The First Brush Stroke Is Always the Hardest

After the summer, I finally returned to painting portraits. Since finishing my big portrait of President Marcelo Rebelo de Sousa, I hadn’t touched a portrait again. It hasn’t been that long, but the fear is always there: do I still know how to paint?

I’ve written it before — the hardest part is not painting, it’s starting. The inspiration doesn’t come before; it comes during. Sometimes I sit and wait to feel “in the zone,” but the truth is that I only enter that state once I pick up the brush and make the first strokes. This new portrait was exactly that — not a masterpiece, not a planned project, but a way of immersing myself again, of remembering the feeling of painting.

I wanted to play with textures and continue my search for a personal touch. Someone once told me: an artist doesn’t always have to create their greatest work. Small paintings, studies, or even imperfect works are part of the journey. They fuel growth, they allow exploration, and they create space for future masterpieces.

Right now, I feel I’m searching for two things: style and color. My usual palette is simple — Cadmium Yellow Light, Azo Red Medium, Ultramarine, Zinc White, and Burnt Umber. These give me vibrant, saturated portraits, but they’re also the “safe” colors every artist uses. Lately, I’ve been experimenting with new tones — Winsor & Newton’s Emerald Green, a bold, almost too-saturated hue that, when softened with white, gives me beautiful cold notes. Sometimes I bring in Sèvres Blue for extra depth. It’s a process of trial, error, and discovery.

This time I painted an old Portuguese man, his face marked by years under the sun. I’ve always loved painting older faces. They hold stories, wisdom, and a kind of beauty that only time can carve. (I’ve even dedicated a page of my site to this theme: Knowledge Series).

The painting is not my best, but it felt like a good comeback. Two hours of alla prima, of textures and layers, and of being fully present. I painted with music blasting through my headphones — Fred Again’s Extended Tiny Desk Mix and Rufus du Sol. Music is my shield; it blocks out the world and lets me disappear into color.

These Sunday sessions feel like a workout for the soul. One painting, one day, and I can go to sleep proud. Not every day needs to be about greatness or the next big project. Sometimes, it’s just about being there — brush in hand, heart in the zone, painting for myself.