I can't remember anymore, but my mother told me that I came home from school and before I rushed to have lunch, I always quickly drew or painted something. In kindergarten, my friend drew a beautiful, large blue cloud with oil pastels. It impressed me because it was so lovely. I thought to myself back then that I wanted to be able to create something as beautiful.
My great-great-grandfather was an organist and sent his children begging because he didn't earn enough, so the story goes in our family.
When I was 14, I was sent with my brother to a painting camp for a week. Back then, just like today, I was interested in creating or painting something beautiful…
After graduating, I became an interior consultant because my parents couldn't afford to finance my studies. A friend from that time, with whom I often met to paint, tried to pass the admission exam at an art university. The professor told him that his portfolio was really too weak, leading him to not paint a single picture for the next five years, study economics, and now work as an alcoholic in a helping profession.
I was accepted into the art university at 22 or 23 years old and always had small jobs on the side, mainly in crafts, to finance my life. I genuinely believe that the future of art lies in craftsmanship. For years after my studies, I lived as a freelance artist, but I increasingly doubt whether I can really make a living from it. At this point, I almost prefer to have artistic work that is crafts-oriented, with regulated working hours and wages, and social contacts in the form of colleagues. Right now, I'm even questioning whether I truly see and feel myself as an artist. My artistic works are aesthetic, beautiful exercises. There's nothing wrong with that, but I won't revolutionize art with it.
I think I have always drawn and painted because I wanted to create something beautiful and joyful. Something that comes into being with a lot of love, care, and dedication; something truly valuable that hasn’t existed in this form in our world before. Essentially, it has always been about love, that something gives joy and a sense of well-being to both myself and others.
Now I've been doing this for almost 20 years, and I am currently very disappointed and exhausted that my love isn’t recognized and appreciated by the official art market. There are so many cool, smart people who want nothing to do with this, but would rather pursue theoretical and other "brainy" things. I almost feel drowned with my small, humble feeling that I've always had since childhood. But I do believe that it's important (at least to me) for a piece of work to say to the viewer: I like you, it's wonderful that you're here, what a miracle that we live and love.
Just recently, I met an art professor, an artist whose work I greatly admire, and he once bought a painting of mine, one of my finest. In that moment, I felt understood and loved in my work again.
It's hard for me to live and be this small feeling of mine in such a harsh world, but I really have no choice; it's simply my guiding star that I came into this world with. And there will be better times again.
As a child, I dreamed of winning some kind of – probably athletic – competition, where I showed my mutilated right hand on a big screen in a stadium, and people applauded for someone with such a disability achieving something so wonderful. That was very beautiful!