The city is a heavy concrete block made for a sub-race human type developed in one whole century by massonary-illuminatti-C.I.A-new world order-UN… call as you wish, to survive while moves the economy of the country that produces goods for first world countries at the other side of the world. Is it a very well succeeded concentration camp at the most lost corner of the planet with 20 millions of citizens-prisoners working, producing more than any person can get, for low payment and don’t have proper conditions of work, never complaining because this is the only thing local schools teach. You bet your soul, darling. Sao Paulo…. and thousands of people from everywhere arrive here every single day looking for opportunities, what kind of world is this where there are people thinking Sao Paulo is a good alternative to survive? They are volunteers joining in a concentration camp. Welllll… I didn’t even intend to say anything like this. Let me start again: The city is a heavy concrete block, grey grey grey, the only reality incessantly presenting itself want you this or not. I love winter… God !!!! I love winter. Arrested in this city the cold winds with drizzle and rain come as a bless… I am not kidding, I feel like to cry just because I am feeling alive… it is so rare, happens few times a year when the temperature comes down and I can breath. So I walk to my work by the sidewalks not being bothered by people because I am the only one waking under the rain. The stink reality of urban pollution and concrete dust is eliminated with no mercy by the drops from heaven that cleans the street…. the extremely narrow plats/flower beds and rare trees on the sidewalks lift its earth fragrances and as I am with the umbrella opened very near my head only able to look to the floor and avoid the city around, I can pretend that live in a pretty place with people that weren’t culturally and genetically developed by multi-national corporations. I open myself to life, yes I do, with no shame, but in silence, I let the colors of the winter come into my chest. I become a scissor cutting personal boundaries of memories, hates, shame and pain. Freedom is a internal experience usually raised by hope, imagination and denying. Here the nature is funny, it doesn’t follow rules… I mean, it is winter but different specimens of plants are in different seasons… So there are a couple of tress in bloom, purple, pink and red flowers smiling among drizzle before to follow on the sidewalk and make my day while I am walking with my dark green beautiful friend umbrella. All the colors I used and worked on this painting are in my everyday life walking on the street. I only noticed this when was finishing it. I got so touched to see my work expressing so well my life, my feelings…. I mean… so many hard years working on paintings and all of sudden I am able to see myself that way.. this is the most hyper-realistic self-portrait a man can do in this world. I feel as my life has a meaning. So many years not sure of what I was doing, with torment, anxiety and even worse things and a painting in a rainy day gives the direction showing I wasn’t so wrong painting for 13 years. What can I say ? Thank God, for all the time you allowed me to dedicate for painting, thank you for talent, thank you for being able to get art supplies when I didn’t have money for food, thank you for the inspiration, thank you for do not make me a mediocre bastard that follows trends and kiss art world people’s ass. Thank you for have called me. I woke up this Thursday morning not so early. Didn’t have much to do except personal hygiene routine and feed the pets. After I nice piece of vegetables pie, a wonderful cup of cinnamon-apple tea and a cup of green tea I decided to go to studio, I had prepared the canvasses the night before as intended to work on the next day… But I looked to the time and realized I had to leave to the job in four hours. hmmm…. maybe I start to paint… probably not. Maybe yes…. ok, I will spend four hours painting. My experience with my own work tells that in four hours I can start and finish a painting. So I had time…. Four hours later I had only finished the eye up right. hahahah. But what an eye !!!!! Rembrandt would be so jealous of me, hahah, good for him he is dead. I arrived from job in early evening, 7:00, and went straight to the studio, sure, was very exited. Hours after hours, painting here, cutting there… I allowed the painting to lead all my gestures and intentions. I didn’t think about right or wrong… only thought about… well… I don’t remember. The painting was finished at 3:00 pm sharp. I didn’t have any break… except the times I went to the bathroom or the times the dogs came to the closed door and started to cry and beg to open it. I opened they came inside sniffing everything, annoying me for making me waist time and then went away to pee somewhere in the house or to bite and spoil some object leaving me alone. ufffa. As a matter of fact I remember what I thought for one second while I was painting. It is about talent for painting. The truth is that the most talented people I met , the virtuosi ones were all very mediocre and shallow. They know very well what they do, how to have things done, how to reach that effect or that texture. And at the end you look to their works and ask yourself : so what? The real talent for painting isn’t about technique but about persistence. Painter is by nature absolute not a quilter. Because this is painting… it is doing it over and over again… trying, trying never stopping till reach a level of expression that is able to be faithful to your needs. Sometimes it can take four hours to finish an eye that looks like it was made in ten minutes…. sometimes it takes decades to produce one really good work… who cares? Quitter and cowards in general don’t paint… they usually write some conceptual excuse for their aesthetical failure convincing other cowards like then that don’t have courage to face themselves and produce something for real. Painting, doesn’t matter the subject or style, it is always about having to face yourself the most direct way and dealing with it with no formulas, only the way you are able to do it at the moment.
|Because painting has nothing to do about adding paint on a surface as people are taught. Painting is about the plot, and it requires a level of internal commitment that most part of the so called artists today and people in general are deadly scared to do.
The nature of the “making” painting is exactly this…. all the process is about you having to force to find solutions for elements you aren’t sure about what it really is and what is going to happen if you “solve” this puzzle. You are unsure from the very beginning to the end and even so you try harder and harder to go beyond. Then people don’t understand why painters are able to paint for many years with any recognition and never give up… while artists of other medias usually give up after few years having no proper feedback. Sure, all the other medias offer faster solutions to the artists… let’s say they get spoilt. But painting is tough and makes you tougher. What in life can scare a painter ? What can the art world do with a painter that will make him/her give up ? Nothing. Real painters are so used to try hard and never give up that there is absolute any evil this world can offer strong enough to make us stop. One single painter, with all its wide opened fragility and solitude is stronger than the entire world together. Don’t you see it? The world with all its cruelty and long time can’t stop a painter, we always carry on with our burdens and think it is glorious. So here I am in this concentration camp…. since I was a kid I had the entire world with its power and corporations conspiring against my life, my mind, my freedom and my soul. But every single day I survive and prove that God made me stronger than all then together. I am untouchable. I live the way I want, I produce the art I want, the way I want, when I want, how I want, if I want, where I want, ….and I tell all then to go back to the hell they came from… and they obey me…because they live in this world they built and it is a hell… but I live in Glory, safe, healthy, producing and happy. I live in this concentration camp but I have the world under my feet. I am a painter, and you get out of my way. by the way… my work is not for sale. ——————————————- ohhh, no no, wait !!!!!! I was almost forgetting: Lately I have worked this dark green and my favorite painter, a very beautiful girl told me she is very into dark green. yey!!!!!! I would ad this dark green on the painting anyway… but let’s just say… I did it to impress you, baby. hahahah. Are you impressed ? oh yeah… here comes the purist asshole saying: “”did you do this to impress a girl? you are not a serious painter”". Do you know what happens with people of the art world that take themselves seriously? They die as mediocre as they born. … and burn in hell. have a nice weekend and happy Friday !!!!!! I love you all, hahahah !!!!!