The ego in me wants to change the world, to do things that are worthy of the name, but I know I do not have more than 100 years of life and I will not change anything. My time is nothing, the entire human history is nothing compared to the nature of our universe, the balance of life itself, the art.
I tried and failed, disappointed, unsatisfied…. I felt disconnected, closing myself to the world to find peace within. The struggle of trying to move ahead was replaced with the fight to stop myself. Peace was never found, the energy of my youth burned my soul, I felt as if I was in hell, looking at the world.
I wanted to grasp existence, to claim the meaning of living.
I take the brush, dirty my hands with colors because of the urge to expressing my thoughts. Art is a place to hide, to seek and to comprehend…. An introverted venture or perhaps something inspired from every day…. When great lies are so honest and human, when madness and temptation are viewed with empathy… When I tell my story, I come in contact with the world we live in.
A curve for a narrow mind is a straight line
a straight line for a good mind is a dot
a dot for itself is nothing
I can’t see nothing
so who am I?