As I am more of the field of
the mere written word, I feel myself aflicted to refer to the works of
multiple openings, such as that of António Conceição Júnior. But as the
artist does not create solely for the knowledgeable ones, it is easier for
him to create for himself, I risk the irresistible impulse of a summary
and primary reaction.
I know, António, that one day someone called you "a man of the
I would have wished that, 500 hundred years ago had existed
in Macau rebuilders like you, without the blemish, very common in the
Renaissance and off it, of the low imitation. I understand that being
today a "man of the Renaissance" is for you to evoke, as you masterfully
do, as many "mists of memory" to rebuild in the construction of another
thing - object or word.
Your art, I see it, humblle, mundane and hermit. After all as you are: a
wizard. Perpetual apologist of the allotment, that you do not escape
because you disobey and you end up becoming involved in your own
A profound Portuguese of this East, you must have lived, also, in
Africa, and not as a city dweller. For over there, the most sensible and
the most daring also owe obedience to what comes from the depth that
emanates from life itself.
Please forgive my limitations in speaking of the plasticity of your
work; in the sketch, in the drawing of the stamp or of the medallion, in
the reinvented furniture, the clothes, the scenography, the graphic
stories, in jewellery, and in illustration, the swords - my God, the swords!
And when you photograph, you museograph continuing to sculpt, fragmenting
And there is, finally - finally? what a wrong word I used, the right thing
would be to say before everything, or during everything - the word. Your
spontaneous filigree word and, at the same time, as elegant as a
Japanese saber, skillful as a film by Bergman, or the Symphony of our
life. But without petulance.
Thank you, António Conceição Júnior, for allowing me, for over twenty
years to be inhabitant of some of your spaces.
Journalist and Writer