I dip the brush and bring it close to the canvas, divided between the confidence of the rules learnt from the manual and the hesitation of what I will choose to be. I read this phrase in the Manual of Painting and Calligraphy by José Saramago and I said to myself: Of course, there are two trades, the one learnt and the trade being learnt along a route, so both terms become one and the latter is known when it is completed. The person that remains only with the trade learnt will never master it, because the trade will dominate him, but the individual who learns his trade along his life—that is, he invents it daily—will neither master it, but at least he will be the owner of his own question.

That is why I believe that every artist—that is, the one that invents himself by means of the artistic language he chooses—, at the beginning of his professional life, is somebody who very vaguely knows where he is going to, but he takes a train that he believes will take him to a destination that he will only get to know at the end of his journey… of his life; or rather, he will be known by the contemplators, readers or listeners of his artworks.

As far as my personal environment is concerned, I believe that—with no much trade learnt—ignoring where the chosen train would take me, I said to myself that it was towards chaos. Therefore, I came to know in that trip what I understood as such: everything that was beyond me, that is, life itself.

The feeling that in front of my surprised eyes there was a convulsed world in a hectic time guided me to take the train whose destination was to be able to understand the uncertainty known as chaos.

In the same way as the trip of a train is established by the several stations that mark the various sections of a trip, I believe I have already lived ten periods in my pictorial evolution.