There is a strange and almost terrifying vulnerability in painting oneself. The moment the brush touches the canvas, it no longer becomes just an act of creation—it becomes a confrontation with the deepest corners of the mind. My first oil self-portrait is not just a painting; it is a reflection of the identity crisis that haunts me every day.

For years, I have painted others, always striving to capture the raw beauty in their imperfections. Every subject I paint carries a unique presence, a silent story told through the subtlety of their expression. Yet, when it came to painting myself, I could not see beauty. Instead, I saw distortion, confusion, and an unraveling sense of self.

This painting is not an attempt at realism, nor is it a flattering representation of who I am. It is a raw, unfiltered version of Gus Romano—the artist, the dreamer, the wanderer. My face is twisted, stretched beyond normal proportions, caught between a scream of frustration and a silent cry for clarity. The background is muted, a stark contrast to the chaotic brushstrokes that shape my expression. Every stroke of oil paint carries hesitation, doubt, and an overwhelming sense of being lost.

Two Names, Two Selves

To understand this portrait, you must first understand the weight of my two identities. By day, I am Gustavo Romano—a man trying to navigate life with precision and discipline, carrying the legacy of my family’s work on my shoulders. I exist in the structured world of responsibility, professionalism, and calculated decisions.But when the brush is in my hand, I become Gus Romano—a man completely detached from reality, lost in the act of creation, questioning everything, fearing nothing, and embracing the chaos of uncertainty.This self-portrait is the moment where these two selves collide. The careful, structured Gustavo meets the untamed, uncertain Gus, and the result is a man caught in the middle—desperate, introspective, and searching for answers he may never find.

The Fear of Becoming an Artist

I hesitate to call myself an artist. It is a word that carries immense weight, responsibility, and expectation. An artist is not just someone who paints or creates—it is someone who commits to a lifelong journey of expression, vulnerability, and meaning. The fear that consumes me is not the fear of failure but the fear of commitment. Can I dedicate myself fully to this path? Can I let go of the structured world I know and embrace the unknown? What if I run out of ideas? What if I have nothing left to say? This painting holds all these questions within its brushstrokes. The distorted face, the clenched hands pressing against my skin, the wild eyes filled with uncertainty—it is all a visual representation of my internal struggle.

A Painting Without Answers

There is no resolution in this self-portrait. Unlike my other works, which often capture a sense of harmony in imperfection, this piece is deliberately unresolved. It does not offer clarity or closure. Instead, it forces me—and the viewer—to sit in discomfort, to embrace the unknown, and to accept that sometimes, there are no answers.Perhaps, in the act of painting this, I have taken my first step toward understanding myself. Perhaps the distortion, the chaos, and the confusion are not signs of being lost, but rather, signs of an artist in the process of becoming.

Until then, I remain somewhere in between—between Gustavo and Gus, between certainty and doubt, between fear and freedom. And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly where I need to be.