Not in the Shadows

It may seem that I have been still because I have not been publishing much. But the truth is that I have been painting in the shadows.

For months I have been working quietly on what is, without exaggeration, my most ambitious project so far. Last week’s meeting gave me something essential: a date. We are aiming for September. A real horizon. Visibility. Responsibility. Time to prepare properly.

To see this exhibition become real is already a success. For that alone, I am proud. But I would be lying if I said I do not hope for more. I am putting a year of work into this project. I want it to be seen. I want it to be talked about. Art is communication. It needs the artist, the work, and the viewer, just as communication needs the sender, the message and the receiver. Without that encounter, something remains incomplete.

In the meantime, I have been painting small portraits. Smaller than what I had been doing. Today it seems that size dignifies art. Large scale surprises, overwhelms, dominates space. But these smaller works have forced me to slow down and to make decisions differently. I am exploring impasto more freely. I am assuming mistakes. I am giving less attention to obsessive detail and more attention to intention.

Each brushstroke must justify its existence.

Working small has made me more confident, not less. I do not want repetition. I want evolution. I want to learn. These portraits are not just visual representations. I want them to carry something of the person’s legacy, something beyond likeness.

Soon I will return to larger formats. Not only because I miss the physical freedom of a big brushstroke and the weight of texture on a larger surface, but also because I understand the power of communication. I confess that I want to scale impact. I want to reach further. I want to think of myself fully as a painter, not someone who paints on the side. This exhibition is not just a show. It is an opportunity to step forward.

I often think about what makes an exhibition memorable. I do not want it to be a room filled with portraits and nothing more. I want presence. I want impact. I want someone to walk in and feel something undeniable. I want people to remember it and to talk about it afterwards.

When I visit museums, I try to be critical but honest. I do not read every explanatory text. I look for experience. For me, that experience must be felt, not explained into existence.

Duchamp’s Fountain was essential. It questioned what art could be. It opened doors that needed to be opened. But sometimes I feel that shock has become repetitive. That the question has become a habit. That in pushing the limits of what art is, we risk forgetting the love of making.

I do not want to forget the love of making.

The sun has returned to Lisbon. After a long, heavy winter, the blue feels endless again. The light changes everything. Painting with natural light gives me energy. It feels like leaving the shadows of preparation and stepping into momentum.

At home, the energy feels different too. There is support. Emotional grounding. A quiet pride in the path we are building.

I am still painting one portrait at a time. One brushstroke at a time. But now there is a direction. A date. A horizon.

I do not want to disappoint.

But more than that, I do not want to hold back.

September is not just an exhibition.

It is a step into the light.