When Recognition Feels Empty

The last two weeks have been difficult ones for my body.

I seem to get sick more easily lately. What begins as a simple cold stretches into long weeks of blocked nose, cough, and the kind of tiredness that sits quietly behind the eyes. I suspect it is not only illness but fatigue. Too much time outside the rhythm of home, always attentive, always connected.

There is little I dislike more than being sick. Not because I cannot work, but because I cannot live properly. I cannot enjoy the sun, go for a walk, breathe fresh air, cook something simple, or help around the house. Being forced to stay in bed is a strange kind of imprisonment, especially when the mind still wants to move.

These past weeks have been entirely dedicated to the office. Not by choice, but by circumstance. At Central Models there are periods when the work simply demands everything. Sometimes that means weekends. Sometimes it means finishing a day at two in the morning while accompanying talents. Those hours will eventually be compensated, but taking the time immediately often creates a new problem: the work that waits when you return. Emails accumulate, responsibilities multiply, and the following days become heavier.

It is not the work itself that tires me. On the contrary, there is something deeply satisfying in helping someone achieve a dream. I have seen talents I work with reach places they once only imagined. Being part of that journey is meaningful. The fatigue appears when routine disappears. One day in one part of the city, the next somewhere else, schedules shifting, emails piling up in the inbox while you are physically elsewhere. When I return to the screen and see the unread messages multiplying, a small stress begins to grow.

I do not feel that I live two separate lives, although it may appear so from the outside. My two Instagram accounts perhaps reinforce that illusion. But I do not hide one from the other. Work must come first because it carries responsibility. If I fail at work, I do not fail only myself but others as well. Art comes when there is calm, when there is space. One day perhaps that order will change, but for now it is the natural balance of things.

Still, there is always the quiet fear that work may consume the time and energy that painting requires.

Last week brought another type of responsibility. I had the pleasure of presenting and moderating a conversation at Nova SBE during the Marketing Wave conference. The theme was The Face of Authenticity: When People Are the Brand. Standing in front of an audience is always outside my comfort zone, even when the subject is something I know well.

Curiously, once the moment began, I felt energized. I had printed notes in my hands but never looked at them. The words came naturally. I was speaking about the work we do at Central Models, about the evolution from the era of supermodels to the present moment where authenticity has become a central value.

While speaking, I realized something interesting. In that context I was representing myself as a professional, as part of the company. No one in the room knew about my painting. And yet I was speaking about authenticity. Perhaps there is a small irony there. I spend my days helping talents communicate themselves to the world, helping them build their public identity, while as an artist I remain far more discreet.

I share my paintings, but I rarely place myself at the center of the message. Perhaps it is fear. Perhaps it is the hope that the work itself can speak without the artist having to become a brand. I am not sure which is truer.

This week also brought recognition for the Central Models digital department. The projects we worked on were awarded several of the most important communication prizes in Portugal by Meios & Publicidade. It was a significant moment for the team. We even received the Grand Prize.

I should have felt proud. And in a way I did. Proud of the team, proud of the work, proud of the effort that went into those campaigns.

But the feeling remained strangely distant.

The most meaningful moment was not the prize itself but the fact that my father was there beside me when we received it. Still, the satisfaction was different from the one I feel when showing him a painting.

In the campaigns I am only a facilitator. I help guide talent, shape projects, and support the process. The success belongs to many people. A painting is different. A painting carries the trace of a moment, a feeling, an effort that is entirely mine. When I show one to my father I am not looking for praise but honesty. He is my most demanding critic. He points out what he dislikes, what is wrong, what could be better. And when he says nothing, but simply smiles quietly, that is perhaps the most meaningful approval I can receive.

The prizes from work felt like recognition of my professional life, but not of my identity.

It is a strange sensation to feel proud and empty at the same time.

Next week I will travel again for work. Travel always brings something unexpected. It is one of the privileges of this job: arriving somewhere I never planned to visit, discovering something that was never part of my plans. If time allows, I will try to visit a museum.

Museums have a way of returning me to myself.

Perhaps recognition only matters when it touches the right part of us.

Central Models - Communication Awards Tó Romano & Gustavo Romano