When tears don’t ask for permission
Sometimes creating is crying while standing — a quiet act of resistance when everything in us wants to stop.
Even in tears, art still breathes.
Some days, the soul decides to cry before I understand why.
The tears arrive unannounced,
without a name,
without an explanation that fits into words.
They fall from exhaustion,
from the absence of return,
from the weight of creating in a world that doesn’t always listen.
And I let them.
I let them wash what courage can no longer reach,
undo the knot tightened by silence.
Because maybe crying is also a way to continue —
a quiet form of resistance
when everything in me wants to give up.
Tomorrow I might stand up again.
Not out of strength,
but out of loyalty to something in me
that insists on existing.
Even tired.
Even without applause.
Even in tears.
👉 Artistic moral of the day: sometimes, creating is crying while standing.
When painting asks for silence
When painting asks for silence, gesture learns to listen before it speaks.
Silence has color too.
“There’s a moment before every gesture — that’s where painting breathes.” — HMad
Some days, the studio asks for silence.
Not the comfortable kind, but the heavy one — the silence that forces you to stop.
The city’s noise stays outside, and even the brushes seem to wait for something you can’t name.
You open a tube of paint, but it’s not color you’re looking for — it’s the air between colors.
Painting sometimes asks for pause.
It wants time to listen to what you haven’t said yet.
And if you insist on rushing the gesture, it goes quiet.
There’s humility in accepting that silence.
Because, really, that’s where the work begins — before it exists, before it’s yours.
👉 Café conclusion: silence is a tool too — it just doesn’t fit in the paint box.
Between silence and pigment
A brief return: the studio spoke louder, and silence turned into creation.
After the noise, the studio’s silence remains.
“There are times when silence is the only way to work.” — HMad
It’s been a while since I last wrote here. My bad.
But sometimes the studio speaks louder — and the blog just has to wait for its turn.
The work for the exhibitions ended up multiplying: one in November, another in December.
Two fronts, two tempos, and the same pair of hands trying to keep up.
Between canvases, color, and cold coffee, time simply vanished.
But that’s a good sign — it means the materials took over, and silence turned into creation.
👉 Café conclusion: I wasn’t gone — I was just busy shaping the right kind of noise.
The creative drama: wood dust and stubborn faces
Between dust, tools, and stubbornness, matter always reminds the artist who’s in charge.
Between dust, tools, and stubbornness.
Sometimes the studio feels like a courtroom: I argue, the wood objects. I imagine fluidity, it insists on throwing back edges.
The result is here — among dust, tools, and a stern face that came out of the block almost out of stubbornness.
👉 The artsy moral of the tale: the artist never beats matter — he just negotiates temporary truces.