Tuesday, 3 March 2015


Roberto Duro' /Anthem to Life (Canto a la Vida)  Coleccion Privada

For mysterious reasons, I keep in my wallet, the words I wrote for his funeral, December 21, 2007.

In the midst of the pain of the loss, I tried to capture his essence.

Roberto was, a loving man, a humble man, a kind man, an artist.

He was born in Spain (Catalonia) but spent most of his life in Caracas, sharing the light and the breezes of the valley with his beloved Mimi.

I want to dedicate this VER Art Gallery dream to our uncle, Roberto Duro’.

Pain touched his life deeply, as he lost his only son at the age of 20, from a terrible and painful disease.
Even after this tragedy, his human quality, his serene presence, his talent, remained and made him a giant.

His memory is as colourful and rich, as the picture that illustrates this post: Anthem to Life / Canto a la Vida.

VER Art Gallery is dedicated to the memory of this loving man, this modest, yet brilliant artist: Roberto Duro’.

What follows is the translation of his obituary.

In Memoriam:


In this moment I imagine you in some corner of the Universe, beside your son, among chords of guitar of your natal Spain and nostalgia of the Caracas’s Avila. I imagine you, serene and fulfilled; looking at the world through your bamboo telescope, “Catalejo de Bambu”, that was the name of the newspaper column you used to write and that defines precisely your particular way of observing the world. Ingeniously, sharply, and above of all, kindly. Once, you told me that kindness was the biggest virtue in a man. I think, in the long journey of your life, beside your beautiful Mimi, you exerted kindness in its purest way. Your love for art, for nature, for children, for earth, for everything that is authentic, was fruitful. I will always remember you as a man of exquisite spirit, delicious conversations, jokes, and explosive laughter.  I will remember you in the oranges of your garden, in the sharpness of your intelligent sense of humour. For all of us who had the honour of knowing you, your memory will always be the essence of talent and nobility. You have now arrived to your port; the journey is over; as well as the long wait for the encounter with your son. Now you can sit and paint those other landscapes, and observe us from there, beyond, with your bamboo telescope.

We will miss you.

Leonor Henriquez de Fontijn
Caracas 21 December, 2007


Always with me

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