Street of Valença Painting

Carlos Manuel Amoedo Antas signs his works as Carlos Amoedo, was born in Tours (France) in 1967, at the age of 20 settled in Spain, only a few years later he will live in Valença (Northern Portugal). With a background in interior design, he has a passion for drawing, and is fascinated by color and texture from a very young age. He is developing his study and work in art with great calm and discipline, going through several stages and looking for explanation and inspiration in diverse styles and artists, his last project is based on the reflection on the work of artists like kadinsky, Piet Mondrian, Andy Warhol, Bansky, Picasso and Marc Quinn, his works are already part of private collections in Portugal, France, Spain, Belgium, Italy, Angola and England. Personal quote: - They often ask me for "some words and explanations" about my work. I try, every time, although I suspect that you can not write or speak and that only now alongside your work, to be able to say precisely what we do, would actually admit that words can suffice ,,,  When trying to paint, when you decide and you risk embarking on this adventure that is painting, it is also to go where words do not go anymore ,,, I am often surprised to find that words catch us! Perhaps they have some things more comforting than shapes and colors? I do not know. Despite this difficulty of speaking and trying to explain what I do, I am glad when others decide to take my work as subject of their text. I accept this as a form of enlightenment and evolution, and more than that, about what I do ... I can of course talk about some ideas and sources that build my work. Without error I can say that he tries through my characters, my worlds and colors to give shape, to give light, to what is terrible in this human adventure that we cross all, divided between despair and faith in "God knows what", , I can say that I have decided, unless it is my painting that decided for me, to picture the human as to go directly to the heart of my questions. But saying this, I have the feeling of saying nothing or very little ,,, It is through the way that things happen, that everything is happening ,,, is it like speaking the language of form with the language of words? All translations wrong ... I spend hours, days, looking for the right material, the right rhythm, the right color, the right gesture, seems so difficult, that I think it's absurd. It is often in poetry that I take refuge and inspire myself.