Caio Fern, acrylic on canvas, 2012

lately I haven’t painted, haven’t done anything relevant , only lived my life. This work has been hanged on the wall of my studio unfinished for two or three weeks. I usually start and finish a work in few hours, I am too anxious for leave an unfinished work for the next day.
It shows how much I am not minding to paint.
I have had to deal with much more important issues inside my head… if I can’t solve it or find solutions painting won’t happen… painting is only an effect , not cause. If you don’t understand this, I can’t explain to you… go to be a romantic bastard in an expensive art school and leave the real people alone.The poem below I wrote few weeks ago too and didn’t post here yet.
it is self explanatory.

ok…. do I have anything to say about this painting. Besides my lack of patience to make it… this work releases me from lots of things that were bothering me about my work.
I don’t know what is going to be my next step but at least this one here helps me to do not give a fuck to myself as an artist or whatever artist means…. and only care about being a human as a whole. Finally freedom. Freedom from myself towards highest levels of spirituality and a better life.



Cutting bread in pieces I don’t understand and don’t want to eat.
Why have internal shores prepared such a wide opened windy bed to suffocate me over the cliffs?

I’ve been here since the stones forgot its colors.
Laying down this tired back over a shy swimming will for dead leafs on the air.

Breath pass over the dark furniture searching for a tool. …and any organic matter.
The taste of absence lands on my closed lips and chin.
Metric system of silence has taken flesh for granted.
All the acts of past vanished with dust. My arm is by its own.

Do you know when all your muscles are ready to to jump on his/her neck, bite it and transform it in a hamburger killing it in less than one second even before to fall on the floor?
But you don’t feel like to do it anymore and you don’t even know if the target still exists so you sit on the couch in dark and try to forgive feelings of facts you don’t even remember anymore?

Eyes trapped by the weight of doubt.
Eyes opened to what is for sure and isn’t present.
…the waiting of a gap that isn’t to come. Or is.

by Caio Fern
Sincerely I wasn’t in the mood to write anything, but I saw a post, sure, on an art blog, tumblr, saying basically that you don’t have the right to write a poem only because you aren’t a doomed slave of its craft.
So I did.
Shut up all the people that are so insecure about your talent that instead of trying to improve itself, try to undermine other people’s efforts and expressions creating new kinds of prejudice and making other untalented fools believe on this.


by the way, I am getting tired to write in English, it was fun before because was a challenge, and still challenges me… but now it is just…. limited.


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