This summer has been marvellous. The weather could have been better, I must say, it hasn’t been as sunny as I’ve hoped for, but still, I haven’t worn socks for three months. That is something worth mentioning when living in
It is warm now, almost +25 degrees, so maybe the summer still continues for a while.
The marvel of this summer is due to the many things I’ve been doing. The usual laziness has been my main aim, but besides that I’ve written a lot and what is more exciting, I’ve been doing a lot of pictures with different methods and that is something new in me.
For first of all, I consider myself a writer, not a picture maker. Words have always been my tools to express myself, words come as natural as breathing or sleeping (when I don’t suffer from insomnia…). Words are I.
I’ve always admired artists who express themselves with skills I don’t possess. Painters, photographers, sculptors, singers, dancers, actors. Yes, it’s easy to envy them, but envy doesn’t get you very far, in fact it limits your perspective, it kills your own creativity, it’s a doomed way to bitterness.
When I realised that only doing is the way to make something, I surprisingly found things in me, I didn’t know I possessed. I found the joy of doing new things, and thus, the boundaries vanished. I had no excuse not to try new things, and excuses are ones enemy number one.
I can’t. I shouldn’t. It’s too difficult. What do I think of myself, it’s impossible.
Well, not everything is possible I must admit it. I won’t be a great singer, I believe I shall not chop a great statue with my hammer; I’m surely not to be a dancer in chorus line, but who has to be everything?
I hope to drag along this realization with me when I head towards the darkness. I fear for autumn and winter.