I wanted to say, even if the language I used to express it has evolved. When I look back at my first works, I still see myself in them, even as I keep growing and pushing for new ways to create.

In recent years, I’ve been showing more of my work as a director, creative director, and filmmaker. That means I’m creating work that is often for others—mostly commissions—that still carry a lot of me but aren’t necessarily about my personal life journey.

My work moves with me. It shifts as I do, but the core has always been there.

We LOVE your use of VHS as a medium. What inspired you to explore this format, and what about it resonates with you?

My motto is LOW RESOLUTION, HIGH QUALITY, and it’s something I live by. It’s not about having the best tech; it’s about intention, feeling, and the story you’re telling. VHS, for me, embodies that philosophy. It’s raw, honest, and intimate in a way no other medium can match.

I started using VHS simply because I couldn’t afford a digital camera, but I quickly fell in love with the process. VHS is manual, analog, and it forces you to be present. It’s not just about nostalgia—it’s about creating with purpose and embracing imperfection.

Looking back, what has been your favorite project so far, and what would your dream project look like?

My favorite memory so far was an 8-hour-long performance I did in 2018 with two of my closest friends, Sabine and Theusa Passareli, during the São Paulo Biennial.

Tragically, a few days later, my dear friend Theusa was brutally murdered in a hate crime fueled by transphobia and racism. Even amidst the traumatic loss and the horror, that performance remains deeply embedded in my heart.

Another project I’m incredibly proud of is MOSQUITO, a short film I directed and filmed for my friend and music producer LYZZA.

As for my dream project, I don’t have a singular dream. I dream of the freedom to keep dreaming—to keep pushing boundaries and creating with no limits.

What can we expect from you in 2025? Are there any exciting plans or projects in the works?

From this year on, I hope people will be able to experience my journey on a more personal level. It’s about bringing others closer to my truth, both as an artist and as a person, allowing them to connect with the essence of what I’m creating in a deeper way.

Lastly, where can we find you online?

@limtrf on Instagram, but you will find my best version in real life.