Sometimes I truly believe I am just a mere extension of the brush. It is the paint brush doing its work. Performing, creating strokes, loading the paint, making marks. My ideas? Come from above, appear from the cloudy reality and I am the transporter of them-some kind of communication channel. We all love to believe we are exclusive creators- great idea's holders and the special one. But are we really? More time I spend in the presence of art the more I am becoming convinced there is something beyond human control, creative flow itself actually is definitely beyond. Only by allowing that control to be taken by art/universe/god/spirit/soul (*choose appropriate) we experience the magic of creation...

Complications of life situations sometimes are becoming much easier to express through words than the rational explanation. Sometimes we need to put words down to be able to process what is happening within the inner world.

Life gets heavy, life can get dark...Still... we carry on and what is unexpected that once something is gone there is something else around the corner to drag behind...

In past I never welcomed autumn. I would hold on to regret that summer is gone, the fact we have a long way before days become longer again. But gradually I started seeing the point of darker days, longer nights and the whole "withdrawn", "inwards" concept of quieter season. We are transitioning from outward living of spring and summer to go back to our self- time for introspection, inner journeys and welcoming shadows to learn to dig deeper into souls. This November this short poetic assemblage of words just popped out of my mind...