pencil, collage, watercolor
Sometimes, Pessoa is loosely lumped in with writers like Borges, who I haven't read in many years but now see that I'd like to revisit. In some ways though, —mind you, I've only read a little about and by Pessoa, Borges seems less personal. Borges seems more playful and literary. Pessoa on the other hand, is attractive and repellent. He peers through both ends of the telescope (or a microscope) at himself and his world of shadows. We see the late afternoon light in Lisbon where the sun loses its way and gets tired and the dust gently dances and does not settle. In this afternoon city there is ink on my cuffs and I cast lines and dots out on paper. And I do this everyday.
There was a time when the world stood still. Pessoa captures some of that. It's terrifying, boring and enchanting --depending on how you approach things. I'll take enchanting.
Many "Obrigados!" to Paula Catāo for sharing Fernando Pessoa with me.