Why do the overwhelmingly tall tree branches form a large cage? Why does the short grass bursting from the cracked, overused walkway translate to the cycle of life? Why are the hundreds of stones buried in soil surrounded by dried twigs an unexpected metaphor for overthinking and existential dread? Why do clear skies, clear paths, and clear water look like a breath of fresh air and an equal want to be clear headed towards a clear cut path? Why is there too much getting stuck in the head yet simultaneously an urge to escape, drown and get lost in such endlessness?
I might never truly be able to get the answers to all these questions, yet what excites me is how I already found the door that leads me to them all. Painting is the door I am forcing to stay open in order to remove the divide between my small inner self and the large outside world. Painting allows what is concealed to be thrown out and sink deep under broken cement, heavy roots, scattered dead leaves, large corroded rocks, murky water – all flowing, welcoming, and never alone.