Perico Pastor was born in Seu de Urgel, in 1953. He studied in Barcelona,
immigrated to New York in 1976, and stayed there for about twelve
years. He published his illustrations in Harper’s, Village Voice, Vogue, and
especially The New York Times, which allowed him to paint without haste.
In 1980, he exhibited for the first time, at the Cornelia Street Café in New
York and in 1983, for the first time in a gallery, in Madrid. Since then
he has combined illustration and painting, with exhibitions in Barcelona,
Madrid, Granada, Hong Kong, Paris, New York, Tokyo, Sag Harbor,
Miami, Beijing, Lleida…
Since 1989, he has lived in Barcelona, devoted entirely to painting,
illustration for the press (El País, International Herald Tribune, El
Periódico, La Vanguardia) or publishing … and various projects.
He is married, has four children, is fond of rowing and skiing, reading and
music, and an acceptable cook.
On March 13th, 2020, the eve of the lockdown in Spain, it seemed like a good idea to send a little “good morning” picture (in Catalan, Bon dia) to my acquaintances in Healthcare every morning via WhatsApp. About thirty people. Six months later, more than six hundred people receive the drawings every morning. Someday I’ll stop, I guess…
March 14 th
For those of you who are on the front line, a little drawing a day. STAY WELL!
March 22 nd
For a week, my friends in Healthcare have received a little drawing of me every day, a
nonsense, a doodle to wish you a good day, in these moments when you are leaving your skin to take care of us, and save our lives. Starting today, the list is expanded to friends from the hospitality industry. May the time come soon when you can rest, and that they can go back to work. Stay well!
May 2 nd
Good Morning. Starting from today, I include my family and my friends. You do not need to
answer, neither to appreciate it. I hope they keep you company.
April 24 th
Good morning, lockdown! Every morning, when I go to get bread, I pass by the Wad Ras
women's prison, in the heart of Vila Olímpica. On Sundays, music is heard. During the week, the children of the inmates are seen leaving on their way to the nursery. This is for them.
May 9 th
Bon dia! It seems that today marks eight weeks of lockdown. Sending you the drawings every day was a good idea: it seems that they have accompanied you, as your messages have accompanied me.
June 14 th
Bon migdia! I think that today we have been with each other for three months. The first weeks we noticed the confinement: you were like wolves next to the mobile; within ten minutes of hanging the drawing, I already had two hundred messages. Tired but beautiful: it seemed that we were holding hands. Over time, the messages have become less frequent and are received throughout the day. The possibility of a walk, first, and now the end of the lockdown. It is clear that we are no longer holding hands. No need, I know you are there. For me it has been a revelation to feel that these little drawings have had the power to connect us in this way. It is that, apart from India ink, I have dipped my brush in the ink of what unites us: the milk of human kindness Shakespeare called it. And there goes my aperitif: the first Campari. Good summer, and thanks for being there!
