Born in 1993 in Lisbon, Portugal, Pedro Ruxa lives and works in Brussels, Belgium.

Ruxa is enamored with painting and inspired by words. It is through painting, but also through objects and bits and pieces of poems that Ruxa attempts to communicate with his senses and sensibility. His works create an intimate dialogue, be it actually between himself and the paint, or us and the words. Through a reconstructed language that is his own, shapes, colors, letters, and sentences become his subject matter. Ruxa constantly creates ever-changing clouds of words and imagery and sticks them on his studio walls, making them the starting point to his oeuvre. Yet, he simultaneously explores the restraints of this same language: what is happening before or after what we see? The more Ruxa tends to take control over his words, his sight, and his emotions, the more he is unable to contain it within the realm of comprehension. But all this is exactly at the core of his aesthetic language and it is undeniably touching, both visually and emotionally.

Pedro Ruxa

PedroRuxa_Aworldinmotion_Front

PedroRuxa_Aworldinmotion_detail

PedroRuxa_Aworldinmotion_wall

Drawing

A world in motion is perceived by a moving viewer as if they were both not moving

PedroRuxa_Eachthinginitstime_Front

PedroRuxa_Eachthinginitstime_detail1

PedroRuxa_Eachthinginitstime_detail

PedroRuxa_Eachthinginitstime_wall

Each thing in its time has its time, the trees do not blossom in winter nor does the white cold cover the fields in spring

PedroRuxa_Thisisreal_Front

PedroRuxa_Thisisreal_detail1

PedroRuxa_Thisisreal_detail

PedroRuxa_Thisisreal_wall

This is Real

PedroRuxa_Withsilencewespeak_Front

PedroRuxa_Withsilencewespeak_detail1

PedroRuxa_Withsilencewespeak_detail

PedroRuxa_Withsilencewespeak_wall

With Silence We Speak

Search for .css-g5b1ap{display:block;}@media screen and (min-width: 1200px){.css-g5b1ap{display:inline-block;}}"Text"

A world in motion is perceived by a moving viewer as if they were both not moving

Each thing in its time has its time, the trees do not blossom in winter nor does the white cold cover the fields in spring

This is Real

With Silence We Speak

Search for "Text"