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.
