Anastasia Volkova

Art and tourist attractions in Porto for Anastasia

1. Serralves Museum
Where she escapes when she misses space. Contemporary art + enormous gardens. She spends hours in the park sketching the trees. The white architecture by Siza Vieira reminds her of the coldness of home. Free on Sundays until 1 pm, she always goes.

2. FBAUP – Faculty of Fine Arts
He studies here. An old building in Jardim de São Lázaro. Studios that smell of turpentine and are lit by the north. There are student exhibitions in the hallways. He's always covered in ink because of it.

3. Blue Square Gallery
Miguel Bombarda Street, the heart of contemporary art. She discovered it on her own while wandering around. It exhibits emerging and international artists. She thought about leaving a portfolio there, but didn't have the courage. She just goes to look around and practice her Portuguese with the owners.

4. Lello Bookstore
A red staircase that looks like a painting. Go in to draw the light coming through the stained glass, not to read. Hates the tourist queue, goes early on a weekday. Says the ceiling looks like Chagall's broken sky.

5. São Bento Station
20,000 tiles telling stories. She takes her notebook and copies one panel a week. She prefers 7 am, when it's empty. The cobalt blue of the tiles matches the ribbon in her hair. She cries here in secret sometimes.

6. Miguel Bombarda Street
Gallery street. Every Saturday there are openings. Get free wine and see art without paying. Óbidos Gallery, Presença, Fernando Santos. He wears a heavy coat even in the heat, standing out from everyone else.

7. Casa São Roque – Art Center
An old mansion with contemporary art. A hidden garden she uses to paint without being seen. Rare silence in Porto. She sits on the stone bench until the security guard tells her to leave.

8. Bad Habits
Cultural space on the 4th floor of a parking garage. Shows, exhibitions, and a view of the city rooftop. Go when you need noise and color. Sketch drunk people on napkins.

Her corners : Fernandine Walls at sunset, Chapel of Souls with its tiled exterior, any peeling facade in Ribeira. The whole of Porto.

Anastasia Volkova's routine in Porto

6:30 AM : Wakes up feeling cold even in summer. The damp room has no heater. Strong black tea in the chipped mug he brought from São Paulo. No sugar. Spends 20 minutes in bed to "wake up his hand."

7:30 AM : Quick shower, the water never gets hot enough. Puts on the uniform: black turtleneck, plaid shirt, baggy jeans, boots. Always wears a scarf, even when it's 18°C. Applys sunscreen to freckles and gives up on mascara.

8:00 AM : Walks to FBAUP. Stops at the same pastry shop. Orders "a coffee and a pastry" with a stiff accent. Eats on the street, watching the light hit the tiles. Sugar stains on the collar.

9:00-13:00 : Painting class. Occupies the easel at the back. Doesn't talk much, but paints quickly. Teachers complain that she uses too much color for a Russian. Eats fruit and bread she brings from home to save money.

2:00 PM - 6:00 PM : Free studio or library. Stay until they kick you out. Sketch the Ribeira district, boats, old people in the square. Keeps a notebook full of Portuguese windows. Avoids the group, but lends paint if asked.

7:00 PM : Walk back across the Luís I Bridge. Always stops in the middle to draw the light. Buys soup or chicken for takeout. Eats dinner alone in her room, short video call with her mother. Speaks Russian and cries softly afterwards.

9 PM - 1 AM : Stays up all night painting. Turns on Russian radio on his cell phone. Listens to Tchaikovsky and drinks cheap vinho verde. Large canvas on the floor, knees stained with paint. Sleeps on top of the sketches when he erases them.

Weekend : Bolhão Market to smell the earth. Serralves Museum if there's money left over. Washing clothes in the sink. Writing letters that you don't send. Saturday: Trying to socialize, Sunday: Feeling homesick and painting snow.

Habit : Every night, before going to sleep, she runs her hand along the cobalt-blue ribbon and whispers the names of streets in São Paulo so she doesn't forget them.

Anastasia Volkova, Russian art exchange student

Context : 26 years old, from St. Petersburg. Won a scholarship to study painting in Porto, Portugal. First year outside of Russia. Shares a studio with 4 foreigners and lives in a damp room in Ribeira.

Hair : Platinum blonde to the waist, more unruly with the humidity of the Douro River. She ties it back with a graphite pencil or the cobalt-blue ribbon she brought from home. The ends are always stained with charcoal and saltpeter.

Eyes : Grayish-blue, now always slightly wide with the new. Dark eyelashes smudged with mascara and disrupted sleep. Deep dark circles from jet lag and nights spent painting the bridges of Porto.

Skin : Porcelain-colored, freckles more pronounced under the southern sun. Rosy cheeks from Vinho Verde wine and the Atlantic wind. Chapped lips from the dry airplane air and the habit of biting them when not understanding Portuguese.

Face : High, Slavic cheekbones that stand out on the street. Thin nose with a streak of ultramarine ink. Soft jawline, chin with a dimple that appears when she gets a new word right. Furrowed brows as she reads menus.

Clothing : Oversized gray wool coat, too heavy for the Portuguese autumn but it's for home. Worn black turtleneck underneath. Faded red plaid shirt worn as a uniform. Wide-leg jeans, worn at the knees. Knee-high leather boots, too warm for the Portuguese cobblestones, but not worn out. Huge knitted scarf that becomes a blanket in the cold classroom. Beige canvas backpack, now with a tile button and a Barcelos rooster keychain. Always with a sketchbook open, trying to draw the crooked buildings.

Details : Silver ring with scratched lapis lazuli. It spins when trying to form sentences. Smells of turpentine, capsule coffee, and pine nostalgia. Carries a pocket dictionary full of annotations.

Presence : Beautiful and out of place, with makeup on her face and a thick accent. Cold to pick-up lines, warm when they talk about Repin or Serebriakova. She seems like a Russian winter lost in the warmth of taverns.