I have heard many times that certain people, like me, are born to be artists. They say we are gifted, talented, special and it goes on and on. Some of them can even prove scientifically that we are genetically marked to be successful. Others say that we were marked by a star at birth or that God touched us in one of his mysterious ways.
I used to believe all of it. The feeling that I was specially gifted kept me going for a long time. Reviews in the newspapers and the applause of the audience at the gallery seemed to reinforce every single “fact.” The struggle for perfection, for my own style and voice, for getting up THERE (whatever that means) were the winds in my sails. I was growing up in a fast process of trying to fulfill everyone’s expectations, while listening to my inner-self. Finally, step by step, pushing a little further every time, I got HERE (whatever that means) and I didn’t prove or accomplish anything, but I guess I grew up. One day, I realized that I was as gifted as my neighbor, the bricklayer.
My works are created in the same way he builds a wall; brick by brick. I take care of the priming of my canvas, the background layers, the texture, composition and colors, as good as, he takes care of the foundation, structure, vertical levels and cement mixture. We are awfully careful with every single detail. We are professionals. We know that success will be only achieved if we use the right materials, the right position, the right tools, experience, tricks, skills and a lot of sweat and hard work.
We take care of each brick. We don’t like walls falling down.
Augusto C. Bordelois