At first glance, it looked like a playful riff on azulejos — those iconic blue-and-white tiles plastered across Portugal like poetry for the people. But this was something different. Subversive. Layered. Like traditional ceramics went to a rave and came back with something to say.
That’s when the rabbit hole opened.
I learned the man behind the moniker was Diogo Machado, a graphic designer-turned-street-artist from Cascais. Like many Portuguese kids, he grew up with tiled walls all around him, but instead of ignoring them, he reimagined them. He rebuilt history, one stencil at a time — layering tradition with pop culture, folklore with comic books, elegance with mischief. It was like someone had put my own identity — that tension between heritage and modernity — through a screenprint press and splashed it onto the wall.
I subscribed to his newsletters. Followed him on Instagram. Watched his collaborations unfold with everyone from Shepard Fairey to PangeaSeed and the Underdogs collective. His murals popped up in Paris, Amsterdam, Miami, and Denver — always rooted in Portugal, but worldly as hell.
A couple years later, I wanted more than just ownership. I wanted connection. I reached out to Diogo about a commission. A fun one. We exchanged ideas. Sizes. Glazes. I told him I wanted to come pick it up in person. With my son. In Portugal. Because sometimes you don’t want FedEx. You want a memory.
He welcomed us to his studio in Cascais. The place was a reflection of the man himself — precise, serene, and deeply human. Diogo was soft-spoken and generous, with the calm energy of someone who’s spent years chasing clarity through broken shards of tile. My six-year-old wandered off, pilfering ceramic fragments like sacred relics, and instead of stopping him, Diogo smiled. That’s the kind of guy he is. I later turned those shards into an art piece of my own — a tribute to the moment.
Earlier that day, we visited one of his murals in Cascais. My son had a full-scale meltdown, because… kids. My wife snapped a photo of us: me on the sidewalk, my boy curled into my lap, Add Fuel’s mural towering behind us like a guardian. In the image, I’m not looking at the camera. I’m just there — grateful, grounded, and cracked open like a tile before it’s reborn.
People collect art for different reasons. Some chase value. Some chase status. Me? I chase feeling. That thing you can’t always explain. And Add Fuel makes me feel something — pride, nostalgia, grit, and reverence all at once.
Since I first bought his work, Diogo’s skyrocketed. His pieces now fetch five times what I paid. But I didn’t buy it for the ROI. I bought it because it speaks to who I am. Who I was. And who I want my son to know me as.
I follow all his drops. He’s sent me gift prints over the years — humble flex, I know — and I’ll keep supporting him however I can. Because Diogo Machado isn’t just an artist. He’s a builder of stories. He’s what happens when someone refuses to choose between heritage and originality.
He once said in an interview with Juxtapoz:
“I want people to get closer, to go beyond the beauty of the pattern, and discover the chaos underneath.”
Well, I did. And I found something even more beautiful.
