Finding the answer to whether I am truly an artist is a question that looms large and keeps resurfacing in my thoughts. It’s an ongoing dialogue with myself, deeply connected to the creativity that seems woven into my being—something I largely credit to my ADHD. From as far back as I can remember, this creativity has been there, my reliable ADHD partner pushing me into a wide array of expressions like design, creation, and building. What I make is like a mirror of my thoughts, where bright, vibrant hues crash into stark contrasts, and a sleek, sophisticated line might twirl unexpectedly into something rough and raw.

I don't typically have a set theme or subject dominating my work. Everything starts with a tiny spark—a fleeting thought, a brush of feeling, or maybe a subtle nod towards societal issues, which feel especially pressing now in these tumultuous times. My inspirations come from all sorts of places—imagery, different materials, and, of course, nature.I dive into this creative adventure whenever inspiration taps me on the shoulder.

In painting, the true essence of what I'm creating reveals itself as I go along. It's a dance of discovery. When I'm crafting pieces that will occupy space like sculptures, I find myself reaching for materials like metal and wood. But I never shy away from experimenting with anything that piques my curiosity and sparks a new idea. There’s a magical moment in every creation where it begins to unveil itself to me, taking shape before my eyes.

I'm constantly in awe of nature and everything it offers—its textures, its forms, the way it reflects light, and even its symphonies of sound. Often, my process involves taking what's been thrown away or overlooked and seeing it in a new light. Those discarded items are treasures to me, rich with the potential for a new life filled with meaning and beauty.

My technique isn't a rigid system; it's a smooth and flowing practice driven by wonder and the endless possibilities born from imagination. It might all start with an image in my head, something I’ve seen, or a forgotten object suddenly brimming with potential after I've thought about it again and again. Sometimes a new tool, material, or texture tempts me into a game of experimentation. Inspiration sneaks up on me at the oddest times—while I’m doing chores, talking with others, or listening to music, which emotions and rhythms often set the tone for my creations.

To me, creating is not just a task; it's an open-ended journey enriched by the unbound imaginings and constant buzzing of my hectic mind.

The cherry on top is when someone sees my work and asks me … “Could you create something for me?”