"Retrato A4"

(Retrato A4, sanguínea sobre papel)

Auto-retrato.

("Auto-retrato", óleo sobre tela, 70 x 50 cm. Em andamento.)

I know we're all pretty small in the big scheme of things.

But what kind of difference have I made? What in the world is better because of me?

I am weak. And I am a failure. There is just no getting around it. (...)

And I suppose the most you can hope for

is to make some kind of difference.

Relatively soon, I will die. Maybe in 20 years, maybe tomorrow. It doesn't matter.

Once I am dead and everyone who knew me dies too, it will be as though I never even existed.

What difference has my life made to anyone? None that I can think of. None at all.

Hope things are fine with you.

Yours trully, Warren Schmidt.

(About Schmidt, filme dirigido por Alexander Payne e estrelado por Jack Nicholson, 2002.)

O Homem - Um Mecanismo de Relógio

É realmente inacreditável como a vida da maioria dos homens flui de maneira insignificante e fútil, quando vista externamente, e quão apática e sem sentido pode parecer interiormente. As quatro idades da vida que levam à morte são feitas de ânsia e martírio extenuados, além de uma vertigem ilusória, acompanhada por uma série de pensamentos triviais. Assemelham-se ao mecanismo de um relógio, que é colocado em movimento e gira, sem saber por quê. E toda a vez que um homem é gerado e nasce, dá-se novamente corda ao relógio da vida humana, para então repetir a mesma cantilena pela enésima vez, frase por frase, compasso por compasso, com variações insignificantes.

(Arthur Schopenhauer)

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an off hand way
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way
Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun
And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking
And racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death
Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone the song is over, thought I'd something more to say
Home, home again
I like to be here when I can
When I come home cold and tired
It's good to warm my bones beside the fire
Far away across the field
The tolling of the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
To hear the softly spoken magic spells

(Time, do álbum The Dark Side of the Moon da banda Pink Floyd)

Retrato

(Estudo retrato, A3, pastel seco)