Painting is, for me mostly, time to heal. For this me, who really sucks in normal meditating, who always got to be in the move, those lines, brush dancing calmly on the canvas… it is just surprisingly perfect. Even me, choleric me, somehow calms down. Breathes, travels to the unknown places…

… of me.

Everything is in those moves. In paint having all colors I need now, all shades of blue, all hopes and dreams… in fact nothing is important. The way how it will look is not important… the end will come, but who cares!


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