I
remember as if it were yesterday,
the day that, at the house of
Samuel Figueira, myself, giving
advice, more than usual, about
his style of painting, in his
use of color, in the choice of
his themes and probably even about
the proper evolution of his art.
I really must have exaggerated
in my function of art critic,
and from that, came his unexpected
challenge: Why didn´t I,
such an apparently big know-it-all
about painting, try to paint a
picture right then and there in
front of him, his wife Mila and
Shirley Durães, who was
there visiting them that Sunday
afternoon? Insult or invitation,
convocation or whatever, he didn’t
have to force me, and with no
further ado, I immediately dove
right into the canvas, creating
my first landscape, blue, white
and green, primitive, with no
shade, completely smooth, flat
and even a little transparent.
For a beginner, I guess it was
a success. In a little more than
two hours, with my friend Samuel
guiding me along here and there,
and even helping me out a little
with the palm fronds, because
at that moment, I didn’t
have that certain light touch,
which, by the way, I still haven’t
acquired.
Just
a few days ago in nearby Mirabela,
Shirley, upon seeing a painting
of mine, reminded me of that first
adventure in painting, and asked
me if it was worth it, after all
these years of effort in the colorful
world of tubes of pigment, brushes,
pallet knives and canvases. She
also wanted to know if I considered
myself a happier person after
being a painter for so long, a
profession in which one suffers
so much criticism from both who
know about painting and also from
those who know absolutely nothing
. And what would I tell her? Of
course, everything is fine, painting
has been a marvelously, extraordinary
hobby, a significantly singular
exercise in patience, a new source
of study, an encounter and reencounter
with art, spanning centuries of
admiration and enchantment. When
I am painting, the hours fly by
in true dreamtime, fascination,
replete in mental gratification,
captured in delicious feelings
of joy. And about the criticism…especially
the negative type, it has helped
me a lot, contributing towards
my growth, competence and the
search of a better performance.
In
truth, I have no idea whatever,
of where I stand as a painter,
in the world of art because it
has been so long since I have
been in the company of Samuel
and Konstantin Christoff, my two
very demanding teachers, that,
even when complementing my work,
still find some way of making
some constructive criticism, giving
valuable suggestions and never,
never showing themselves to be
completely satisfied with my work.
I don’t speak much of Godofredo
Guedes, this being because he
never thinks anyone besides he
himself paints well. That is because
he, as a painter, never strayed
away from the academic school,
and, therefore could not appreciate
any other style of painting, rarely
giving useful instruction or suggestions,
for old or young disciples of
the art. It is because good old
GG finds that the profession of
painting is too painful, too hard,
and too difficult. He really only
gave worth to classic, academic
painting. Reality, in its line,
form and color. To him, our newer,
modern forms of expression are
inventions created by painters
that think they know what they
are doing but in truth, have no
idea, whatever.
Another
important painting instructor,
Cristina Rabelo, a few days ago,
looked at almost all the pictures
which I had prepared for my upcoming
exhibition on July thirteenth,
at the Culture Center, here in
Montes Claros, said that she liked
them, but still asked me why I
had abandoned still life painting
of flowers…On the other
hand, our family´s criticism,
from which there is absolutely
no escape, my wife, Olímpia
and daughters Wladênia and
Rizzia and also my daughter in
law, Nádia closely follow
each and every painting I do,
summarily presenting their feedback
in the exact minute of each request
of evaluation. My sons, João
Wlader, Danilo, Denilson and Wanderlino
Jr. find themselves somewhat absent
and aloof from these sessions
of critical evaluation.
These
are the happenings in my world
of pigments and I must admit that
I have no complaints. Better and
more profitable moments have never
been found during these wonderful
ten years of painting, exactly
when I am completing my first
half-century of existence on this
earthly plane. Painting has been
a happy blooming of life, a form
of internal and external peace,
an evocation of past memories
of my travels and remembrance
of those lovely dream landscapes.
After I started painting, I have
never passed by nature, or her
by me, as if existence was a blank
page. Each and every road, each
piece of sky, each tree, every
leaf, the silver mirror of the
waters, however tiny as it may
be, has been a celebration to
my thirsty eyes and imagination.
The
painter is a color, form and movement-reader,
the visualization of dimensions
that exist and do not exist. I
was almost forgetting to make
an apology about Godofredo and
his lesser collegues of fine art.
What he just doesn’t like
is anybody else’s painting.
To them, he is and has remained
a good friend. In what it concerns
me, he has given me only enthusiastic
words of encouragement. Perhaps
I am the only person that he has
actually tried to teach his painting
techniques. This, he said was
because he feels that painters
in general, suffer tremendously,
since very young, and that I,
had no need to work as a painter
to survive, and therefore, it
was all right, and I have since
been eternally grateful.
