.jpg)
In MOMENT(O), the works exist
through continuous overlays — drawing over drawing, painting over painting —
building layers and different planes of existence. Each mark does not replace
the previous one; it settles upon it, enters into dialogue with it, transforms
it. The image is not a fixed surface, but a body in constant reconfiguration.
As in Alice’s question in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll* — “How long is forever?” — and the enigmatic reply, “Sometimes, just a second,” time here also compresses and expands. Each layer is born in a precise instant, in a brief gesture, yet remains inscribed within the structure of the work. A second becomes permanent because it is not erased — it is absorbed, incorporated, sedimented.
The surface of the paper or canvas becomes a territory of memory. The initial lines continue to exist, even if partially concealed. They create depth, tension, a conceptual shadow that sustains the visible. What we see is only the latest decision; what we do not see is what gives it density.
Drawing or painting thus becomes an act of conscious accumulation. It is not about correcting, but about adding. Each plane reveals a distinct moment of creative awareness — a state, a doubt, an affirmation. The result is not a static image, but a field of overlapping times, where past and present coexist and influence one another.
In this way, the works do not live solely through their final form, but through the thickness of their process. They are stratified constructions, visual organisms in which each layer contains an instant that, though brief, becomes eternal within the work.
In general and in this work, superimposition becomes more deliberate and structural.
The background — a blue-green wash applied almost as a uniform field — functions as an atmospheric plane, more mental than natural. Over it, the branches appear as fragmented lines crossing in multiple directions. They do not construct a recognizable tree, but a network. They are lines of tension and connection, almost like an expanded nervous system.
The birds, once again cut out and layered, cast shadows and create physical relief. They do not belong solely to the painting — they belong to real space. This decision reinforces the idea of multiple planes: there is the pictorial background, the linear plane of the branches, the three-dimensional plane of the cut-outs, and the plane of the drawn body.
The human figure, central and almost devoid of color, appears withdrawn. The tilted face, the eyes marked by an intense red stain, suggest interiority — perhaps an excess of thought or sensation. Unlike the birds — vibrant and saturated — the body is nearly transparent, as if suspended. It is as though color inhabits the exterior while silence inhabits the interior.
The repetition of the birds or branches forms creates rhythm, yet each one is slightly different, reinforcing the idea of variation within continuity.
Here, superimposition is not only technical; it is psychological. The background, branches, birds, and body coexist without canceling one another. No layer erases the previous one. Each element maintains its identity while participating in a larger structure.
The result is a field of coexistence: interior and exterior, drawing and cut-out, line and wash, silence and intense color.
As in Alice’s question in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll* — “How long is forever?” — and the enigmatic reply, “Sometimes, just a second,” time here also compresses and expands. Each layer is born in a precise instant, in a brief gesture, yet remains inscribed within the structure of the work. A second becomes permanent because it is not erased — it is absorbed, incorporated, sedimented.
The surface of the paper or canvas becomes a territory of memory. The initial lines continue to exist, even if partially concealed. They create depth, tension, a conceptual shadow that sustains the visible. What we see is only the latest decision; what we do not see is what gives it density.
Drawing or painting thus becomes an act of conscious accumulation. It is not about correcting, but about adding. Each plane reveals a distinct moment of creative awareness — a state, a doubt, an affirmation. The result is not a static image, but a field of overlapping times, where past and present coexist and influence one another.
In this way, the works do not live solely through their final form, but through the thickness of their process. They are stratified constructions, visual organisms in which each layer contains an instant that, though brief, becomes eternal within the work.
In general and in this work, superimposition becomes more deliberate and structural.
The background — a blue-green wash applied almost as a uniform field — functions as an atmospheric plane, more mental than natural. Over it, the branches appear as fragmented lines crossing in multiple directions. They do not construct a recognizable tree, but a network. They are lines of tension and connection, almost like an expanded nervous system.
The birds, once again cut out and layered, cast shadows and create physical relief. They do not belong solely to the painting — they belong to real space. This decision reinforces the idea of multiple planes: there is the pictorial background, the linear plane of the branches, the three-dimensional plane of the cut-outs, and the plane of the drawn body.
The human figure, central and almost devoid of color, appears withdrawn. The tilted face, the eyes marked by an intense red stain, suggest interiority — perhaps an excess of thought or sensation. Unlike the birds — vibrant and saturated — the body is nearly transparent, as if suspended. It is as though color inhabits the exterior while silence inhabits the interior.
The repetition of the birds or branches forms creates rhythm, yet each one is slightly different, reinforcing the idea of variation within continuity.
Here, superimposition is not only technical; it is psychological. The background, branches, birds, and body coexist without canceling one another. No layer erases the previous one. Each element maintains its identity while participating in a larger structure.
The result is a field of coexistence: interior and exterior, drawing and cut-out, line and wash, silence and intense color.
Once again, the work does not present a fixed
moment, but a state in process — as if each layer were a thought that remains,
even when another settles over it.
Luis Melo
Porto 2026
