Lately, I’ve been looking out the window very often. Through my window, I can see beautiful trees, and sometimes I watch all of it and realize that, as an artist, I could never create anything as beautiful. And then I ask myself why I became an artist. I don’t find an answer, but I find some kind of inner fire that makes me draw, even when it’s illogical, even when some people don’t understand it. I just keep doing it. And that makes me love myself. Whatever it may be, I can’t imagine who I would be otherwise.
Although, on the other hand, humanity is so vast and developing so quickly (these 7 billion people) and most of them bring something new, and soon we will destroy ourselves as a species through this development, because progress cannot last forever. One day, everything will collapse, and everything will begin again.
I would like to collect leaves, I would like to lie on the ground, and I am waiting for that moment when everything stops, when the light freezes, when I will be lying there and reach perfection.
