Diary of a certain month of January

From 1st April to 31st May



One month in January she brought a baby, a new house, a beautiful child saying: “Grandmother, hurry, take the picture or he will cry!”. She brought a new book and a new text to the theater stage, one of the great unknown classics, mysterious, obscure, undying, extravagant, sublime. A month of January cold rainy windy adjective, but noun generating a garden of succulent giants and a reborn phoenix: lemons that are perfect individuals. A domestic-satirical self-portrait, and seas that chill and invigorate just by looking at it. A chair where one day I will no longer be, leaving only those highlighted flowers; if it stays that’s not bad at all, the idea that I spent a certain month of January touching up the flowers and rekindling the fruits in the backyard. What else? It was a polaroid month, which also brought the lessons of mini- reality that the machine gave me and the consequent sublimation in painting (watercolor!!), exaltation of augmented reality.





Fighting disappointment, I painted what I wanted. Between the minus and the plus of imitation, every now and then, on a Sunday afternoon, a plate that finally paid off, it was worth it. A thread of light visible on the cedar, the result of a whimsical, incomprehensible chemistry, or a funny play of lines on the hose that plays like the ghost of the snake. And squares and grids, natural, staged, retouched, painted. Degrees of intervention that come from the best there is, pleasure and whim. In negative, around these images, fluttering, are all the beauties that remained to be captured, the shadow of the gesture of bringing the camera to your eyes and concluding that you were not up to the moment. Neither I nor her, there was in us, woman and machine, that modesty, that limit. What remains, the diary, hangs on the wall for a couple of months. There it is, a certain month of January, now shared.

Luisa Costa Gomes