Why I Create

Art, to me, has always been more than expression — it’s translation. A way to turn feelings, memories, and invisible threads of thought into something the world can see. Every curve, every texture, every dreamy distortion you’ll find in my work is a quiet answer to the question I ask myself daily: what if?

What if rivers carried more than water — what if they carried memory?
What if ruins held not destruction, but stories blooming in silence?
What if our connections, our balances, our hopes, were forces shaping reality in quiet, invisible ways?

These paintings aren’t literal. They’re personal equations. Each one captures a truth I couldn’t find words for — a weight I had to lift with imagination instead of logic.

The four visuals you see here mark a shift in my journey:
from interpreting the world to bending it slightly.
From realism, to something closer to how dreams feel.

An open book sprouting plants, resting on a stone pedestal among the ruins of a tower in a misty medieval valley.
A dreamlike balance scale in a desert setting, weighing flowers against gold coins under a crescent moon and rain.
Two stylized hands exchanging a star beneath a melting sun, with flowing celestial lines and golden accents.
A surreal landscape with a winding river resembling human veins leading to a domed temple under a soft, cloudy sky.

On Choices, Chaos, and Creating What Feels Right

There’s a strange thing about joy — it doesn’t always come easy. It tempts us, distracts us, lifts us up — but it can also blur our direction. I’ve learned that creativity isn’t about chasing pleasure or avoiding struggle. It’s about knowing which discomfort is worth leaning into, and which beauty is worth walking past. Not everything lovely deserves to stay.

I don’t believe in effortless art. Every piece is a decision. Sometimes, I welcome lightness. Sometimes, I choose to sit in the discomfort of a moment — to sketch out its edges, to understand it through form and color. Not because it’s pleasant, but because it’s true.

When you’re free — when nothing is pressing — it’s easy to choose delight. But most of us create in-between: between deadlines, between feelings, between doubts. That’s where real work lives. Not in comfort, but in clarity.

I’ve learned to say no to projects that shine but leave no echo. And to say yes to work that hurts a little — because it leads somewhere deeper.

Every brushstroke is a small act of intention. Every character I build, every surreal place I draw — it’s not just about aesthetics. It’s about the choices I make while creating.

This page is not a manifesto. It’s a reminder:
We don’t always create because it feels good.
We create because we must.