Fado and the Face of Resilience

Yesterday, I picked up the brush again. This time, my inspiration came from Portuguese tradition. I painted the portrait of an old lady, her face marked by wrinkles and years of labor, a woman who carried a life of work and sorrow. Her eyes are thoughtful, almost sad, yet with a quiet acceptance—as if life has given her more struggles than joys, but she has endured them all.

I painted while listening to fado, the voice of Sara Correia echoing through the headphones. It was unusual for me, because I rarely listen to fado, it is deeply tied to my Portuguese roots. When I was a child, I could never understand why anyone would want to listen to such “sad” music. Fado is not sadness it is love, longing, anger, saudade. It is sung with the lungs and lived with the heart. And while I painted, I felt that same pulse guiding my brush.

Working in alla prima is, in itself, a kind of fado. You surrender to the moment, let the brush dictate the course, and trust that what emerges is faithful to the feeling, not the plan. For this portrait, I avoided vibrant colors. Instead, I gave myself fully to texture—thick strokes, rough edges—because that was the mood.

But this painting was also born out of rejection. The same day I learned that my self-portrait had not been selected for the Almenara Collection exhibition in Córdoba. Of course, I always hope to be chosen when I submit my work, but instead of feeling anger, I felt something different—a strange sense of motivation. Each rejection, rather than breaking me, seems to fuel me to improve, to observe more closely, and to understand art in a deeper way. That self-portrait had already left me with mixed feelings, and not being selected made me reflect on my process. Instead of discouraging me, it gave me a renewed drive to keep painting—to search for what I might be missing, and to get closer to the artist I want to become.

This new portrait feels like it is unfinished as I wanted to give it even more textures. I put the brush down after midnight, exhausted, but the old lady’s expression is already alive on the canvas. What it needs now is weight—more texture, more layers, so that the wrinkles breathe and the skin almost trembles with history. I want to give her a background of emerald green, not dark, but luminous, to create a contrast. I want sadness and hope to live together in the same canvas. I want the viewer to feel the urge to reach out, to touch the portrait, to run their hand across the texture and offer sympathy.

And I wonder… in the years to come, when this painting cracks and ages, will the cracks themselves add another layer of meaning? Will time collaborate with me to deepen the emotion?

For now, it rests unfinished. But I know I will return to it, because this portrait—like the fado I listened to—demands more than impulse. It demands patience, persistence, and the courage to keep painting even when I feel rejected.