Bia Ferreira at Joe’s Pub, photo by Sachyn Mital.

The Beautiful Forms: Queer Art Unbound festival was presented by the Artistic Freedom Initiative in October. The festival showcased the talents of international artists who have faced persecution or censorship due to their queer identities. Two of the featured artists were Bia Ferreira, a Brazilian singer and composer known for addressing important social issues, and Lama El Homaïssi, an actor, singer, and writer whose work often focuses on the LGBTQIA+ community. In this interview, Lama discusses their experiences engaging with the diaspora and highlighting injustices in Egypt and Lebanon, while Bia talks about their upcoming international tour and their approach to different music genres. Continue reading and discover how this festival provided an important platform for queer artists to express themselves and address pressing issues.

Where are you based?
Bia: Brazil

What got you into music?
Bia: My family always loved music. So I started to learn piano at 3 years old . After this I leaned how to sing in the church.

How do you believe the Beautiful Forms: Queer Art Unbound festival contributes to the mission of representation and inclusivity in the arts?
Bia: As a queer woman, I understand the importance of talking about my experience as part of a survival strategy for bodies like mine. I live in the country that kills the most queer population in the world. We need to talk about life strategies. When I received the invitation from AFI to compose this beautiful line up, in addition to the joy I felt in being part of it, I also felt more confident in continuing to talk about the things that are going through me. It was an incredible concert! It was really enriching for me and my bandmates.

With all the horrid things going on in the world right now, immigration representation and resettlement assistance is incredibly important. What are your thoughts on the current state of immigration and handling of refugees across the globe and how would you like to see it improved?
Bia: For me, it's insane to think that people are murdered, and left to die on many borders because of xenophobia. No one is illegal on stolen land! Before the English, Portuguese, Spanish, Dutch and French, there were people living in these territories. Borders are imaginary lines created to maintain the power of a few. Human beings are the only living beings that pay to live on earth. Art has no borders, and that's what AFI made me understand: THERE ARE NO FRONTIERS FOR ART! My wish is that there are no borders in life!

Bia, we love that your music is so focused on necro politic, racial quotas, anti-racism, women and LGBTQIAP+´s rights and the affectivity towards these bodies. Why is it important for you to use your art as a form of resistance and activism?
The greatest role of art is to reflect its time. The role of the artist is to portray, through art, what is happening in the world, in their territory. If this is not the case, it is just another contribution to the bread and circuses policy imposed to keep people under the thumb of oppression. I make art to reach the hearts of people who come from the same reality as me through access to information and affection as ways of maintaining life, rights, and emancipation.

What inspired you to become an activist?
Bia: What inspired me to be an activist was the awareness that many people who live the reality I grew up in do not have the same opportunities to access knowledge, social politicization and tools of class and race awareness. I am an artivist because this was the key to my emancipation. I believe it can be the key for many other people too.

Bia, as a Brazilian singer, how does it feel to be able to bring your music and message to audiences around the world? How do you feel the audiences in different areas respond to your music and activism?
I feel very proud every time I understand the size of the spaces that the art I produce occupies. Being able to travel the world carrying this message of revolution encourages me to continue with the purpose of activism through art. I feel that in countries that don't speak my language, people feel the reality that I bring from my speech. People from Portuguese-speaking countries are able to perceive in a more open way the harsh reality imposed on Afro-Brazilian and native queer bodies in the territory where I live.

Bia, can you explain guiding survivor technology through art?
This is about finding easier ways to exchange information about strategies to stay alive in a world where queer people, immigrants and Afro diasporics already have a death sentence, intolerance and disrespect imposed.

Bia, how do you approach visual storytelling and symbolism to convey your message effectively?
Creating a possible imaginary of existence. Thinking about prophecies for the future. Only what has been imagined is possible. People like me need to know that there is a possibility of a good life for us.

Bia, how do you ensure that your message is conveyed and understood by listeners from different backgrounds and cultures?
People who live my reality feel represented, they feel encouraged to make their voices heard and people who don't have the same experience as me, when they come into contact with the art I produce, try to rethink their attitudes and find your place in this revolution. Nobody leaves the same way they arrived.

Bia, can you share any memorable moments or experiences from your international tour so far?
My happiest memory was the concert in Rotterdam (North Sea Jazz Festival) in which the audience sang the chorus of the song for three minutes, even after the end of the concert. Realizing that even without speaking my language, those people connected to my art and the symbolism I bring was incredible!

Lama El Homaïssi at Joe’s Pub, photo by Angela Cholmondeley.

Lama, can you tell us about Not Harem Material, and what inspired it?
I’m currently completing my time as an artist-in-residence in the Safe Haven Incubator for Music, which is an artist-at-risk residency under the leadership of Tamizdat, Artistic Freedom Initiative and Joe’s Pub. Not Harem Material is one of my two projects that have been in development during this residency, the other is an alternative rock musical titled Radio Beirut.

Not Harem Material is my cabaret which debuted at Joe’s Pub this October. The title is a direct quote from a Broadway agent I once met with, who spewed it as an insult towards me under the guise of feedback, and I thought it would only be fitting to reuse it as a farcical title for my show. After all, the show is a reflection on identity, home, and my experiences as an Arab and SWANA (South West Asian and North African) artist making music and theater in the U.S., as someone who doesn’t feel represented by stereotypical and monolithic depictions of people like me in Western media.

Lama, you sing, act, and write - aka, you do it all! Your shows can be described as a multi-sensory chronicle of your experiences. What made you decide to take on this approach?
I’m a little bit of a restless person and artist. I was lucky to be exposed to different art forms early on due to my parents being artists as well. My father (Faek Homaïssi) is an actor-writer-director, and mime is his expertise. His uncle was one of the last known traditional Hakawatis (Arabic for “storyteller”) in the northern Lebanese city of Tripoli.

He would gather crowds of people in the town square or local cafes and tell the tales of epic characters from myths, legends, and Quranic fables, or of heroes he allegedly came across on their travels. The oral Hakawati tradition would help listeners escape their daily woes, take them on a rollercoaster of emotions that would end with a morality lesson, but leave them with the perfect cliffhanger guaranteed to bring their eager ears back to the square again for the next saga. It’s a civic duty, and the need for storytelling never ceases. I don’t think of my father’s work, or mine, being very different.

My mother (Samar El Zein Homaïssi) is a visual artist and a painter, and she often collaborated with my father on show posters, puppets and masks. So I am the descendant of storytellers! My brother and I got to see our father’s productions countless times, and eventually grew up to help out. I was so excited to eventually do his mime makeup. I started in visual art, I ended up pursuing a BA in filmmaking, and I worked as a writer in television and film for about four years in Lebanon, before I decided to move back towards theater. I never stopped writing, but I came to the U.S. to hone in on my performance training and got my MFA in Musical Theater at Boston Conservatory at Berklee, and now I both perform and write. You can still very much see the influence of film in the way my work manifests on stage.

Lama, can you tell us more about your community engagement events and why they are important to you?
I am thinking of two different kinds of community engagement events — those that I was involved with back home in Beirut, and those that happen and are happening here in the U.S, in Boston when I was at college and here in NYC where I am now.

In Lebanon, the community engagement events are community-led spaces where we gather to decompress, make art, hold open mics for music and poetry, storytelling nights, film screenings, and so on. There’s also a give-and-take with spaces, it’s not a relationship with corporations, but small businesses or theatres will offer unused space at no charge for community fundraisers (shows, cookouts, etc.), and they’ll just keep the profit of the bar earnings, or to hold meeting spaces for feminist and queer collectives, among others. It’s community interdependence. I, myself, was supported by my community which raised funds to get me to the U.S. and I owe them so much.

In the U.S., I've gotten to take part in community engagement events on an institutional level. There was community programming, for instance, by the American Repertory Theater, for We Live in Cairo by the Lazour brothers which is a musical centered on the 2012 Egyptian uprising that I had assisted in dramaturgy on. Coincidentally, there was another Egyptian uprising that year in 2019 and a Lebanese uprising as well. We held community concerts in Boston and NYC where we shared testimonies from prisoners read by expats in the U.S., and they were vital to us as a diasporic community to process together in one space.

Lama, how has your experience teaching movement influenced your perspective on the power of art and education in creating change?
I’ve taught movement to folks forced out of movement and theatre spaces by ableism or lack of accessibility, and what it has reminded me is that no space is automatically inclusive by virtue of being artistic. Creating change begins with looking at how we may be reinforcing bias or failing to celebrate parts of the people we share space with that need to be encouraged. Inclusion, like liberation, is a constant struggle that requires us to constantly check in and adapt.

Lama, can you tell us about your experience as a resident at the Safe Haven Incubator for Musicians and how it has impacted your work as an artist?
As I mentioned earlier, I’m a restless person. During the pandemic, I picked up the ukulele, then guitar, and have slowly been growing as a songwriter. Radio Beirut is my first venture into writing my own music for a play I’m writing. The SHIM:NYC residency under Tamizdat, AFI and Joe’s Pub’s leadership provided me with a studio in the legendary Westbeth Artist Housing in the West Village, where I live and work on my craft. The residency program also gave me access to those three organizations’ networks, their resources, mentorship, access to a lot of theatre and music events around the city, and just moral support. They’ve all really shaped me as an immigrant artist finding her footing in the New York scene and have been a pillar in my support system.

Lama, could you discuss the significance of multi-disciplinary art in expressing queer experiences and identities?
When I first thought about how to answer this question, I thought about drag queens: how they use projections, tracks spliced together from everywhere you can imagine, outfits they assemble… you really are doing it all. I consider that approach as a metaphor for how I work while also speaking to the queer cultural scene in Beirut. Back home, similarly to New York, a lot of queer spaces and art exist in pubs, clubs, before being in curated community spaces and theater. The art we make is expressive, fantastical, and rebellious. It is naturally multidisciplinary by necessity, with found or borrowed objects, assembled tech elements, with your roommates holding up the fan from your living room to create hair-ography wind. To be queer and express yourself is to exist at the intersections of disciplines.

Queer SWANA folks are often spoken for, or have things done in our name. I would like to see queer art continuing to center on our agency rather than just victimhood.

What advice do you have for other artists who want to use their creativity for activism?
Lama: Write your story. Write what you know. If you feel you haven’t had access to the training, don’t overthink it. Whatever you have to say is too important a cause to be stifled by notions of perfection (and I often have to remind myself of that). Make sure your work is rooted in the community. Be careful of saviorism. Ask yourself if you’re the right person to be telling this story. Pass the mic. Be generous with your resources. Find strength and community in the collective.

…and download Discord, Telegram and Signal.

Lama El Homaïssi, photo by Alaric Campbell.

What’s next for both of you after the Beautiful Forms: Queer Art Unbound festival?
Lama: My next goal is to continue developing my musical Radio Beirut by doing a workshop reading with members of the SWANA community, to keep developing the music I’ve written for it and eventually do a public presentation, and so on! I’m a performer as well as a writer. I perform in my own work but I also love collaborating, especially on new works. I will be reprising my role of Jana in the play Port of Entry by Talya Kingston at the Northampton Playwrights Lab’s 2023 Play By Play Festival. I played Medea in a rock adaptation of the Greek myth, named Rock Medea, written by Daniel Cantor and composed by Gían Perez. We did multiple iterations of it, including a concert at Joe’s Pub, and we recorded the album in order to pursue producing it on a larger scale. I am also part of a collective called The Well. We are four theatremakers that are devising a piece together, and we’ve been writing that for the last six months.

How do you see the role of queer art in challenging societal norms and promoting acceptance and understanding?
Lama: I’m certainly glad more and more queer voices are having their work supported, and as a community we must continue to hold the theater “industry” accountable where diversity and intersectionality lacks. Stories are fundamental to humans. They connect us, give us a glimpse into someone else’s life, and remind us that we’re part of something bigger than ourselves, which promotes acceptance and understanding. Queer art, in a time when we’re still fighting to keep LGBTQIA+ rights, is resistance.

I won’t lie, though, I do find it frustrating to feel tasked with educating others, or needing to audition for someone’s empathy towards my humanity. I know a lot of minorities feel this way — because it means that my humanity doesn’t come to you as a default. I much prefer making art that is propelled by our own desires, ambitions, futures we envision, things we find funny – not just our traumas – and inviting others in.

It has been a rough few years, how have you been staying positive?
Lama: I’ve been lucky enough to have folks from extended family, to friends, and colleagues that I’ve been able to lean on. The SHIM:NYC residency has allowed me to reshift my focus onto my creative work after a very turbulent time in the pandemic. Now, I’m trying to let myself nest. It is finding a community in New York, and knowing I don’t feel these things in isolation, that has kept me positive.

What is your motto in life?
Lama: It’s not really a short motto, but my father always stressed that an artist’s strongest weapon is their pen. The pen, of course, symbolizes the power of a writer or an artist’s words. I hold that belief as well. It is important to use it because we have a duty as artists to hold up a mirror to society and to the world. It is not comfortable or convenient to stand up for justice, but we wield that power with our pens.

To learn more about Bia Ferreira and Lama El Homaïssi, please follow the links below:
Bia Ferreira Instagram: @igrejalesbiteriana

Lama El Homaïssi:
Website: Lama-elhomaissi.com
Instagram: @lama.elhomaissi

Also, to stay up to date on more progressive shows by Joe’s Pub please check out their schedule here.

Unleashing the Power of Queer Art: Beautiful Forms Break Free with Bia Ferreira and Lama El Homaïssi