Dark black, gray, the image becomes lighter until it has light. I open my eyes and wake up from the sedation, I am intubated and without knowing what has happened to me. I remember a man with gray hair who seemed to get to the point and I thought “this one rules here!” He was the doctor Jordi Mancebo, and i was one of the patients of the first wave of covid-19 which in March 2020 came out thanks to the team of doctors at the Sant Pau ICU and its manager, our friend Jordi Mancebo. I recovered, and was able to go back to my painting studio, to do what I do best: to paint, from the experience of what he had lived.
A few months later, my partner, the journalist Núria Ferré, interviewed the Dr. Mancebo in Betevé and they almost burst into tears live when Núria explained that he had saved my life. I invited him one afternoon to my studio, where Núria and I were waiting for him, to toast life. He was a very discreet man, with a very lively look, always listening to what you said. He came a second time, I talked to him about painting, he watched me and gave me his opinion, always very cautious. He explained to me that he came from a humble family, that they had a workshop and that the smell of turpentine that he used to paint was close and familiar to him, it transported him back to his childhood. He used to go by subway but since we were neighbors I ended up taking him on a motorcycle, and getting on I think he found it tremendously funny. He explained to me that his team was very tired, that they needed a break. I put a gown on him, but not a doctor’s, but a painter’s, and colors and brushes in front of him, and a cloth. That day he got on the motorcycle taking a painting that I remember with a ‘Mironian’ air, with some blue constellations, which were the ones he had inside his head. It was always a pleasure to converse with him, between paints and brushes, of abstract thoughts, light, color and form.
The meetings in The Gimnàs de les Arts, my studio, they were like furtive meetings, where the conversation flowed and they were very interesting. Sometimes other friends joined, and the gathering was extended. Everything was always easy and pleasant.
A few months ago I ran into Jordi in the neighborhood and invited him to lunch but he explained to me – he told me with a smile – that he was coming from the notary. They had detected cancer and he wanted to leave everything tied. We kept meeting, taking advantage of all the time of the conversations, because suddenly we no longer had credit, we knew our meetings would be over soon enough. The last visit I made was to his house, where he had hung some paintings of a series of tightrope walkers that I had bought, in which I speak precisely about how beastly life is when it makes you walk a tightrope.
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We were sending messages of encouragement and friendship, until last Tuesday, when from Sardinia where I was on vacation with the family I sent him images of landscapes of the island, with the promise of a toast very soon. He answered me with some funny and happy emoticons, and these were the last news I had from Jordi until I found out that he had left us.
I am lucky to have met him and enjoyed his energy, I like to know that my studio has been his place of refuge this past year. I still see him arriving and leaving his backpack, anywhere. He felt at home and this has been an immense pleasure. I think he was always a few steps ahead of everyone, and now too. We will miss you, Jorge. A big hug, friend.