I chose one of the paintings I had started that had been waiting for some time facing the wall and placed it on the easel. The picture was worse than I remembered, but it was just beginning. I watched him a while longer, still with the palette clean and the colors in the tube. I began to doubt. The painting looked at me. He seemed to be lamenting me. I opted to sit and look at the painting from a distance. Wow, it’s even worse than I thought, I thought. Why did it take you so long to come, he blurted out this time. Well, you know, the kids, the house, family obligations… Yeah. Let’s see how I pick this up, I thought. It was cold in the workshop, so, overcoming laziness, I quickly changed and bundled up in my painter’s clothes. Pants, fleece, the blue jacket from the factory where my father worked, the old hiking shoes. Titian’s open book gave me a little courage. I squeezed the tubes, arranging the colors in order on the palette. My order, which is not always the same, but I understand myself. The painting looked at me in complete silence. I made a first gesture of wetting the brush. I backed off before I brushed against any color. Come on, I listened. I don’t know. Yes, you do. I do not get it. Get started! I started, but not with color. I gave a light coat of turpentine to the entire surface of the canvas. I had to start with something and I attacked the bottom. I chose a mixture of Prussian blue and permanent green. It was horrible. He painted without faith. The picture got much worse. I tried to erase it quickly with the rag. Well, I didn’t totally screw it up. Let’s leave the background alone. Let’s see the face. How difficult it is to paint a face. Fuck no, why. Go on, he said. I followed. Everything went from bad to worse. The palette was already a blur of poopy diaper color. I tried other colors. How did Velázquez paint? Hahaha, you heard it. Forget the face. No, continue with her. I wiped it down and picked it up again. Well, this eye is not so bad. I put the lights back on. Too soon. The other eye was crooked. I took a step back. Then another. The painting was going badly. Don’t worry, it has already happened to you more than once. I sat down. I don’t know how much time passed. A lot. I held three stained brushes in my left hand. I wanted to paint, but that painting was impossible. I stood up in an attempt that, in doing so, everything would magically resolve itself. The fool of the balls lives on illusions. But I looked at the palette and it didn’t make any sense. You have to know when to stop, I told myself. Ya ya, it was heard. I removed the painting from the easel and leaned it against the wall. Some colors survived clean on the palette. I carefully gathered them up and placed them safely in a corner, like children saved from a landslide. I wiped the surface of the pallet with the rag. That was good. Sure, easy, painterly, I heard. Without thinking I went to get a sketchbook. I fastened it to the stand. I have those images saved. Pina’s, Dylan’s. I saw how the saved children smiled at me. I added a nice smear of white next to it. Yes, yes, come on. I made a large bluish-white stain on the paper. She was beautiful. I changed the brush for a finer one. Now the hand was running. I followed a step behind her. A head appeared. Brush change. Oh, that looks like a shirt. The rag corrected the neck. A small remnant of yellow resisted disappearing. Other luck. What about the face? Ah yes, that nose. Wow, I didn’t think it was going to be that easy. You could already hear the gentleman with the tambourine. Who paints? There is no time for that now. Go on, I heard. Two brush strokes showed me the pants. Now enjoy combing his hair, she told me. Yes, that tousled hair is for painting. We are done. When I arrived, the brushes were already resting on the table. It was fresh and definitive. Shall we continue? Yes, but another one starts. And Miles, Pippilotti, Gloria, Robert arrived… They invited each other. They had fun, and I had fun with them. Every day, after cleaning the brushes, he would arrange them on the floor in rows. No Eva, you stand next to Alice. They looked at me with satisfaction. He would then put them away together and kiss them goodnight. See you tomorrow, guys. And on the way home I was already thinking about those who would arrive the next day. And they were always on time. Everyone was welcome, musicians, artists, writers and scientists… I admired them because they had done valuable things that had an effect on me. I thanked them and they generously allowed themselves to be painted. They are my family. Thank you, paint. You are welcome, my friend.

Juan Fernández Álava.
January 2022.