MYSELF AS AN ARTIST
Sometimes it’s hard to consider yourself as a painter or even an artist. It is not something you already have and possess from childhood. Art is fragile and almost undeniable part of my life. But each day I need to decide and choose to work: get up and search for ideas, going in the studio, making plans, getting to know new artists, learning etc. It can't be taken for granted. If I stop breathing, I will die; if I stop with my work, I will stop being a painter. I can have my dreams, maybe I can recognize a piece of art and know how to draw a figure, but that not make me an artist. I have to realize my dreams and do my own pieces of art. That's the only way how I can exist as an artist. Colors, canvases and poems are the strength of my expression; daily life with ups and downs is an inspiration - specially love. I need an interaction with people and connection with my soul to reach the story of this age.
I went and searched small pieces of cities – great and full of people.
I saw a beauty of buildings and a glow of culture in a nation's history,
I admired the intellect, evolution and diversity of civilizations…
But nothing can bring me memories like small streets of hometown,
No one can make me feel the heartiness of young days like my old friends.
There is nothing like home.
Forgetting my history is passing away,
Destroying our living space is erasing our memory,
Removing monuments of art and culture is losing an identity.
So small, like pocket in my hand;
but yet so old – more ancient than Rome,
Lest we forget!