A magic trumpet

Born on a warm August day in 1975, in the center of a city surrounded by concrete and diversity, I was born among tall buildings, but with a view of the sky. Back then, in the shadow of the busy world, a quiet yearning for colors, for nature, for the invisible that pulsates beneath the surface of everyday life was born.  Since childhood, I paint with my mind, walk on clouds and observe life with my heart. The world is my... Read More

Born on a warm August day in 1975, in the center of a city surrounded by concrete and diversity, I was born among tall buildings, but with a view of the sky. Back then, in the shadow of the busy world, a quiet yearning for colors, for nature, for the invisible that pulsates beneath the surface of everyday life was born.

 Since childhood, I paint with my mind, walk on clouds and observe life with my heart. The world is my canvas, and I am its eternal traveler — simultaneously a student and a maker of miracles.

 Through life's epochs, maturations, losses and discoveries, I learned that everything is possible and that the impossible only exists until you get close enough to it. I believe in art as a form of truth, the one that few want to hear, many respect, and some fear.

 I am the mother of a young artist in whose sails I send the wind — giving her dreams, freedom and a reminder that art is the gentlest form of struggle.

 In life, I love what remains unsaid: the silence of the desert, the elegance of movement, the classics of ballet, the sound of the piano that gently separates day from night. I use oblivion instead of hate. And I believe that the deepest feeling is not spoken, but created.

 I love my reflection in the mirror, morning and coffee without sugar, long walks with the chosen one of the soul, a companion through maturing and conquering mountain heights. I like cats more than dogs, I choose the black part of Eurocream, and I believe that the earth is round — but that it turns because of art and love.

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