The year is about to end and it’s time to say  Спасибо.

This beautiful word is constantly in my mind: Спасибо ( read as spacibo, means Thank you)… 

This was a good year and this is the most appropriate word to say.

Last year I spent New Year’s Eve in Saint Petersburg, Russia.

I spent almost three months in Russia and it was amazing.

I discovered a rich city that looks like an open air museum, architectural monuments, impressive buildings, massive dosis of fascinating history all over the place. Beauty. The best museum I have ever visited (The Hermitage). But on top of all the aesthetical and historical wonderland, Saint Petersburg has people. I mean real people. People that even in a -27°C snowy-icy-windy-freezing weather finds smily kindness to give you helping guidance, information, directions. The Russian people seem very serious and cold at first, but give them a little sympathy and gratitude and in return you will find funny, beautiful, generous friends. I had a blast. I was so overwhelmed by every place I visited and every person I met, that I began to feel like home. Yes. Russia can be messy, unorganized, decadent and corrupt. But nothing I haven’t seen before in so many other places, including my very own. Russia has a severe winter that is somehow harmoniously balanced with its beautiful people and warm, voluptuous culture. Of course that was my impression and other opinions might differ from mine. I made friends there that I will carry for life. I will always remember but more than that I will always dream of coming back. And I will.

It’s good to know people that you can rely on. Generosity and kindness that will remain in my heart and will always echo: Спасибо.

Спасибо Oleg, Vika, Pooh, Kate, Tanya, Galina, Mariana, Nico, Kelly, Ksenya, Igor, Liza and so many lovely people that made my time in Russia so amazing!



Artwork: When it starts to snow – 30×40 (work inspired and painted in my stay in Saint Petersburg, Russia) –  AVAILABLE


Florada de cerejeira – Cherry blossom

Lembra lá atrás, no tempo da escola, aquele grupinho que te chacoteava? Naquela época a palavra bullying não existia e situações assim nem eram punidas. Humilhações, calúnias marcam a pele de quem sofre mas raramente aquele que a praticou evolui o suficiente para reconhecer o mal, reparar o dano, desculpar-se. Aquele que se destaca geralmente é colocado a prova por gente limitada e mesquinha, sem capacidade, sem empatia. Árvores que dão frutos são as que mais levam pedradas. É como se o brilho, ainda que tímido, de uns, ofuscasse a e ameaçasse a falta de capacidade de outros. A sociedade não é justa, a meritocracia é uma grande falácia, usada irresponsavelmente para justificar quem naturalmente já podia mais, mas ainda assim compete com quem pôde menos.

Falta delicadeza no mundo. Falta gentileza, solidariedade, empatia.

Ninguém calça os sapatos do outro para saber as dores da caminhada, poucos oferecem a mão, um cobertor, um copo d’água, mas muitos se postam firmes para julgar, criticar, apedrejar. Vi muitas vezes o mal triunfar sobre o bem; não espere flores de solos áridos, a fertilidade é fofa, plural, quente, úmida, generosa. Não desperdice seu tempo, nem suas sementes, flores e frutos a quem intende queimá-los. Alimente o bem, divida, ensine, aprenda, ignore a maldade. Não espere nada de ninguém, especialmente dos utilitaristas. Persista, trabalhe em paz, conecte-se com gente que sente e vibra positivamente, repita. A florada da cerejeira simboliza a efemeridade das coisas, da beleza, da vida. De tudo que existe, pulsa e vive, quase nada se salva, se matém, se eterniza.

Num mundo de tantas pedras, ouse ser flor.



florada de cerejeira / cherry blossom – 30×40 – 2017 – Luciana Mariano 


Do you remember, back in school, that little group that used to pick on you? Back then the word ‘bullying’ was not as popular and situations like this were often not even punished. Humiliations, slander, prejudice marks the skin of the sufferer but rarely does the one who practices it evolve enough to recognize the evil done, repair the damage, apologize. The one who stands out is usually put to the test by limited, petty people, people with no spedial abilities nor empathy. Fruitful trees are usually the ones to be stoned. It is as if even the shyest glow of some, overshadows and threatens the lack of capacity of others. Society is not always just, meritocracy is a great fallacy, used irresponsibly to justify who naturally could more, but still competes with those who could less.

There is not enough kindness in the world. Hardly enough gentleness, solidarity, empathy.

No one wants to wear your fellow man’s shoes to understand the pains of walking, few offer a hand, a blanket, a glass of water, but many stand firm to judge, criticize, and stone. I have often seen evil triumph over good; Do not expect flowers from arid soils, fertility is soft, plural, warm, moist, generous. Do not waste your time, your seeds, flowers and fruits on whom’s intention is to burn it. Feed the good, divide, teach, learn, avoid and ignore evil. Do not expect anything from anyone, especially utilitarians. Persist, work in peace, connect with people who feel and vibrate positively, repeat. The  cherry tree blossom symbolizes the ephemerality of things, of beauty, of life. Of all existing things, pulsing and living, not much will remain, be saved or eternalized.

In a world of so much stone, dare to be flower.

Goodbye 2016

It was about time. 2016 was a heavy year to bare. Brazil suffered a dirty, evil, imperialist financed, media promoted, disgusting political attack (yes it was a coup d’etat), they impeached a honest, democratically elected president and allowed Brazil to go back to curruption, poverty and dependency. Yes, you are all guilty of it. You all watched our young beautiful nation being raped, and yet, you did nothing. Your body may be going to the beach in a fancy new car, but your mind is blind, enslaved, in chains. 

I am happy 2016 will soon be over. At least metaphorically we have a new chance for better days. Yes, I am bitter about this and many othe things. And my only escape from the reality I do not cope with is to paint. I paint easy days with beautiful things to look at, peaceful times, loving people. I paint calm walls of protection, lovely china on the table with delicious cakes, bread, jam, butter, fresh brewed coffee, warm milk. I paint light curtains, beautiful sunsets, cute animals. I paint neat clothes, delicate groomed hairs, timid smiles, attemptive eyes. I paint good company and happy expectations. I paint time and space that suits the soul, embraces the eyes. I paint small treasures and details that invites your attention, your fantasy, your smiles. I paint flowers and clouds, sea and nice water kettle on the warm stove. I paint memories and dreams. I walk myself out of frustration and desappointment through colors and brushes. Striking fresh paint on immaculate canvas allows me to offer a different reality and believe in a better world. 

I am eager to start the new year. I am ready for a self built reality filled with happiness and pleasant present moments.

It is time for a new painting. Always time for a new chance.
PAINTING AVAILABLE FOR SALE – 30x40cm – acrylics on canvas – “Kökar”, 2016.



I never knew what love tasted like.

I had no idea it could be so peaceful, tender, sweet, quiet, funny, happy, easy, simple.

I lived life on fear, I was trapped in the impression of the impossible and thought love was some sort of struggle, pain, a battle field for the brave, the bold, the merciless.

Then, suddenly, unadvertedly, I got very confused and amazed by the beauty of this hidden little garden love can be. It is really not to be described, but felt. So I rather live it, enjoy and taste it slowly as a secret fruit from Eden.

The sweet sound of peace


Painting in the parks in Brussels have been a delightful experience.
People take their time to smell the flowers.
And I allowed myself to listen, to the sweet sound of peace.
Life is matter of perception. And letting go of unnecessary noise.

Belgian food for the soul.
Belgian music to the eyes.
It’s raining… And the sun is shining.
Lucky me!

Something to say


Some paintings
(Just like some people)
Don’t need to speak
To say what they do
To tell how they feel
To announce what they mean
To pronounce what they think
To declare what they want
To state what they can
To be what they are.

(As some people)
Must be observed carefully
Read between the lines
Touched and felt

Then you will know it
Understand it
And maybe like it or not.

It won’t matter though
It would be too pretentious
Of you and me
To believe that your judgement of it
Is of, at all, any importance.

If you can’t see beauty

You probably don’t have it in yourself too.

Luciana Mariano



Something is starting
Something is relating
Something is expanding
Something is ending
9+anynumber you add up = the number you add up
That means you are free to add up
Whatever you want on your life
Add love

It’s time:
Choose happiness.

chimamanda’s bagage

I just watched a speach with the beautiful and bright nigerian writer Chimamanda Adichie.  She danced with words so wise and called my attention to the Danger of Single Stories. So true. Thank you Chimamanda for spreadding beauty, truth and stories to the world.


{egrégora – egregore – egregor}

Alguns trabalhos, assim como algumas pessoas, nos permite evoluir a alma.

  “Life has taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking outward together in the same direction.”
— Antoine De Saint Exupery

Lazy afternoon

A beleza do que é simples, na complexidade do que não é.

Às vezes, em dias de luz perfeita e exacta

Às vezes, em dias de luz perfeita e exacta,
Em que as coisas têm toda a realidade que podem ter,
Pergunto a mim próprio devagar
Porque sequer atribuo eu
Beleza às coisas.

Uma flor acaso tem beleza?
Tem beleza acaso um fruto?
Não: têm cor e forma
E existência apenas.
A beleza é o nome de qualquer coisa que não existe
Que eu dou às coisas em troca do agrado que me dão.
Não significa nada.
Então porque digo eu das coisas: são belas?

Sim, mesmo a mim, que vivo só de viver,
Invisíveis, vêm ter comigo as mentiras dos homens
Perante as coisas,
Perante as coisas que simplesmente existem.

Que difícil ser próprio e não ser senão o visível!

                                        Alberto Caeiro