The root of why I paint lies in a childhood memory.

I was walking home from the psychiatric emergency ward after visiting my mother. It was early spring — I could hear the birds, see the first colors returning to the world.
It was just as clear to me that she could not.

For a long time, I was afraid to fully feel —
on a quiet, subconscious level — afraid of what it might lead to.

It wasn't until adulthood that I began to let go.
Through meditation, I slowly allowed emotions to surface — to exist, side by side.

Today, I paint from that space.

A place where hope and doubt, joy and unease, can live within the same expression —
like the moment when spring begins to open.

My color palette is drawn from nature,
and my process begins in stillness — in meditation, in presence.

Often outdoors, between water and forest, with music —
where I can feel fully alive.

I create open stories —
paintings that are not fixed, but felt.

Filled with emotion, movement, and life.