The Project That Took Everything

It has been a long fight. In less than fifteen days I completed seven portraits — eight, if I count the one I threw away and began again. The biggest project of my life, and the most exhausting. I knew it would be difficult, but I didn’t expect the weight that would sit on my mind once the last canvas was finished. I feel drained, as if the paint itself has been taken from inside me rather than squeezed from a tube.

I have always said that I don’t quit my job to become a full-time artist because I love painting too much to let it become a prison. I never wanted to paint what others ask of me, nor chase projects purely for money. I wanted painting to remain mine — sacred, free, driven by passion, not by invoices or necessity.

And then, these last weeks arrived. The project of my life — one that connects both sides of who I am: Gus Romano the painter, and Gustavo Romano, son of a family that built one of the strongest fashion legacies in Portugal. I can’t speak about it yet, but I can say this: I’ve spent these nights studying the history of the industry I grew up inside but never truly looked at. Watching documentaries, reading articles, trying to understand the world that shaped my parents and, indirectly, shaped me. I am falling in love with a universe that was always around me, waiting for me to look up.

I didn’t like my paintings in the first days. I still don’t know if I like them now. There was no time to doubt, no room to fix mistakes. The deadlines didn’t allow me to breathe. When I realised I didn’t trust one of the portraits, I didn’t try to salvage it  I simply picked up a new canvas and started from zero. That’s how I reached eight portraits instead of seven. If I had more time, I would probably repaint half of them.

Now, with only days until the deadline, I should feel relief. But I don’t. I feel that to be great I must keep pushing myself to the very edge. I look at the portraits and see what’s missing. I keep imagining adding one more painting — even if it wasn’t requested — just to give more of myself. Or creating something so bold that only a madman, a believer, or a dreamer would dare to suggest it.

And now comes the part that scares me even more than the painting: putting them all together. Seeing if they speak to each other, if the textures and colours can form a conversation between seven strangers. They were painted individually, in chaos, in rush, in exhaustion — I can only hope they belong to the same breath.

Let´s create content

Being from a marketing background, I know the truth: no opportunity reaches its full potential without communication. I must plan how to show this, how to tell this story, how to speak about something that nearly broke me. And yet communication is the part I fear the most — I never feel good enough with words, I never know how to show myself. But I know I have to try. If I don’t, then all of this remains hidden.

At night, the same questions return in circles:

Why did I put myself in this position?

Am I worthy of this project?

Are these paintings strong enough for the magnitude of what they represent?

Did I waste money on materials I couldn’t afford?

Could I have done better?

I don’t know the answers yet.

But tomorrow I have a day dedicated to filming and editing — something new, something I’ve been wanting to explore more seriously. I love recording, I love editing. Maybe capturing this process, this journey, will help me understand it. Maybe the camera will show me something the mirror cannot.

For now, the only thing I know is this:

I fought for this chance. And I won’t let myself down.