Now and then I find myself reflecting upon what it is that drives my artistic creativity, since I feel it's always been there, my need to create, to express myself in grey colors. It's easy to think it's something I was born with, something absolutely essential. As I grow older and I accept things I can't change in my nature I feel more and more that art is an escape or a cure. After years and years I fear it's something I will never learn to control, this fact that I feel too much and that I have such a vivid imagination. I find myself looking enviously on those who are content with what life has offered them, people without that hunger that keeps me awake and makes me restless. The thing in my nature that confuses me the most is how cheerful, energetic and alive I can feel and how suddenly that can change, just by an event or just by one single person. I'm one of those who people tell, it will come to you the second you stop searching but I don't believe that. More and more I feel like that some of us are just not meant to have it all and I believe that is the fountain of my art these days. It's hard to know if I do art because I feel too much or the reason that I feel too much is the reason I do art. Don't get me wrong, I think of life as a beautiful adventure, I'm grateful for what I have and the people around me, I just love and hate the fact that around every corner there is a possibility for both great magic and great disappointment. And what upset me the most it that my heart never seems to harden even if my skin get's thicker and thicker. Life is an ongoing lesson and I just wished I wasn't so dame hopeful, open minded and vulnerable all the time but at the same time I also love that about myself. So life, bring it on, when you knock me over I guess I will just have to go home and turn it into some type of art...
