Agostinho Bento de Oliveira Art Dossier 2009-2011

AGOSTINHO MANUEL BENTO DE OLIVEIRA
ART DOSSIER 2009 ‐
ART DOSSIER 2009 2011

ALL IMAGES COPYRIGHT OF AGOSTINHO
MANUEL BENTO DE OLIVEIRA

BIOGRAPHY
Agostinho Manuel Bento de Oliveira was born in Mozambique in 1967. In
1976 he moved to Portugal where he studied at the School of Arts and Crafts
“Soares dos Reis” at Porto. Since then he is deeply linked to arts, theatre and
design.

RECENT EXHIBITIONS
RECENT EXHIBITIONS
2011

“Calligrams‐ Linear Poetry (Apollinaire vs. Foucault)”. Mama Inés Cafetería.
Madrid, Spain.
p

“Lyrics of Fado”, Sala Alabanda, Madrid, Spain.

“Lyrics of Fado”. Municipal Gallery of Ourém. Ourém, Portugal.

“Calligrams‐ Linear Poetry (Apollinaire vs. Foucault)”. La Buga del Lobo.
Calligrams Foucault) .
Madrid, Spain.

"Londr'ArtExhibition 2011". Acquire Gallery. London, UK. Collective
exhibion.

2010

“N.A.R.C.O.‐Art Traficking”. La Boca del Lobo. Madrid, Spain. Collective
exhibition.

“Poiesis, Living is Poetry”. Mama Inés Cafetería. Madrid, Spain.

“Angel y Parejas”. La Buga del Lobo. Madrid, Spain.

2009

“Voyeur”. “Fragle Pop”. Madrid.

“Angel y Parejas”. “D’Mystic”. Madrid.

Various collections. Mama Inés Cafetería. Madrid..

DISTINCTIONS
2011: “Londr'ArtExhibition 2011”. Sponsored by Art London Caffe and
@rtItaliaPromos. Finalist

1989: “Young Talents Awards”. Sponsored by Insurance Company Fidelidade.
Finalist

WEBSITES
http://www.bentodeoliveira.com

http://www.saatchionline.com/bentodeoliveira

http://bigurso67.artelista.com

Collection “Angel y Parejas”
Angel Parejas

https://bentodeoliveira.virtualgallery.com/angel_y_parejas_s3567

Collection “Poiesis, Living is Poetry”

https://bentodeoliveira.virtualgallery.com/poiesis_el_vivir_es_poesia_s5104
https://bentodeoliveira virtualgallery com/poiesis el vivir es poesia s5104

Collection “Lyrics of Fado”

https://bentodeoliveira.virtualgallery.com/#/letras_de_fado_s6659

“Londr’ArtExhibition
“L d ’A tE hibiti 2011” Exhibition Catalogue

http://es.calameo.com/read/0007199862a7f8ff0be42

EMAIL
a.bento.oliveira@gmail.com

PRESS
Interview at Spanish leisure and culture magazine “Experpento”, issue
January 2012.

http://issuu.com/experpento/docs/enero_2012 (Go to section “Artists” at
the end of the issue).

Web version: http://experpento.es/?p=12687

Art Dossier 2012:

ACTOR AND ACTRESS
MIXED MEDIA ON CANVAS
120 X 120 cm

COLLECTION I FEEL LOVE
COLLECTION “I FEEL LOVE”

I FEEL LOVE 1
MIXED MEDIA, ACRYLIC ON CANVAS
40 X 30 CM

I FEEL LOVE 2
40 X 30 CM

I FEEL LOVE 3
40 X 30 CM

I FEEL LOVE 4
40 X 30 CM

VOYEUR 2
PRIVATE COLLECTION, CIUDAD REAL, SPAIN
PRIVATE COLLECTION CIUDAD REAL SPAIN

VOYEUR

VOYEUR‐ VOYAGE 1
,
40 x 30 cm

Sincerity is an opening of the heart

It occurs in very few people, and if there is a love pure and free
from the mix of all our other passions, is that which is hidden at the
bottom of the heart, and that we ourselves are unaware of.
Passions contain an injustice and a self‐interest which makes them
self interest
dangerous to fall upon, even when they seem very reasonable. –
the bluntest man, when is dominated by passion persuades others
much better than the most eloquent one lacking it.
In short, let's be realistic and leave behind the bourgeois
establishment of the “abstract man” notion and let us subject
ourselves to the subjective freedom of passions, which make us
aware of our necessary reality.
“Free is what abides only by the needs supporting its nature, hence
only being influenced by itself in his actions "‐Baruch Spinoza
actions. Baruch Spinoza.
The triptych "Passion" does not reveal the history of the passions,
whichever the sex of the participants, but an endless path where
the only changing things are the physical space and the intensity of
the attitudes of the participants.
As Spinoza writes, I just want to be influenced by my own nature,
be real and free concerning my attitudes to others.
A. Bento de Oliveira

T
TRIPTYCH VOY YEUR PASSION
N
MIXED MEDIA
M A, ACRYLIC ONN CARDBOARDD AND WOOD
D
76 x 76 C
CM EACH

EROTIC W
WINDOW
MIXED MEDIA
M A, ACRYLIC ON
N CARDBOARD
D AND WOOD
D
52 x 122 cm

VOYEUR‐ HARMONIA 1
MIXED MEDIA, ACRYLIC ON CARDBOARD AND WOOD
76 x 76 cm

VOYEUR‐ HARMONIA 2
76 x 76 cm

VOYEUR‐ MASK
MIXED MEDIA, ACRYLIC ON
CARDBOARD AND WOOD
45 x 128 cm

COLLECTION
“ANGEL Y PAREJAS”

ANGEL Y PAREJAS
Artist: Agostinho M. Bento de Oliveira
Place: La Buga del Lobo Calle Argumosa 11 Madrid Spain
Lobo‐ 11, Madrid,
Dates: December 1st, 2010 to January 3rd, 2011
Opening wednesday, December 1st, 2010 from 18:00

Recreation of a new harmony aesthetic using the technique of
"mixed media" and the frescoes of the great masters of painting
mixed media
Russian, including the original frescoes in the Cathedral of the
Dormition of the Moscow Kremlin, which are of great value both
historically and artistically, being the oldest relics remaining of
murals and frescoes from the medieval Moscow.
I’m i
I’ using a contemporary b k
t background, using th symbols of th
d i the b l f the
writing of the twentieth century, as well as the images of the great
master Teodosio, son of Dionysius, the famous artist of the old
Russia, who continued his father's work.
I conclude this collection of 12 framed tables with a pictorial
memoir of the frescoes in the Cathedral of the Annunciation, which
were painted in 1508. They are characterised by their colourful and
festive character. The set of frescoes in the Cathedral of the
Annunciation is a masterpiece of early Russian art and a testimony
of great culture and talent of the painters.
The vibrant colors of the icon of "The Archangel Michael", a
masterpiece of Russian painting at the end of the 14th to early
15th century remain in the memory.
The 12 Tables are the result of months in which according to evolve
my artistic creation this transmitted me an inner spiritual
creation,
satisfaction I was transcending the terrestrial world and the
celestial.

But I'm not "San Agostinho"

http://www.bentodeoliveira.com

TRIPTYCH “ANGEL Y PAREJAS”
MIXED MEDIA, ACRYLIC ON WOOD
35 x 76 CM EACH

“ANGEL Y PAREJAS” 4 “ANGEL Y PAREJAS” 5 “ANGEL Y PAREJAS” 6
MIXED MEDIA, ACRYLIC MIXED MEDIA, ACRYLIC MIXED MEDIA, ACRYLIC
ON WOOD ON WOOD ON WOOD
35 x 76 cm
35 76 35 x 76 cm
35 76 35 x 76 cm
35 76

35 x 76 cm 35 x 76 cm 35 x 76 cm

35 x 76 cm 35 x 76 cm 35 x 76 cm

COLLECTION
“POIESIS,
LIVING IS POETRY”

POIESIS
LIVING IS POETRY

Poiesis in Greek means "making art" and the ability to deploy human creativity, play
games,
games explore and especially the transformation of chaos into poetry
poetry.
What brings the submersion into arts, exploring our senses and imagination to do
poetry?
All art forms allow us to respond specifically and then transform our thoughts,
emotions, or our external reality, against which we often feel powerless, to react or do
something.
hi
In making art, personal conflicts are again re‐created and molded into a real object
either through a dance, a sculpture, a painting or a poem. It is important to note that
artistic creation is not just a carbon copy of how we feel but always brings a surprise,
something new. The art is like an "alien" speaking to us and with which we can
interact and fi d new thi
i t t d find things about ourselves or th world.
b t l the ld
When making art we sublimate our everyday reality and enter an imaginary world.
Imagination is linked to our health and our ability to generate new alternatives to the
static and rigid. In art we have the ability to manipulate this imaginary world and take
it to the real one where transformation and change become possible.
Poiesis, then, allows us to bring something new and give us the possibility to shape
and transform our relationship with our subjective and objective worlds. In art we
have the concrete ability of confronting the conflict, transforming it into something
totally different till we finally end up playing with it. Whether a sense of loneliness or
an external frustrating situation Art opens the possibility to create and make
something authentic and beautiful with whatever disturbs us us.
Speaking of beauty in art we are not referring to an aesthetic beauty but rather the
quality art has to mobilize and take us to places not previously explored. We find then
that terror and chaos may nevertheless be contained in an image that we can touch,
move and genuinely be surprised with.
Creation always b i
C i l brings lif regardless of the pain that i b i expressed. N only
life dl f h i h is being d Not l
human pathology is expressed when creating but also our resources and healthy
aspects of our being. The chance to play and turn our creative potential on is
increased when we enter poetry and leave our rational day‐to‐day.
Perhaps it is difficult to afford being poetic and entering the creative language that
often i only restricted t galleries or artists. N
ft is l t i t d to ll i ti t Nevertheless, d not f
th l do t forget th t art was
t that t
and is at the heart of human existence and Poiesis in life is always possible.

DIPTYCH BLUEBIRD (POEM BY CHARLES BUCKOWSKI)
ACRYLIC ON CARDBOARD
103 x 73 CM EACH
PRIVATE COLLECTION, MADRID, SPAIN
PRIVATE COLLECTION MADRID SPAIN

BLUEBIRD

there s
there's a bluebird in my heart that you want to blow my book sales in
wants to get out Europe?
but I'm too tough for him, there's a bluebird in my heart that
I say, stay in there, I'm not going wants to get out
to let anybody see but I'm too clever, I only let him out
you. at night sometimes
there's a bluebird in my heart that when everybody's asleep.
wants to get out I say, I know that you're there
say you re there,
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale so don't be
cigarette smoke sad.
and the whores and the bartenders then I put him back,
and the grocery clerks but he's singing a little
never know that in there, I haven't quite let him
he's die
in there.
i th and we sleep t
d l together lik
th like
that
there's a bluebird in my heart that with our
wants to get out secret pact
but I'm too tough for him, and it's nice enough to
I say, make a man
stay down, do you want to mess weep, but I don't
me up? weep, do
you want to screw up the you?
works?

WALKING AROUND

PABLO NERUDA

Sucede que me canso de ser hombre. No quiero para mí tantas desgracias.
Sucede que entro en las sastrerías y en los No quiero continuar de raíz y de tumba,
cines de subterráneo solo, de bodega con muertos
marchito, impenetrable, como un cisne de
marchito impenetrable como un cisne de ateridos, muriéndome de pena.
ateridos muriéndome de pena
fieltro
Navegando en un agua de origen y ceniza. Por eso el día lunes arde como el petróleo
cuando me ve llegar con mi cara de cárcel,
El olor de las peluquerías me hace llorar a y aúlla en su transcurso como una rueda
gritos. herida,
Sólo quiero un descanso de piedras o de y da pasos de sangre caliente hacia la noche.
lana,
l
sólo quiero no ver establecimientos ni Y me empuja a ciertos rincones, a ciertas
jardines, casas húmedas,
ni mercaderías, ni anteojos, ni ascensores. a hospitales donde los huesos salen por la
ventana,
Sucede que me canso de mis pies y mis uñas a ciertas zapaterías con olor a vinagre,
y mi pelo y mi sombra. a calles espantosas como grietas.
Sucede que me canso de ser hombre.
Hay pájaros de color de azufre y horribles
Sin embargo sería delicioso intestinos
asustar a un notario con un lirio cortado colgando de las puertas de las casas que
o dar muerte a una monja con un golpe de odio,
oreja. hay dentaduras olvidadas en una cafetera,
Sería bello hay espejos
y p j
ir por las calles con un cuchillo verde que debieran haber llorado de vergüenza y
y dando gritos hasta morir de frío espanto,
hay paraguas en todas partes, y venenos, y
No quiero seguir siendo raíz en las tinieblas, ombligos.
vacilante, extendido, tiritando de sueño,
hacia abajo, en las tapias mojadas de la Yo paseo con calma, con ojos, con zapatos,
tierra,
tierra con furia, con olvido,
con furia con olvido
absorbiendo y pensando, comiendo cada paso, cruzo oficinas y tiendas de ortopedia,
día. y patios donde hay ropas colgadas de un
alambre:
calzoncillos, toallas y camisas que lloran
lentas lágrimas sucias.

POLYPTYCH “WALKING AROUND”
POEM BY PABLO NERUDA
ACRYLIC ON CARDBOARD
73 x 103 CM EACH
SELECTED FOR LONDR’ARTEXHIBITION 2011

TRIPTYCH “POEM IN A STRAIGHT LINE”
POEM BY FERNANDO PESSOA
ACRYLIC ON CARDBOARDD
73 x 103 CM EACH
PRIVATE COLLECTION, MADRID, SPAIN

Poem in a Straight Line Everyone I know, who still speaks to me,
by Álvaro de Campos (Fernando Pessoa) None of them has ever acted ridiculous, ever taken
Trans. Mason Hiatt insults,
I ve never met a soul who s taken a beating.
I’ve never met a soul who's taken a beating Nothing but princes all of them princes their whole
Nothing but princes ‐‐ all of them princes – their whole
My friends have all been champions at everything. lives
And I, so often vulgar, so often obscene, so often vile, What I wouldn’t give to hear a human voice from any of
I, so often inexcusably parasitical, them.
Unforgivably filthy, Confessing not just a sin, but an infamous act,
I'm one who rarely has the patience to take a bath, Telling me not of their violent acts, but of their
So often I've been ridiculous, absurd, cowardly ones!
Publicly tripping up on the rugs of etiquette, But no, the way they tell me, when I let them ‐‐ they’re
I’ve been grotesque Y petty, submissive Y insolent, all Supreme.
I’ve been insulted, Y haven't had a word to say in Who in this whole wide world will confess to just one
return, vile act?
And when I have, only ended up appearing more All of you princes, my brothers,
ridiculous still, Enough ‐‐ I've had it with demigods!
I’ve been the laughingstock of maids at hotels, Where are the real people in this world?
I’ve felt the red caps’ sarcastic winks, Am I the only scoundrel, the only wrong one here?
I ve made embarrassing financial mistakes, not paying Maybe women haven t always fallen for them.
I've made embarrassing financial mistakes not paying Maybe women haven't always fallen for them
my loans, They might have been betrayed ‐‐ but ridiculous?
I, who when the punches rolled, have ducked Never!
As far as I could out of punching range, And I, who's been ridiculous but never betrayed,
I'm one who gets all worked up over the slightest thing How am I to speak in the presence of my superiors
without stammering?
I swear, no one could possibly be my equal at any of I've been vile, literally vile,
this. Vile in the meanest, pettiest sense of the word.

DIPTYCH “SONG OF THE HYDRAULIC WHEEL”
POEM BY BERTOLT BRECHT
73 x 103 CM EACH
73 x 103 CM EACH
1 the shoe that tramples us is always a boot.
Epic poems give us news Now you perceive what I mean:
of the greats of this world:
they go up as stars, no change of Lords, but to have none.
as stars fall. The wheel keeps turning on.
It is comforting and fit to know this.
It is comforting and fit to know this What today is up won t be up forever.
What today is up won’t be up forever
But for us, those who feed them, But to the water below, alas, this only means
it has always been, alas, more or less the that it has to keep pushing the wheel.
same.
They rise and fall, but at the expense of who? 3

p g
The wheel keeps turning on. y y
They brutally attack themselves
What today is up won’t be up forever. they fight over the spoils.
All others, for them, are greedy types
But to the water below, alas, this only means Y they consider themselves good people.
that it has to keep pushing the wheel. Constantly we see them enrage
Y fight with EACH other. Only
2 when we don’t want to continue feeding them
We had many gentlemen, they are soon agreed.
we had hyenas and tigers,
we had Eagles, and pigs. The wheel keeps turning on,
Y to all we feed. Y the farce is over
when the water, alas, with it’s strength free
Best or worst, it was the same: is devoted only to work for itself.

“THE VOWELS SONET”
POEM BY ARTHUR RIMBAUD
103 x 73 CM
103 73 CM
A black, E white, I red, U green, O blue: vowels,
I shall tell, one day, of your mysterious origins:
A, black velvety jacket of brilliant flies
which buzz around cruel smells,

Gulfs of shadow; E, whiteness of vapours and of tents,
lances of proud glaciers, white kings, shivers of cow‐parsley;
I, purples, spat blood, smile of beautiful lips
in anger or in the raptures of penitence;

U, waves, divine shudderings of viridian seas,
the peace of pastures dotted with animals, the peace of the furrows
h f d d ih i l h f h f
which alchemy prints on broad studious foreheads;

O, sublime Trumpet full of strange piercing sounds,
silences crossed by [Worlds and by Angels]:
–O the Omega! the violet ray of [His] Eyes!

Bawdy can be sane
(D.H. Lawrence - 1885 ~ 1930)

Bawdy can be sane and wholesome,
in fact a little bawdy is necessary in every life
to keep it sane and wholesome.

And a little whoring can be sane and wholesome.
In fact a little whoring is necessary in every life
to keep it sane and wholesome.

Even sodomy can b sane and wholesome
E d be d h l
granted there is an exchange of genuine feeling.

But get any of them on the brain, and they become
p
pernicious:
bawdy on the brain becomes obscenity, vicious.
Whoring on the brain becomes really syphilitic
And sodomy on the brain becomes a mission,
all the lot of them, vice, missions, etc., insanely
unhealthy.
h lth

In the same way, chastity in its hour is sweet and
wholesome.
But chastity on the brain is a vice, a perversion.
y , p
And rigid suppression of all bawdy, whoring or other
such commerce
is a straight way to raving insanity.
The fifth generation of puritans, when it isn't obscenely
profligate,
profligate
is idiot. So you've got to choose.

DIPTYCH “BOWDY CAN BE SANE” (VERSION 1)
POEM BY DH LAWRENCE
50 x 50 CM EACH

POEM BY DH LAWRENCE
50 x 50 CM EACH

“WE ARE ALL SHIPS”
POEM BY MAX EHRMANN
75 x 95 cm
75 x 95 cm

We are all ships..
We are all ships

We are all ships returning home
laden with life's experience,
memories of work, good times and sorrows,
each with his special cargo;
and it is our common lot
to show the marks of the voyage,
here a shattered prow, there a patched rigging,
and every hulk turned black
and every hulk turned black
by the unceasing batter of the restless wave.

May we be thankful for fair weather and smooth seas,
and in times of storm have the courage
and patience that mark every good mariner;
and, overall, may we have the cheering hope of joyful meetings,
as our ship at last drops anchor
in the still water of the eternal harbor.

KERCHIEF
POEM BY JOHN BERGER
125 x 70 cm

Kerchief
John Berger (England, 1926‐ )

In the morning
folded with its wild flowers
washed and ironed
it takes up little space in the drawer.

Shaking it open
she ties it round her head.

In the evening she pulls it off
and lets it fall
still knotted to the floor.

On a cotton scarf
O tt f
among printed flowers
a working day
has written its dream.

TRIPTYCH “Y DEATH SHALL HAVE NO DOMINION”
POEM BY DYLAN THOMAS
MIXED MEDIA, ACRYLIC AND GOLD LEAVES ON CARDBOARD
,
125 x 70 cm

And Death Shall Have No Dominion

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead mean naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
and death shall have no dominion.

Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
Faith in their hands shall snap in two
and the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;

No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Or waves break loud on the seashores
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,

DIPTYCH SACRED EMILY
DIPTYCH “SACRED EMILY”
POEM BY GERTRUDE STEIN
MIXED MEDIA, ACRYLIC ON CARDBOARD
125 x 70 cm

SACRED EMILY
Poem by Gertrude Stein

Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose
Loveliness extreme
Extra gaiters
Loveliness extreme
Sweetest ice‐cream
Page ages page ages page ages.

THE MOST EXCELLENT AND LAMENTABLE TRAGEDIE OF
ROMEO AND JULIET

Sir William Shakespeare

Romeo: O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

Juliet: What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?

Romeo: The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.

Juliet: I gave thee mine before thou didst request it!

DIPTYCH “ROMEO AND JULIET”
PLAY BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
MIXED MEDIA, ACRYLIC AND WOOD ON CARDBOARD
26 x 78 CM EACH (UNFRAMED)

NATAL E NÃO DEZEMBRO

Poem Christmas Songbook by David Mourão Ferreira
oe C st as So gboo by a d ou ão e e a

Entremos, apressados, friorentos,
numa gruta, no bojo de um navio,
num presépio, num p
p p , prédio, num p
, presídio
no prédio que amanhã for demolido...
Entremos, inseguros, mas entremos.
Entremos e depressa, em qualquer sítio,
p q
porque esta noite chama-se Dezembro, ,
porque sofremos, porque temos frio.

Entremos, dois a dois: somos duzentos,
duzentos mil, doze milhões de nada.
Procuremos o rastro de uma casa,
a cave, a gruta, o sulco de uma nave...
Entremos, despojados, mas entremos.
De mãos dadas talvez o fogo nasça,
talvez seja Natal e não Dezembro,
talvez universal a consoada.

NATAL E NÃO DEZEMBRO/ CHRISTMAS AND NOT DECEMBER
FROM “CHRISTMAS SONGBOOK” BY DAVID MOURÃO FERREIRA
MIXED MEDIA, ACRYLIC AND CARDBOARD ON WOOD
34 x 58 cm
PRIVATE COLLECTION, MADRID

COLLECTION
“CALLIGRAMS – LINEAR POETRY
(APOLLINAIRE VS. FOUCAULT)”

I AM HE THAT ACHES WITH AMOROUS LOVE...
POEM BY WALT WHITMAN
ACRYLIC ON WOOD
108 x 82 cm

I AM HE THAT ACHES WITH AMOROUS LOVE..
Poem by Walt Whitman

I am he that aches with amorous love;
Does the earth gravitate? Does not all matter, aching, attract all
matter?
So e ody o e, o a
So the Body of me, to all I meet, or know.
ee , o o

THE WORD “POET” ACCORDING TO JOHN BERGER

Contrary to what we are taught at school I have always thought
school,
the word "Poet" is an adjective. An adjective that has nothing to
do with the term "Poetic". When "Poet" is said, it describes a
quality that includes, amongst other things, the value of sincerity.
That's why I don't consider appropriate to self proclaim "poet". To
y pp p p p
say "I'm a poet" is the same as saying "I'm unforgettable" or "I'm
sincere". It's best to let others judge. The reader only can confirm
if a poem is a poem and a poet, a poet. This belief, or better
obsession, has prevented me from publishing, or even think about
publishing,
publishing a book of poems as it's obvious I would be
poems, it s
proclaiming myself a poet.

THE WORD POET ACCORDING TO JOHN BERGER
ACRYLIC ON WOOD
72 x 82 cm

SACRED EMILY (EXCERPT)

Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose
Loveliness extreme.
Extra gaiters,
Loveliness extreme.
Sweetest ice-cream.
Pages ages page ages page ages.

SACRED EMILY
ACRYLIC ON WOOD
72 x 82 cm
8 c

A DIVINE IMAGE
Poem by William Blake

Cruelty has a human heart,
And Jealousy a human face;
Terror the human form divine,
And Secrecy the human dress
dress.

The human dress is forged iron,
The human form a fiery forge,
The human face a furnace sealed
sealed,
The human heart its hungry gorge.

A DIVINE IMAGE
POEM BY WILLIAM BLAKE
ACRYLIC ON WOOD
ACRYLIC ON WOOD
108 x 82 CM

DESIRE IS DEAD
Poem by David Herbert Lawrence

Desire may be dead
and still a man can be
a meeting place for sun and rain,
wonder outwaiting
wonder outwaiting pain
as in a wintry tree.

DESIRE IS DEAD
POEM BY WILLIAM BLAKE
ACRYLIC ON WOOD
72 x 82 CM
8 C

THE WAVES
ACRYLIC ON WOOD
246 x 36 CM

THE WAVES
VIRGINIA WOOLF

The sun had not yet risen. The sea was indistinguishable
from the sky, except that the sea was slightly creased as if
a cloth had wrinkles in it. Gradually as the sky whitened a
dark line lay on the horizon dividing the sea from the sky
and the grey cloth became barred with thick strokes
moving, one after another, beneath the surface, following
each other pursuing each other perpetually
other, other, perpetually.
As they neared the shore each bar rose, heaped itself,
broke and swept a thin veil of white water across the sand.
The wave paused, and then drew out again, sighing like a
sleeper whose breath comes and goes unconsciously.
Gradually the dark bar on the horizon became clear as if
the sediment in an old wine-bottle had sunk and left the
glass green. Behind it, too, the sky cleared as if the white
sediment there had sunk, or as if the arm of a woman
couched beneath the horizon had raised a lamp and flat
bars of white, green and yellow spread across the sky like
the blades of a fan. Then she raised her lamp higher and
the air seemed to become fibrous and to tear away from
the green surface flickering and flaming in red and yellow
fibres like the smoky fire that roars from a bonfire.
Gradually the fibres of the burning bonfire were fused into
one haze, one incandescence which lifted the weight of the
woollen grey sky on top of it and turned it to a million atoms
of soft blue. The surface of the sea slowly became
transparent and lay rippling and sparkling until the dark
stripes were almost rubbed out. Slowly the arm that held
the lamp raised it higher and then higher until a broad flame
became visible; an arc of fire burnt on the rim of the
horizon,
horizon and all round it the sea blazed gold
gold.

THE ARTIST 1 THE ARTIST 2
The Sorrow that Endureth For Ever The Pleasure that Abideth for a Moment
OSCAR WILDE OSCAR WILDE
ACRYLIC ON WOOD ACRYLIC ON WOOD
72 x 82 CM 72 x 82 CM

THE ARTIST
OSCAR WILDE

One evening there came into his soul the desire to fashion an image of The Pleasure that
Abideth for a Moment. And he went forth into the world to look for bronze. For he could
think only in bronze.
But all the bronze of the whole world had disappeared, nor anywhere in the whole world
was there any bronze to be found, save only the bronze of the image of The Sorrow that
Endureth For Ever.
Now this image he had himself, and with his own hands, fashioned, and had set it on the
tomb of the one thing he had loved in life. On the tomb of the dead thing he had most loved
had he set this image of his own fashioning, that it might serve as a sign of the love of man
that dieth not, and a symbol of the sorrow of man that endureth for ever. And in the whole
world there was no other bronze save the bronze of this image
image.
And he took the image he had fashioned, and set it in a great furnace, and gave it to the fire.
And out of the bronze of the image of The Sorrow that Endureth For Ever he fashioned an
image of The Pleasure that Abideth for a Moment.

ART
POEM BY CHARLES BUKOWSKI
ACRYLIC ON WOOD
72 x 82 CM
8 C

FADO “TEAR”

Cheia de penas me deito
E com mais penas me levanto
Já me ficou no meu peito
Já me ficou no meu peito
O jeito de te querer tanto
Tenho por meu desespero
Dentro de mim o castigo
Eu digo que não te quero
E de noite sonho contigo
Se considero que um dia hei‐de morrer
No desespero que tenho de te não ver
Estendo o meu xaile no chão
E deixo‐me adormecer
E deixo me adormecer
Se eu soubesse que morrendo
Tu me havias de chorar
Por uma lágrima tua
Que alegria me deixaria matar

FADOO “TEAR”
ACRYLIC O
ON LINEN
400 x 2
200 cm

FADO “AMÁLIA”

Amália
quiz Deus que fosse o meu nome
Amália
acho‐lhe um jeito engraçado
bem nosso e popular
quando oiço alguém gritar
Amália
canta‐me o fado

Amália
esta palavra ensinou‐me
Amália
tu tens na vida que amar
são ordens do Senhor
Amália sem amor
não liga, tens de gostar
e como até morrer
amar é padecer
Amália chora a cantar!

Amália
disse‐me alguém com ternura
Amália
da mais bonita maneira
e eu toda coração
julguei ouvir então
Amália p'la vez primeira

Amália
andas agora à procura
andas agora à procura
Amália
daquele amor mas sem fé
alguém já mo tirou
alguém o encontrou
na rua com a outra ao pé
e a quem lhe fala em mim
e a quem lhe fala em mim
já só responde assim
Amália? não sei quem é!

FADO “AMÁLIA”
ACRYLIC O
ON LINEN
600 x 1
150 CM

FADO “KISS ME” DIPTYCH 1
ACRYLIC ON LINEN
ACRYLIC ON LINEN
300 x 100 cm

FADO “KISS ME”

Talvez por muito amar a liberdade
Invejo a vida livre dos pardais
Invejo a vida livre dos pardais
Mas prende bem teus braços sem piedade
E eu juro da prisão não sair mais.

Não posso ouvir o fado sem vibrar
E não domino em mim a febre de o cantar
Mas dá‐me um beijo teu fremente
Mas dá me um beijo teu fremente
Verás que fico assim, calada eternamente.

Adoro a luz do sol que me alumia
Por grata e singular mercê de Deus
Mas fecha‐me num quarto noite e dia
E eu troco a luz do sol pelos olhos teus
E l d l l lh

Não posso ouvir o fado sem vibrar...

Baixinho aqui pra nós, muito em segredo
Eu sempre fui medrosa até mais não
Mas pra que sejas meu não tenho medo
Nem mesmo de perder a salvação.

Não posso ouvir o fado sem vibrar...

FADO “KISS ME” DYPTYC 2
ACRYLIC ON LINEN
300 x 100 cm

FADO “MARIA LISBOA”

É varina, usa chinela,
tem movimentos de gata;
na canastra, a caravela,
no coração, a fragata.
Em vez de corvos no xaile,
gaivotas vêm pousar.
Quando o vento a leva ao baile,
baila no baile com o mar
mar.
É de conchas o vestido,
tem algas na cabeleira,
e nas veias o latido
do motor duma traineira.
Vende sonho e maresia,
tempestades apregoa.
Seu
S nome próprio: M i
ó i Maria;
seu apelido: Lisboa.

FIRST CANVAS OF TRIPTYCH
ACRYLIC ON LINEN
100 x 100 cm

SECOND CANVAS OF TRIPTYCH
ACRYLIC ON LINEN
100 x 100 cm

THIRD CANVAS OF TRIPTYCH
ACRYLIC ON LINEN
100 x 100 cm

FADO “BARCO NEGRO”

De manhã, que medo, que me achasses feia!
Acordei, tremendo,
Acordei tremendo deitada n'areia
n areia
Mas logo os teus olhos disseram que não,
E o sol penetrou no meu coração.

Vi depois, numa rocha, uma cruz,
E o teu barco negro dançava na luz
Vi teu braço acenando, entre as velas já soltas
Dizem as velhas da praia, que não voltas:

São loucas!
São loucas!

Eu sei, meu amor,
, ,
Que nem chegaste a partir,
Pois tudo, em meu redor,
Me diz qu'estás sempre comigo.

No vento que lança areia nos vidros;
Na água que canta, no fogo mortiço;
No calor do leito, nos bancos vazios;
Dentro do meu peito, estás sempre comigo.

FADO “BARCO NEGRO”
ACRYLIC ON LINEN
150 x 120 cm

FADO “JULIA FLORISTA

A Júlia florista Tua voz ecoa
Boêmia e fadista Nas noites bairristas
Diz a tradição Boêmias, fadistas
Foi nesta Lisboa Da nossa Lisboa.
Figura de proa
Da nossa canção Chinela no pé
Figura bizarra Um ar de ralé
Que ao so da gu a a
som guitarra No je o de a da
o jeito andar
O fado viveu Se a Júlia passava
Vendia as flores Lisboa parava
Mas os seus amores Para a ouvir cantar
Jamais os vendeu. No ar um pregão
p g
Na boca a canção
Ó Julia florista Falando de amores
Tua linda história Encostado ao peito
O tempo marcou
p A graça e o j
g ç jeito
Na nossa memória Do cesto das flores.
Ó Júlia florista

FADO “JULIA FLORISTA”
ACRYLIC ON LINEN
150 x 120 cm
OUREM MUSEUM , PORTUGAL

TRIPTYCH “FADO ABANDONO / FADO ABANDONEMENT”
ACRYLIC ON CANVAS
ACRYLIC ON CANVAS
150 x 70 cm

Por teu livre pensamento
Foram‐te longe encerrar
Tão longe que o meu lamento
g q
Não te consegue alcançar
E apenas ouves o vento
E apenas ouves o mar

Levaram te a meio da noite
Levaram‐te a meio da noite
A treva tudo cobria
Foi de noite numa noite
De todas a mais sombria
Foi de noite, foi de noite
E nunca mais se fez dia.
E nunca mais se fez dia

Ai! Dessa noite o veneno
Persiste em me envenenar
Oiço apenas o silêncio
Que ficou em teu lugar
Q fi l
E ao menos ouves o vento
E ao menos ouves o mar.

Lyrics: David Mourão Ferreira.

TRIPTYCH FADO GAIVOTA
TRIPTYCH FADO “GAIVOTA“
ACRYLIC ON CANVAS
240 x 120 cm

Se uma gaivota viesse Que perfeito coração
Trazer-me o céu de Lisboa No meu peito bateria,
No desenho que fizesse, Meu amor na tua mão,
Nesse céu onde o olhar Nessa mão onde cabia
É uma asa que não voa, Perfeito o meu coração.
Esmorece e cai no mar.
mar
Se ao dizer adeus à vida
Que perfeito coração As aves todas do céu,
No meu peito bateria, Me dessem na despedida
Meu amor na tua mão, O teu olhar derradeiro,
Nessa mão onde cabia Esse olhar que era só teu,
Perfeito o meu coração. Amor que foste o primeiro.

Se um português marinheiro, Que perfeito coração
Dos sete mares andarilho,
andarilho Morreria no meu peito
peito,
Fosse quem sabe o primeiro Meu amor na tua mão,
A contar-me o que inventasse, Nessa mão onde perfeito
Se um olhar de novo brilho Bateu o meu coração.
No meu olhar se enlaçasse.

POLYPTYCH “FADO PORTUGUÊS “
POLYPTYCH “FADO PORTUGUÊS “
ACRYLIC ON CANVAS
240 x 120 cm

O Fado nasceu um dia, diz o pungir dos desejos
quando o vento mal bulia do lábio a queimar de beijos
e o céu o mar prolongava, que beija o ar, e mais nada.
na amurada dum veleiro, Mãe, adeus. Adeus, Maria.
no peito dum marinheiro
it d i h i Guarda bem no teu sentido
que, estando triste, cantava. que aqui te faço uma jura:
Ai, que lindeza tamanha, que ou te levo à sacristia,
meu chão , meu monte, meu ou foi Deus que foi servido
vale,
vale dar-me
dar me no mar sepultura
sepultura.
de folhas, flores, frutas de oiro, Ora eis que embora outro dia,
vê se vês terras de Espanha, quando o vento nem bulia
areias de Portugal, e o céu o mar prolongava,
olhar ceguinho de choro.
choro à proa de outro veleiro
Na boca dum marinheiro velava outro marinheiro
do frágil barco veleiro, que, estando triste, cantava.
morrendo a canção magoada,

POVO QUE LAVAS NO RIO
Povo que lavas no rio
Que talhas com o teu machado
As tábuas do meu caixão.
Pode haver quem te defenda
Quem compre o teu chão sagrado
Mas a tua vida não.
Fui ter à mesa redonda
Bebi em malga que me esconde
Um beijo de mão em mão.
Era o vinho que me deste
Água pura, fruto agreste
Mas a tua vida não
não.
Aromas de urze e de lama
Dormi com eles na cama
Tive a mesma condição.
Povo, povo
Povo povo, eu te pertenço
Deste-me alturas de incenso,
Povo que lavas no rio
Que talhas com o teu machado
As tábuas do meu caixão.
Pode haver quem te defenda
Quem compre o teu chão sagrado

DIPTYCH “POVO QUE LAVAS NO RIO“
ACRYLIC ON CANVAS
100 x 70 cm

RAIZES
Velhas d
V lh pedras que pisei
i i
saiam da vossa mudez
venham dizer o que sei
venham falar português
seja duras como e
sejam du as co o a lei
e puras como a nudez.

Minha lágrima salgada
caíu no lenço da vida
foi lembrança naufragada
f il b f d
e para sempre perdida
foi vaga despedaçada
contra o cais da despedida.

Visitei tantos países
conheci tanto luar
nos olhos dos infelizes
e porque me hei-de gastar?
vou ao f d d raízes
fundo das í
e hei-de gastar-me a cantar.

FADO “RAIZES“
ACRYLIC ON CANVAS
50 x 70 cm
50 x 70 cm

UMA CASA PORTUGUESA

Numa casa portuguesa fica bem, No conforto pobrezinho do meu lar,
pão e vinho sobre a mesa. há fartura de carinho.
e se à porta humildemente bate e a cortina da janela é o luar,
alguém,
alguém mais o sol que bate nela...
nela
senta-se à mesa co'a gente. Basta pouco, poucochinho p'ra
Fica bem esta franqueza, fica bem, alegrar
que o povo nunca desmente. uma existência singela...
A alegria da pobreza É só amor, pão e vinho
está nesta grande riqueza e um caldo verde, verdinho
de dar, e ficar contente. a fumegar na tigela.
Quatro paredes caiadas, Quatro paredes caiadas,
um cheirinho à alecrim, um cheirinho á alecrim,
um cacho de uvas doiradas, um cacho de uvas doiradas,
duas rosas num jardim, duas rosas num jardim,
um São José de azulejo, São José de azulejo
mais o sol da primavera... mais um sol de primavera...
uma promessa de beijos... uma promessa de beijos...
dois braços à minha espera... dois braços à minha espera...
É uma casa portuguesa, com
t É uma casa portuguesa, com
t
certeza! certeza!
É, com certeza, uma casa É, com certeza, uma casa
portuguesa! portuguesa!
É uma casa portuguesa, com
certeza!
t !
É, com certeza, uma casa
portuguesa!

FADO “UMA CASA PORTUGUESA“
ACRYLIC ON CANVAS
70 x 50 cm

Agostinho Bento de Oliveira Art Dossier 2009-2011

Agostinho Bento de Oliveira Art Dossier 2009-2011

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