Interview & Photographs by Alex Schuchmann / 15min
In life, we encounter thousands of different individuals, strangers with whom we share our stories. When do we know it's time to stay and when to move on? How do we choose with whom we build long-lasting connections or even friendships? What is this invisible thing that some radiate, a feeling of kinship - and why do some people generate a curiosity within us? Is there something like the law of attraction? Well, I wouldn't be writing this text, if I had all the answers, but on my way to finding these answers I spoke to someone who has invested quite some time to master these existential questions.
Paulo Pascoal, a multidisciplinary artist based in Lisbon, was once one of those strangers. The self-proclaimed biofictionaire has starred in dozens of TV shows and movies, hosts the radio program "Avenida Marginal" (since 2019) and just began working on a series of books that tell the story of leaving his native Angola. When I first met him two years ago at the Waking Life Festival in Portugal, he was a speaker in the “Apuro”, a small tent-like structure where speakers and artists held talks and performances. It was a beautiful sunny day, many people gathered as Paulo shared his own life story. He illustrated how our consensus cultural image of who we are influences everything we do and how all of us can free our real Selves by letting go of our masks. It wasn't just the contents of this that interested me but also the humane and gentle way he interacted with the audience, passing the microphone around to hear other people's stories.
One year passed. A few weeks after the second time I met him at this year's Waking Life Festival, I found myself still deeply inspired by this person who I had only a vague knowledge of. I reached out to Paulo, to see if he was up for an interview and a few days later Paulo appeared on my screen. Without having too much of a predisposed idea of how this conversation could unfold, I learned how he was forced to let go of everything he had learned, wanted to be, and thought he was. For almost a decade he had to turn down shows and acting gigs abroad that could have changed his career, as he recounts in his book currently in production. Living with a chronic illness, battling cancer, and living illegally in Portugal for eight years changed his perspective on ego and success. Looking for places where he could feel free from oppression because of his gender orientation or the colour of his skin, Paulo created a personal utopia around himself. Paulo has only been a legal resident for two years. A narrative that revolves around a period bound to staying in Portugal that led him to change his perspective on ego and success. Looking for places where he could feel free from oppression because of his gender orientation or the colour of his skin, Paulo created a personal utopia around himself.
I’d like to introduce you to someone who has continually grown beyond his circumstances, exuding a calmness in his actions that we could all aspire to. In our conversation, I not only learned about his journey but also about the lives of many others who, like Paulo, have faced restrictions due to their papers, skin colour or gender orientation. Our discussion also highlighted the importance of creating spaces where we can truly live freely. I hope you enjoy reading my conversation with Paulo Pascoal.
Alex: Is it a different feeling for you, being in real life compared to those contexts like a festival when you're performing on stage? Or is there a connecting thread between those two worlds?
Paulo: When I'm at the festivals, it's just an extension of who I naturally am. But what's special is that there's this alchemy with the people. By the third or fourth day, you can feel people start letting go of their masks, becoming more honest, transforming in ways they weren't expecting. The festival is very much like real life for me too, we work on ourselves, do breath work, yoga, and dance. I do that in the city as well. I have these endless principles that I never let go of because it's really how I want to lead my life. Festivals are like recharging superpowers. There's a magnetic field that develops because everyone is willing to be the best versions of themselves, kind to everyone, unmasking from social constructs. When I come back to the city, anything I touch goes well, anything I want happens. It's a crazy energetic feeling.
In the past years, I have worked a lot on myself. I've been through cancer a couple of times and live with a chronic condition. My life has always been very full and challenging. I come from Angola, a country in war. I was sent to Spain when I was very young and lived in a priest school for six years. That environment taught me to stand in solitude, deal with distance from loved ones, and be studious. I moved to New York after the priest school so I went from a very closed, safe, protected place dealing with religion, to a city like New York in 2000 when it was considered the capital of the world. I was 18 years old and felt like I was living a dream. It felt like I could lead the life I wanted.
Alex: New York City is a magical place, even today in 2024. How come you moved there at such a young age? And how did you end up in Spain in the first place?
Paulo: I was sent to study at that specific boarding school by my father's parents. My father was murdered when I was very young, and his parents took care of me. They were very religious and got a Spanish philanthropist to sponsor the academic studies of an African child. And I was that chosen African child. *laughs* By my third or fourth year in Spain, I didn't want to be there anymore. At that time, I reconnected with my biological mother, who had married a diplomat who was moving to New York. She proposed I should move to New York too, and everything aligned perfectly. I didn't want to go back to Angola because it was at war and the environment was very violent for me as a queer child. New York was where I could evolve. That's when I started trusting the path and in the power of manifestation. Now, it's more obvious because it's been many years of believing and working on that.
Alex: When did art first come into your life? Can you remember the first moment you saw something and felt like it must be art?
Paulo: I've always experienced a lot of art, though I don't have artists in my family. My father loved films, and my mom had a video club where you could rent VHS tapes. I grew up watching a lot of films, mainly American mainstream films. Very young, I had favourite films about performing arts. One of them was "Breaking 2: Electric Boogaloo," about three friends trying to save their rehearsal space from being demolished. They had to do a big fundraising event. They were incredible dancers and artists. That was probably the first film I really loved when I was about four or five years old. I knew the choreographies and lines, even though I didn't speak English at that time. I always dealt with music, dancing, and such, but I was afraid of assuming it could be true that I liked art.
At first I wanted to be a doctor. After studying and finishing high school, I got into medical school. But when my grandmother, who was more like a mother to me and who inspired me the most, died of diabetes. I realized I wanted to be a doctor to heal her. When she passed, I felt a kind of internal rebelliion because it coincided with me leaving the priest school. I felt like I was being punished. Something had to change. Later in New York, I met artists and understood that I could go to school for art. At 18 or 19, I decided this is what I should be doing. I didn't know artists could make a living or study art, because I was raised in such a conservative way.
Alex: Being in New York and understanding what an artist is, how did you find your own voice in it and learn to express it?
Paulo: It's something innate in me to be inconsequent. When I want to do things, I just go and do them. I don't have inhibitions. My first years in New York, I got into a lot of trouble. I was always just so curious, and I just wanted to live things. Probably I am still like this. My book is printing now. The first book is exactly the journal that I wrote during my first year in New York. And when I read it for the first time, 20 years later, I was shocked. I was like, what the hell, this is my body. Within one year, I went from being a kid who didn't speak the language, and was a student of god to questioning religion and understanding my identity as queer and an artist, which was very problematic for me at the time. Anytime someone who seemed like me came along, I would feel connected and learn from them. Some people were good, others not so much. They were all much older than me. I was 18, not even legal to go out, with a fake ID going to clubs. I thought being queer meant living a bohemian nightlife, using drugs, going to strip clubs, trying prostitution. I had these movie-like ideas.
It’s been a full life, and a part of me still holds onto these constructs. I said at the Waking Life Festival this year:
Whoever is writing this script for me has great taste and knows me perfectly.
Everything happening in my life, even now, seems like someone is watching out for me because it’s just so crazy.
Alex: Sometimes I feel very torn between these different perspectives on how our life unfolds. Is it determined, or is it not? Do we have free will?
Paulo: Yeah, sometimes I really want things to work out, but I’ve learned that often when I want something badly, it doesn’t happen. So I trust the way, keep myself open, and work on myself to deserve the good. When you’re at peace within, open, and not fully judging experiences until you’ve lived through them, something shifts. This shift has definitely happened in my life. Even though some people with a more capitalist perspective might say this is nonsense because you need to set goals and go for them. I understand that too. But lately, the times I feel most aligned and see things happening are when I trust the path. Things often turn out even better than I imagined.
Two years ago, I tried so hard to get the papers to go to Brazil. I wanted to go to Brazil so bad. I said to myself, this will be my next landmark. So I went with a show and took 10 people with me. We were contracted for a theatrical festival. Everything was going beautifully until I arrived in Brazil, and they didn’t allow me in. I packed for 90 days, planning to extend my stay and travel. But when I arrived, I was in jail for 11 hours. The production company told me I wouldn’t need a visa because I was a Portuguese resident, but my passport is Angolan, so I needed a visa. After 11 hours in jail, they allowed me in for one week. I did my shows and came back to Portugal. I was very sick, my whole nervous system was crushed. I didn't curse the people who did this to me, but my body reacted. I had a fever, my mouth was bleeding. When I went to my therapist, who is a shaman, she told me that crossing the Atlantic and having that experience was significant. She said many of my ancestors were willing to get into my body to go back to their homeland. At first, I thought she was crazy, but it made some sense.
Alex: And since then, Mission Brazil has been aborted for now. What did you take out of it? Do you still want to go for longer?
Paulo: Yes, I still want to go, but I’m more flexible about it now. I’m pretending to be chill, but I’m planning. *laughs”
Alex: *laughs, too* At my second time Waking Life, you shared about the loss of your friend, who was your inspiration. You were asking other people about their losses, right? Why did you want to initiate this sharing of not-so-pleasant experiences, and why did you feel it was important to share your story?
Paulo: The original idea came from Apuro. They wanted to dedicate this year to grief, loss, and death because several people within the Waking Life structure had lost dear ones. They wanted to create a space to speak about grief and be comfortable with it. It’s hard because everyone wants to pretend they’re feeling great. Social media promotes this too. When someone breaks our vibe with not-so-good news, we often distance ourselves. For me, it made sense to share because I had just lost Sara Tavares in November last year. She was the biggest reference I had as an artist, and she became like a sister. I wanted to bring her energy to the festival. We had a close relationship, and she was always curious about these holistic festival experiences. She’d say I seemed recharged when I returned from them.
During the workshop, I asked people to write their losses on pieces of paper and put them in a pot. We’d shake the pot, and everyone would read someone else’s grief. This made the atmosphere beautiful. People shared words of comfort and advice. The workshops always adapt to the environment. Last year, we talked about identity and dismantling it because identity can be a trap. For people from my background, if we don’t fight for our identity, it feels like contributing to our own death.
It's a shame that I always have to say that I'm black and I'm queer and I'm an immigrant and I'm this and this and plus, plus, plus, plus, plus.
My work, my clothes, my hair—all these are ways of challenging myself to be the most authentic version of myself without always stating my identity markers. I want to understand what are the other things that I can use to compose, my experience off or at least embellish or decorate it in a way that I feel like this is not so fucked up, you know?
Alex: Yeah, I can imagine it can be stressful to always feel the need to explain yourself. You start questioning your identity, tired of repeating the same story. You almost want to bring something new to it right?
Paulo: I felt like I wasn’t growing because I was always speaking about the same thing. There’s nothing more valuable than experiencing what you have to experience. No academic level or intellectuality can outweigh living through things. A lot of these alignments and experiences I've had, you can’t fake them. For example, two people who impacted me at Waking Life were Martin, who organized the jam sessions, and Gabriel who was selling at “Potato Potato”. I didn’t exchange contacts with Martin, and Gabriel lost my number. After the festival, I was recording my radio show and coming back home. I saw Martin on my street, just arriving from Waking Life. We met at the only coffee shop on my street, and Gabriel was there too. It was wild.
Alex: No way! That's almost unbelievable.
Paulo: That's what I'm telling you. I'm sharing this story to show that some things that happen are beyond imagination. These two guys were right on my street, sitting at the coffee shop. First, it was Martin, and I was already excited to see him, but when I saw Gabriel, I was just like, “Wow, scriptwriters, come on”. I love that. Dude, you're nailing it, man.
Alex: So, you feel like there's a scriptwriter somewhere around you, writing the story?
Paulo: Oh yeah, scriptwriters, guardian angels, ancestors. I think it's more than one because only one person couldn't do it.
Alex: It's a writer's room.
Paulo: I think it is because they're doing great. And I enjoy it. The fact that I can enjoy and be aware of these situations makes me more easygoing in life in general. I don't know how long that lasts because I still have objectives and jobs and things I have to set for myself. But that really feeds me, gives me life, and puts me in a place where I trust life. I'm sort of understanding how to really live this.
Alex: You are a multidisciplinary artist. You do so many different things. How do you navigate this life where people always want you to be one thing or another? How do you let your creativity flow?
Paulo: Sometimes you don't. I don't see it as being different things. I think of it as one thing with extensions. Most of what I'm doing now is because I initially wanted to be just an actor. Once I went to the Juilliard School and became a performing artist, I wanted to be an actor. I studied drama. I did a lot of work in New York, but the career I thought I was going to have wasn't happening. When I first moved to Portugal 10 years ago, I became the voice of a channel called Zap for three years. People loved my voice, so I got cast in commercials, audiobooks, and radio. I've been doing radio for the last six years. I have a radio show called Avenida Marginal, where we talk about society and Afro-descendant culture. We have conversations with Afro-descendant people about all these codes that I represent, because unfortunately for the system, we still need to, be organized, to be visible in order to change anything. We're living in a world where people like me are still being killed. But anyway, skipping that because we want to be on the greater side of things.
I wanted to be a Hollywood star, to get an Oscar. *laughs” Then, the radio opportunity came, and I've been doing it for six years. The writing opportunity came because I met a friend for dinner. She is also an actress and we talked about me being illegal for eight years. She was like “Oh my God, you haven't traveled. You haven't taken a plane in, in eight years.” I was like, “Nope, haven't left Lisbon in eight years.” *laughs” She was so shocked and said I should write about this. She was in touch with a publisher and suggested I write about my experience of being illegal which is especially unreal for many people because they saw me on TV, on all these campaigns, heard me on the radio, etc. and still I am illegal.
I told her I journal every day, and she was like, “Maybe you can show me something and we can try to get it published.” She thought I should share my struggles of being illegal, how I'm still visible, doing a lot of stuff, and hacking the system. That conversation started the ball rolling, and the editors reached out, saying they wanted to publish a book on these issues. This was around 2020, during the pandemic. I was hesitant because it felt too fresh, and I needed time to process the trauma. I told them I wouldn't publish anything while I was still illegal.
During the pandemic, I found an old journal from my first year in New York City. This journal, now becoming my first book, chronicles every day of my arrival in New York—how I got into school, got busy, made things happen, and all the crazy stuff, including love stories. I see it as an artistic object. It’s a very personal, raw, and direct account, not written to be published. It's quite violent, to be honest, and when I first read it in 2020, I was shocked. I didn't remember anything, like who the fuck Reggie was or that he had a child.
Alex: Maybe we can do a follow-up when it's coming out? I am very curious to read it! To slowly come to an end here, I want to speak about learning to make this thing called art. I've been making films for almost 10 years, and I'm just now understanding what films are. Can you relate to that?
Paulo: I do. Only now things are coming together. I'm stepping out of the victim self, the ego, and all these things that made me hurt. I accept things as they come, by asking myself, "What do I have to learn?" That impacts everything in me and my art. In some ways, it makes me become a work of art as well. People see you and react somehow, they gravitate towards you, say nice words, or even mistreat you at the coffee shop.
Alex: My last question is, do you have something for yourself you would like to see more of in our world? Or how do you want to affect the world with your work?
Paulo: That's a sensitive question. One of the first things that comes to my mind is peace. Palestine should be free, Congo should be free. I want people not to struggle so much. I wouldn't say capitalism to not be such a big thing because it's going to be a bigger thing, but I wish there was more equity. I wish for my own freedom to travel and get to know more of the world because I've been stuck for 10 years. Most of all, I want people to be good to themselves and others. I wish we could all be kind to ourselves and others. Once we find self-love, it's a way of breaking boundaries or the rules of what we've been taught—that you only have value if you accomplish something. That bothers me. I have to reformulate my ways of looking at success. In the end, I want us to have healthy, fulfilling, harmonious, and peaceful lives. The world right now is very tricky, but remind yourself that you deserve to be loved and you can do the work.
Alex: Aho. Thank you, Paulo. That was really inspiring. Once again, thank you for your trust.
Paulo: Thank you so much. It was a pleasure.
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