after becoming a 'self-proclaimed' art critic, after that art workshop with the master, after those countless days spent in school studying art history and stuff, after deriving inspiration from my experiences with all things mundane and ethereal, after Art itself made its own passage through my whole being manifesting itself as some sort of a divine freedom, after dying everyday just to be able to live each day, after all things became perfunctory...i finally mustered enough courage to convince myself that 'at this point i can do it'.i bought a yard of canvas and some tubes of acrylic paints and two brushes worth 1K. (guys, its expensive to paint). and using my familiar strokes, my inspirations (artists and non-artists), and of course my always imaginative mind, my hand started to work. before i knew it, brushes glided smoothly on the canvas acquainting itself with my own style. everything was in rhythm...movements are both free and calculated at the same time. the clock stopped ticking. the only thing existing at that moment was me and the infinite possibilities of my imagination and my own version of beauty and reality. this is what i like most about painting, there are no limits or boundaries on what your mind can conceive, the sky is the limit simply does not exist, because you have your own reality of how you can actually create your own sky. it may just be a sky hovering just above your rooftop. imagination offers me infinity and alongside with it, the freedom and the joy because i was able to create something that i can truly call my own. after a while i stopped, with a hint of a smile on my face, i told myself, 'you're getting there'. :)
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