I am in love with art. I can lose myself for hours in the luminous watercolors and bold oil landscapes of John Singer Sargent, soaking in the richness of his colors, the mastery of his compositions, the effortless dance of his brushwork.  I don't just admire them-I- dissect them, searching for the secrets hidden in each stroke, learning, stealing, and absorbing everything I can to refine my craft.

When I stand before a Rembrandt, Velazquez, or Sargent portrait, I am captivated, overwhelmed by their command of light, color, and form. Their genius fuels my own hunger to improve, to push my work further. I pour over the drawings of Raphael, Andrea del Sarto, Michelangelo, and Degas, mesmerized by their anatomical precision, the soul in their lines, the depth in their tones. I want to inhale their brilliance, to let it flow through my hands and into my own creations. 

But technique alone isn't enough. My work must speak. 

George Harrison once criticized Elton John's "Crocodile Rock," calling it "a little silly" and lamenting that the Beatles always strove to say something significant with their music. That sentiment resonates with me deeply. 

I want my art to mean something. I am searching for the thread of resilience that binds us all, the quiet strength of the human heart. I want to celebrate the unbreakable spirit, the determination to rise despite struggle and push forward despite doubt. I want my work to ignite something in others—to inspire, encourage, and remind us all that we are capable of greater things.