Artists have told tales of love, hate and desire...described beauty and fury of the universe with nothing but brush strokes. So, I ask myself:
Is it possible that life itself can be portrayed as a work of art? I like to think of my life as a canvas...or should I say canvases?
Where every period of my existence has its own distincitive style and colour, just as if I was trying to describe myself with a brush.
Thus,what am I?
Colour, agony and ecstasy or maybe the result of a quest for that precise color mix to describe the real me.
I just cannot find my true colour, no matter where I look for. Nature, Studies, Beauty and Dreams are not enough when it comes to looking to my true self.
That is why I have chosen to try to describe myself through art...making everyone of my paintings a description of myself....