Between Silence and Sound: Searching for Inspiration in Paint, Chess, and Rui Massena’s Music
I don’t quite know how to describe what I’ve been feeling lately. I find myself in a position, in a moment of my artistic journey, that I could never have imagined. And yet, instead of being filled only with joy, I’m caught in this strange tide — some days I feel heavy, almost sad, and in the past weeks I haven’t found the spark that makes me pick up my brushes.
It doesn’t make sense, because I am in the middle of what I believe could be the greatest opportunity of my life as an artist. Something I cannot yet write much about, but which already feels like a turning point. It’s the kind of chance I never even dared to dream of, and I know how much work, practice, and sacrifice have led me here. For that, I feel proud. And yet… inspiration is absent, and I return home from the office too tired to create.
This isn’t impostor syndrome — at least not in the usual way. I do not doubt my ability, I know I can rise to the challenge. What I fear is different: I fear I will not be able to embrace what this opportunity represents because of time, because of the weight of daily life. I want to be ready when the moment comes, to have my website updated, my social media alive, my skills sharpened, my colors tested. I want to grab this project with both hands and make the most of all it can open for me. And yet, instead of preparing, I find myself sketching idly on paper, easier tasks that feel safe, but not the bold steps I know I need to take.
And when I don’t paint, when I don’t prepare, there’s another habit that creeps in. A small hobby, almost an addiction, that I never really share or even feel proud of: playing chess. It started as a distraction, but now I see it as my strange way of chasing the feeling of accomplishment when the day feels wasted. I hate to lose, so when I do, I keep playing until I win. But when I win, I play again — just to prove to myself that I’m improving. I don’t even enjoy it most of the time. I do it because, when I go to bed, I want to feel that the day wasn’t entirely empty, that at least I “won” something. And yet, the realization that I’ve spent thirty minutes, an hour, clicking away on Chess.com is often worse than the feeling of not having done anything at all.
Maybe it’s not the worst thing — at least I’m not scrolling endlessly on social media, drowning my head in emptiness. But still, it makes me wonder: why do I need these little victories to replace the bigger one I am truly chasing? Why do I settle for a pawn’s win when what I want is to paint the canvas that’s staring at me from across the room?
In the middle of this strange cycle, I found myself inspired by Rui Massena, the Portuguese maestro whose piano melodies have often been the soundtrack of my nights before sleep and my walks through Lisbon. Knowing he admired Ryuichi Sakamoto — one of my greatest inspirations — made me feel an even stronger connection. Listening to Sakamoto always takes me back to Japan in my thoughts, a place of calm and beauty for me. So, I painted Rui Massena in an alla prima style, experimenting with a palette that I rarely use: yellows, oranges, and reds. It’s not a painting I’m particularly proud of, but it taught me something. The background — a bookshelf in fiery tones — frames Rui in a moment of thought, his hand resting against his head. It stands out from my usual portraits, and though I don’t love it. The portrait is strange to me, not beautiful, but maybe necessary. It taught me something.
This week I bought new canvases — even linen for the first time — hoping that the sight of a blank surface might push me to begin. And still, every purchase comes with the echo of doubt: why am I spending so much on a dream without answers? I’ve invested not only money, but years of my life, and I keep going without knowing where it will lead.
I have fought so hard for opportunities, and now one might be here, waiting. But the question that doesn’t let me sleep is simple and haunting:
Will I be able to take it?
