The definition of impossible has always made me curious. I try to introduce myself shortly, describing almost fifty years of creating images for the public and how I got into painting...

I was born in Finland 1959. Been drawing since I could hold a pen. As a kid with imagination, our grey and dull backyard got colors on the walls with crayons and I still remember washing them off. At the age of seven, my uncle gave me a couple of books about drawing. For much inspiration, but I was too wild to follow any instructions or advice.

I’ve met many art teachers and their lessons were the only motivation to attend thirteen years in thirteen different schools, in different countries. My mother had her career in Sweden and my father his businesses in Finland. The only matter my parents could agree on was that I had the best education. They thought I'll be a hopeless artist and they'll pay my bills for the rest of their lives. After I had illustrated a brochure for a youth organization, to save money, my father asked me to design the logo for his new company. He got questions about who made it and finally, I was occupied with interesting projects keeping me out of trouble.

1973, at a Swedish school in Finland. Me on the right, with my classmate, Janne.

As a painter, I'm self-taught. I’m a cartographer by training, which is very technical, drawing maps and house plans. I applied and was accepted to the Institute of Design in Finland. But at that point, I was tired of school. Haven't regret I skipped the opportunity, as what I've learned from art students, is that education is mainly about marketing and less about technics.

My first oil painting as a teenager was a disaster. My family was horrified by the smells of paint and turpentine. More disappointing for me was the result. The tubes and brushes were forgotten for years to come. To pay my bills and to my surprise, I found myself driving buses for a few years. Worked even longer as a caretaker at a hospital reception in Stockholm, with the only difference to a bus, that there were no wheels under the reception. During the quiet hours, I could draw pictures and people asked if I could make something for them.

Drawing became a side job, as an illustrator for small businesses and publications. Then, forty years ago, painting became an escape. One day I sat down on the floor at home and filled a small canvas with oils. Inspired by what I had seen at an exposition of ceramics by Pablo Picasso (1881–1973). There was a yellow bowl, around the edges inside he had painted a gassing sun in between figures on a bullfight arena. I could feel the heat and see Picasso himself looking down on the bullring, genius! I had to paint the artist; "Picasso At The Bullfight"...

The living room transformed into a workshop. The walls around the apartment were covered with paintings. It was fun until the beginning of the 90s, I dropped everything, painting included and moved back to Finland. The crisis of my 30's, or burnout, is the same. Maintained connections to some publishers abroad and illustrated articles. I also tried some writing and found myself studying the basics of journalism and photography. Never had such a motivation for learning as in my mid 30's. After this I was hired by the Army, to produce educational material, how strange is that? The new job and home was in the middle of nowhere.

The days were about work and spare time watching the weather change behind the window. I kept an empty canvas waiting in the living room with a box of old paints, but couldn't get started until a café owner asked if I could paint a pony on their wall. They had a vintage coin-operated ride and the owner wanted an image of that pony. I took a picture of the machine, made a sketch and we decided together the size when the pony was projected on the wall. While searching for usable colors among the old paint tubes, I confessed I hadn't touched a brush for ten years and my client became doubtful.

With the money from the pony, I bought fresh oil colors, now water-based and got rid of the stinky turpentine. I found myself creating landscapes, fancy flowers and even a portrait, commissioned by the same café owner. My job was interesting, every day different, but stressful. This had its toll, I got seriously ill. The painting was a part of the recovery, but maintaining and keeping what I had, seemed heavy. Was it worth it, I thought. So, here I am, in Portugal, since 2010. I found Torres Novas as my place.

Took a while until I painted something. Testing the acrylics, which I find challenging. Unfortunately, I'm out of my hometown most of the time, as I've had a job in an office in Lisboa for ten years. The covid-19 pandemic changed everything in 2020. We were moved out of the offices to work at home. Before the lockdown people emptied the stores of toilet paper, I rushed to buy more acrylic paints and a few canvases. Once again sitting on the floor and painting. I promised myself; nothing or no one stop me from painting anymore. 

2023 in Lisboa and still painting.

Three years have passed and I've painted thirty canvases. Sold one last year. I'm too old to collect things I don't need. Maybe I should have spent some time at the Institute of Design and studied marketing. However, I'm facing a new phase in my life, being retired and started this project to find a home for at least some of my paintings. My mother passed away in 2021, in a nursing home in Torres Novas. Not long before, she said, it was a miracle we both were still alive. True, I've survived all the phases in life so far. But I'm not going to try the impossible; surviving old age, such might make me immortal.

Henrik Dimitroff