Personal | Pessoal


The greatest problem of an author is not running out of ideas. It is running out of money. Worse, it is not making a dime with each oeuvre. One works to death for the void, finding no audience, and no payment. When finding an audience, there’s still no payment.

Here I am blogging, to keep a non-paying audience, still with the illusion of making it grow enough to the point of being paid for add space. This is so silly. It won’t happen. My content isn’t comercial enough.

Being an original author is no way of making a living. One has to be trendy, fashionable and formula rendering to get some income. It’s a matter of finding a tasteful recipe for the crowd and serve pudding over and over again, just like Hollywood. Some illuminated call this recipes genres. The more you follow the recipe, the better author you are.

There are also some enlightened critiques defending the idea of compromise between originality and recipes for success. Those shrunk brains don’t understand that compromise means loss of new meaningful content, which is cut out to be replaced by standards. It is commercial censorship and soul amputation.

Who am I kidding, then, with my silly project? Both this site and CHRONOS will never make me money to survive. I will only make it through commissions, as a drawing and copywriting machine. A working author, I suppose.

Personal | Pessoal


I wish I knew how to blog properly. I am talking about making money with it, obviously. As far as I can tell, there are two major kinds of blogs: the How To blogs and the Look At Me blogs. Both can promote services. Internet gurus say money is on the first kind of blogs, unless you’re some kind of celebrity or influencer.

When I say blogging it includes any kind of social media posting, like Instagram, Facebook, YouTube, Twitter, LinkedIn, Pinterest and what not. It is very difficult to me to achieve any sort of success in this virtual universe because I don’t like it enough. If the door to affordably promote my services and my art was another, I would probably eliminate all my Internet profiles and stay away from the computer.

Most of How To blogs are very specific or rather redundant and deceiving. Pretending to be an expert is highly recommended in the blogging sphere. The Internet becomes a giant sales channel. That’s the main purpose of it as a business. The Look At Me blogs of influencers are the new generation of commercials.

People like me, who strive to make a living with their art and have creative projects of plain and simple aesthetic value, try hard to survive in the dog world of commerce. I avoided it for twenty years, having a daytime job that ruined my mental health. Now I’m trying to learn how to play the game without getting my soul dirty. I hope my mind doesn’t collapse.

My blog and site is growing, but it’s not exactly a success. I wonder if I’m not just wasting time and energy with this and social media. I might give up of posting daily. I really don’t know.

Personal | Pessoal


I have mixed feelings on blogging about myself. I don’t know whether I’m vain or in need for attention, but there’s this urge to share what comes in to my mind and the insane hope of getting some love in return. This is the behavior of a child.

Since I was said four years ago to have a mental illness for most of my life without being aware of it, sharing my emotions became even more urgent. I found myself not needy but desperate for attention and love. As time passes, I’m getting more unbearable.

Somehow I have the idea that my opinions matter, that my rubbish is valuable contribution to a better world. Knowing there’s absolutely nothing new on my epiphanies, I take refuge on aesthetics, claiming to create new items of beauty that will boost the humanity within us. I think of myself as a kickass artist.

Sharing my views and emotional processing is the chore of my art, wich I take as universal, as part of the most intimate common ground we share as human beings. It would probably be wiser to keep this apart from the promotion of my services as a professional illustrator, but I can’t find a way of achieving that. It all goes in the same package.

You’re hiring more than a drawing machine, folks. Sorry about that.

Comics | Banda Desenhada


Stories, regardless of the media, are all about ambience, atmosphere, sensation. Plot and meaning are just part of the tools. Consciously or not, authors and artists seek the expression of feeling, as accurately as possible. Most audiences will feel differently and in unexpected ways, close or far away from the original and undefinable purpose.

Ambience can be brought through exquisite sequences of words, sounds, colors and visual shapes, and by the composition and design of a single image or object. This is also called style and each author or artist has a personal one. This uniqueness of style and expression is sometimes called voice.

Comics might be my favorite microphone to convey the ambience of my feelings. It is all immediate, when drawing fast enough. This panel of CHRONOS, without words, was particularly joyful on the making. I really feel the urge to accelerate production. It will happen soon.

Personal | Pessoal


Last week I was said my request for an unpaid leave was not valid due to an alleged error on my proceedings. This happens after four months of leave. Now I’m back to work until things are solved out.

All the heavy symptoms of depression and anxiety are back. I can hardly move or eat. Most of my gestures must be done slowly and it gets real hard to remember what I intended to do seconds before. The buzz on my ears is constant, the elephant foot presses my chest like in the days I head no diagnosis nor medicines, I am regressing four years.

People have no idea of the immobilizing force of both generalized anxiety disorder and major depression. This thing involves grief, panic, numbness, really fast streams of inchoative interior monologue, disorientation, guilt, anger, despair, chills, sweats and what not, all flooding your veins from an anthill eroding your stomach and chest. Only fear prevents you from suicide. Though you hate it, fear becomes your only true friend.

I fear the day of losing fear. Someday, head diving from my sixth floor balcony will become pretty easy. All it takes is a few steps, a little climbing and letting myself go. Someday I will lose my faith on whatever prevents me to let myself fall free.

Getting hurt and loosing my life still frighten me. For the time being, I persevere as a survivor. My ambitions as an artist and a lover are what keep me going. I fear the day my heart realizes those ambitions are fantasies. My survival depends on the naivete of my heart.

Personal | Pessoal

I Can’t Sell A Damn Thing, And I’m Not Sure If I Want To

I’m really not good at this. Commerce is not my thing. The blog and the Etsy shop are only a desperate attempt to find an alternative to my soon to be abandoned job. I’ve been doing my best to leave in style, that is, without a gap between sources of income, but that is not going to happen. People like my stuff but only very few actually buy items. I find joy when people appreciate my designs and writings, but appreciation is not enough to make a living.

My job prospection feverishly continues with no results to date. Things were already bad before the pandemic. This is not unexpected. I held the fantasy of creating my own job, either through the Etsy shop, this blog or the freelance platforms. Nothing seems to work. I’ve been spending all my energies on becoming a commercial asset at the expend of creativity, but the sacrifice is useless. I now realize more clearly how ancient this effort is and to what extent it stole my life from me. It is at least as old as my professional career, which I intended to leave as soon as I would find myself able to survive as an author.

Things would have been much easier if my professional occupation was not such a violent and weary one. I had the naivete of believing that my love for learning and explaining as well as the importance I give to education would make me an inspiring teacher. I had my moments of success, among peers, students and parents, and some of the utmost dread. In time I reached to the point of burning out. I am totally uncapable of getting back to the classroom, no matter how I hold children in my heart. It is just too much for me. I gave my best until nothing is left.

All I want is a quiet job that doesn’t make me think too much and with enough wage too pay my bills. I’ve been applying for jobs such as warehouse operator, picking and delivery operator, supermarket operator, distribution driver, shop assistant and what not. Refusals succeed, but I still have hope.

I have this tendency to share my thoughts to the public as if they have some interest or value to others. I display my life craving for love. This vanity or personality cult is an awful thing, a weakness still out of my control. Advertising about my shop and blogging to attract potential buyers only make it worse. You have no idea of how much I long for the quiet simple job and the return to my cocoon of creativity, out of worries around commercial success and artistic recognition.

Personal | Pessoal

Promoting Art

How is someone supposed to do such a thing? Praising from renowned institutions, critics and celebrities? Flashing excerpts like movie trailers? Ads on matching to the public’s criteria? Gifts and discounts?

What does it take to make someone buy one’s work and services? Where is the trigger to make someone feel the need for the art of a certain author? The call for prestige? The guaranteed fun? The well-tuned melancholy? The signs of great wisdom?

How can an artist be weightless and not imposing? Is stardom a requirement to survive? Is this all about branding and building up communities of fans? All about fame? Showbiz?

Are artists doomed?

Opinion | Opinião

Arts And Businesses

It makes seven months today since I started my Etsy shop. This experience made me realize how arts and businesses strongly share a common axis. Their audience. Both activities thrive to get admiration and customers, clients, people who pay at least enough for them to survive. Both arts and businesses rely on the same idea to succeed. Branding. We all recognize a Picasso and a Mercedes.

Most strikingly even is the sharing of mannerisms. Both face the decision between following trends or developing and stand for their unique style, their personality. Target audiences may be either tasteless, normative, daring or sensitive to exquisite aesthetics. Artists and business owners can equally produce commodities or master pieces, and whatever comes in between.

Branding, however, is the key point. Arts and businesses must know how to sell themselves. The distinction between the ideal audience and the real one is crucial. The awareness of the big numbers of popularity and trends is a requisite. Of utmost importance is the notion that the brand makes the product in the same way the suit makes the man. Selling is a masked ball.

This is when another choice comes up. Cynical or sincere branding. To the audience they are indistinguishable on most commodities or art pieces. Ads and articles can lie at will or convey the truth, and no one notices the difference. A good branding campaign makes the audience forget any bad experience from the past. More than a quality statement, a brand captivates us. It makes us wish for whatever it sells to us.

I am trying. Therefore the slogan.

Personal | Pessoal

The Prison Of Making Money

In order to get traffic to my Etsy shop and to this blog I watch videos and read articles from dozens of alleged gurus of the Internet. One thing all of them say is that one has to provide solutions for the needs of potential buyers or readers instead of exhibiting whatever one wishes to. From a commercial point of view, that’s absolutely right. A seller provides services and products to satisfy a clientele. “How to” posts and custom made items are the answer for consumer needs. What a bore!

Business, market and alike. Survival of the fittest. Popularity is the barometer, quality defined by the number of fans. If the purpose is the making of money, one becomes the manufacturer of commodities, not a curator of the exhibition of the human soul. It makes perfect sense. It sucks!

I suck! I am not cut for selling. I am an egocentric narcissist claiming to have artistic ambitions. I’m a believer of the universality of the human soul, with distinctive grades specific to each individual, sharing his own as a sample. This belief goes to the point of expecting recognition for my service to humankind. I show you my soul, you give me your money. Perfect megalomania.

I wish I knew the art of making money. Will I ever become an adult?