I am a human, I am creator, I am consumer, I am a watcher, I am a soul living in a body which is moving, living, thinking, cheering, loving and looking.
What am I creating? I create my life, I create my dreams, I create my reality, I create fantasy and transcendence metastases.
By creating I live, by creating I fly, by creating I expierence my own living, which reminds an artful scream, shriek or surprising seriousness.
A brush is my word, sound, voice, feeling, pain and joy.
These works of art is part of my search, part of answers, part of questions. Maybe I am only body made from ears, eyes, legs, hands and hairs, teeth? Or maybe I am just a soul moving my flesh, or am I a fog between the eyes? I have been searching and won't stop searching in every brush stroke, in the line of joined colors, in sudden sneeze, in birds' fluttering behind a painted window, in a spilled grey water, in a drop on the floor, I am here, I walk here, I move and create.