I'm not gonna lie, it's very strange to write about myself without feeling egotistic. And I don't want to bore you with a classic story of: I always loved art, and creating was my escape from the world, I mean, is true but that doesn't make it less boring. So instead I’ll tell you how I became an artist, the first thing I did was to be in denial for the majority of my life, every time someone said to me, “you should or you will be an artist when you grow up”, I answeared: “never!”. Even though I spend all my days drawing, constructing and composing. I have loved photography since my first camera at the age of 6. Since the second I could leave the house on my own, I studied any courses I could find, and I choose industrial design so I can make money with a pencil in my hand. Until I realized how unbearable my life would be If I didn't made as much art as possible. I loved my career but it wasn't mine. I had a full mental breakdown, that only went away when I fully accepted that I couldn't do anything else but art. Is the only thing that connects me to myself, that allows me to see what my mind doesn't let me, in my worst days is the only thing that takes me out of bed, I'm nothing without it, and I never was. The truth is that I never had a choice.

Inspiration is a bad word when it comes to creating for a living, but to be more specific my inspiration is a very bratty toddler, and if you ever had to baby sit a toddler you know that two things will happen: the ones you can control and the ones it will control, and it will take over with random, beautiful and painful chaos. So usually I start with what I know I can handle, which is the vase or container, that normally comes from photographs that I take when I'm off guard, these images wake up something in me, either a question or a chuckle, anything works. And then the second part is what fills it up, the meaning, the soul, the things I can't say out loud because I either don't know them or don't know how to. On this step I just let go, I invite the chaos in, while the conscious mind tries to read it, understand it and keep up. The eyes do their best to keep an oversight so things don't go too out of control. Sometimes the chaos is too much, sometimes it feels forced and other times I don't have the balls to pull everything out of me and see it through. When that happens I need to go outside of myself, to what surrounds me, the city, the grey, the color accents, the concrete, is the environment that I feel most at home, at peace, blending it, and disappearing. Then putting it all back on the canvas.