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 but illusion.

I tried and failed, disappointed, unsatisfied…I felt disconnected, closed 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 took the brush, dirtied my hands with colors because of my urge to express my thoughts. Art is a place to hide, to seek, and to comprehend…An introverted venture or perhaps a moment of inspiration…Great lies are honest, and madness is displayed with empathy...I tell my story.