I made some small changes in this painting

Tir Na Nog

This is the small canvas I painted when I experimented with oils for the first time. It´s an illustration of Tir Na Nog, an Island in the irish mythology where the soul of the death go. My mother had recently died, and I was listening to this mystical song by Van Morrison. (The moon doesn´t look right, unless there´s a lunar eclipse going on...)

Listen to the music: The Lyrics: We were standing in the kingdom And by the mansion gate We stood enraptured by the silence As the birds sang their heavenly song In Tir Na Nog We stopped in the church of Ireland And prayed to our father And climbed up the mountainside With fire in our hearts And we walked all the way to Tir Na Nog I said with my eyes that I recognized your chin It was my long lost friend To help me from another lifetime We took each others hands and cried Like a river when we said hello And we walked to Tir Na Nog We made a big connection On a golden autumn day We were standing in the garden wet with rain And our souls were young again In Tir Na Nog And outside the storm was raging Outside Jerusalem We drove in our chariots of fire Following the big sun in the west Going up, going up, to Tir Na Nog You came into my life And you filled me and you filled me Oh so joyous By the clear cool crystal streams Where the roads were quiet and still And we walked all the way To Tir Na Nog How can we not be attached After all we're only human The only way then is to never come back Except I wouldn't want that would you If we weren't together again In Tir Na Nog We've been together before In a different incarnation And we loved each other then as well And we sat down in contemplation Many many many times you kissed mine eyes In Tir Na Nog

A mug by Euan Craig

Euan Craig is an australian potter living and working in Japan. This is one of the beautiful mugs he makes.

Detail:

Boom festival 2012

Peace, Art, Environment, Transformational culture, Love. People from 120 diferent countries, lots of dust in the air too. Count on me. An interesting talk on Transformational festivals here. I´m sorry I missed a talk by Gregory Bateson´s daughter, Nora Bateson...

This is Patrice Hubert and he builds this amazing kinetic art:

This is Daniel Pinchbeck:

Experiments in permaculture:

Lagoa Escura, Serra da Estrela

On the highest mountain in Portugal, Serra da Estrela, there´s this natural pond, Lagoa Escura. According to some ancient legends, there´s an underground connection between this pond and the sea (some 200Km away...) This strange legends is mentioned by Herman Melville in that seminal american novel, Moby Dick, as you can see in the photo bellow (in a portuguese translation; in english books the quote must also be around page 223...)

On July 27 I made the hard walk to Lagoa Escura with some friends, and I even took a swim there. Before entering the water I told my friends that in case I wolud disapere, they should go and look for me in the beaches of Figueira da Foz or Nazaré... But I did not disapere, and everything turn up alright.

George Saunders´ PASTORALIA

The short stories in this book are excelent!! Portraits of contemporary America with disfunctional families, the poverty and the competitive imoral work relations, the violence, all served with a great sense of humor that reminds me of Buñuel. The optimists ("Man, what an optometrist," says Jade.) and good and well intended characters sound even more funny and absurd than the mean and desperate ones. On July 7, due to friendship and fate (thank you Resa *****, Alina, Jeff, Iosip, Scott...) I was in a private party, in Lisbon, also attended by George Saunders and other great writers and poets. I had never found myself in the company of so much litterary talent before. I had heard Mr. Saunders read one of his short stories a couple of days before, but I didn´t understand much of it, due to his accent and the many english words I didn´t know ( specific references to popular American culture, tv programs, local characters and brands, etc.) Resa told me he is excelent, stellar, with many stories published in the New Yorker. I already ordered too other of his books from Amazon. His dialogues are amazing, especialy those long parts, more like monologues, imagined or real, with fine irony or sudden changes of opinion. The first time I read something similar was in a small text by Woody Allen; a man feels atracted to some pretty nurse; he starts by praising her beauty, charm, personality, selfishness, etc, but, feeling ignored by her, just two lines below he starts doubting her qualities, suspecting she may even be so stupid she couldn´t find anything more interesting to do than being a nurse... One must know a lot about all shapes and forms of human nature to describe such complex characters with few lines, like Mr. Saunders does.

Down by the river

Today I cut and sanded these two pices of wood. Each has four profiles of my face (with and without glasses). I just don´t have any idea as to what to paint in them, right now. I´ll just wait for inspiration.

Hermann Hesse

I bought this portrait of Hermann Hesse (one of my favourit writers) painted by Akira Beard. I admire Akira´s craft, his loose but precise paint stokes applied with the easyness and precision of a zen master. In my late teens I read most of Hermann Hesse´s books: Narcissus and Goldmund, The Steppenwolf, Siddhartha, Peter Camenzind, The Glass Bead Game, Demian, Journey to the East, as well as most of his short stories and essays.

Akira Beard

I received in the mail these drawings by Akira Beard, an amazing artist and an excelent person. Thank you very much Mr. Akira!

Oporto artwalk June 2012