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Disenchantment precedes a time change in the artist's creativity.
Always trying to do what I do not know how to do: to master the painting.
Virtuosity is a pretext.
Anxious nights thinking about the next day's painting. Every morning I open the door of the studio and see yesterday's work. Disillusionment.
Dying every morning to find a new beginning.
How difficult it is to show what I do! There is no parallelism between creativity and exhibitions.
It does not count to be in the vanguard in one's twenties. It's more of a challenge later. Then, being silent is worthy. But I really don't know.
I love the gleam of the sea in winter, being possessed by it.
What if the moment of our dying could be chosen?
What endures over my life used to be often what I esteem less, what I pay less attention.
Each painting has its own time. Impatience works against me.
I have to learn to be steady.
each minute you create a different landscape.
And there is no landscape without seeing;
there no painting without seeing.
I am afraid of what you hide. What would it be like to die in your arms?
I have to go further, not be limited to inmediate impressions.
Harmonious pleasure of immeasurable boundaries.
Theory of happiness
My perception of the essence of Beauty is that it also exists in the most simple, and even unattractive objects.
But I do not pretend to know what Beauty is. A fugitive image? A welcoming dwelling?
No one of the world´s endeavours is strange to me; for each one of them cloisters something supernatural within.
The damned tenderness,
No. Nothing is necessary.
fragmented, difussed, will my spirit remain?
My mind is lost.
I believe in emotion.
I believe in beauty, in the goddess of Beauty.
The sad goddess.
I believe in the concrete scattered in a landscape without end.
I believe in the Painting as Itself.
I believe in the painters that we are.
I believe in Pessoa.
I believe in pain.
in what is sad.
in the mistery. Will I be able to incorporate it?
I believe in what is not understood. In what simply is.
I must believe in myself.
I am positive.
Not knowing what to paint.
I have to know.
I drink a glass of red wine, holy and self-renewing painting, from within the weave of your canvas.
Depression arises at daybreak,
while anguish turns me pale for a cobalt blue,
just because of its price.
So many pieces of junk venerated, installed, catalogued. So many other genuine ones just squantered.
It is a perpetual failure.
For how long, God, must one work with full passion, soul, madness to arrive nowhere.
It is so simple...
I have to fight for emotion.
What is it to be a painter today?
The Pompeian Red wholly seduces me.
Try always to feel pleasure in purity.
Authenticity, that is ones of the keys.
I have to be an authentic painter.
I like fragile things and the appearances that wrap them with mystery.
I make paintings that pertain to Painting; that keep the relationship between Man and Painting, Man and Beauty, Man and Emotion.
I want my paintings to live together with people, to hang on the walls, to be objects of desire, contemplated or even ignored.
Primitive pleasures. Intellectual pleasures.
Never abandon Emotion.
Understanding is not really necessary to be touched by a painting.
I feel trapped in a dead-end. Sometimes I remain so obsessed by a particular way of painting that I become obstinate and I lose perspective. Then I should back and rethink.
What disillusion. What lack of zest for everything.
Nothing happens without motivation.
When someone buys a painting in my studio, he carries away the passion and feelings I left only inside the painting. That is how I prefer it.
I would desperately like to know the anonymous buyers.
My head is empty. I do not know what to paint. I am wondering if I should continue painting in the way I always have.
I have to find a topic.
Theme is the problem.
I need motivation.
I need an aim.
I realize that what I did in 1995 was more solid. Then I was more free. Then nothing constrained my mind. That trip to the South coufused everything.
I should rescue my naiveté.
Examine all forms of seeing to learn from them.
Be apart from the world.
Live in seclusion to do unique work.
To do it otherwise would make the work obsolete.
Walk towards the mistery.
Oftentimes I am so obvious.
Let me be driven by the illogical; abandon myself to intuition.
Keep some doors close. Vagueness.
At times I feel that my physical and mental energy declines. Or not? Is it just depression?
Too much yearning.
Alone. Always alone in my studio. I think of art as the product of loneliness.