05/06/2026
A few days ago, one of my paintings found a new home.
And it made me think about where this journey really began.
The first photo shows the flat I managed to rent after moving to Scotland.
To be honest, it was in a terrible condition.
At the time, I was going through one of the most difficult periods of my life.
The move was far harder than I had ever imagined.
I felt lost.
As if everything I had spent years building had suddenly disappeared, while my new life had not yet begun.
I had no plans to become an artist.
No dreams of exhibitions.
No thoughts of selling artwork.
I simply wanted to make this space feel a little more beautiful.
A little warmer.
A little more like home.
I looked at that empty, damaged wall and decided to create something on it.
That was my very first piece made with plaster and spoon 🥄
I had no idea then how deeply I would fall in love with texture.
I became fascinated by the way form emerges from nothing.
By the way our hands can transform a blank surface into something alive.
By the way creativity can slowly put a person back together when life has fallen apart.
What started as an attempt to improve a wall became the beginning of an entirely new chapter.
Couple years later, my work is exhibited in galleries across Scotland.
Some of my paintings have found their way into people’s homes.
And art has become not just something I do, but a part of who I am.
People often see the exhibitions, the sales, the finished work.
What they don’t see is the damaged wall where it all began.
The uncertainty.
The fear.
The feeling of starting over.
Behind every success story, there is a moment when nothing looks beautiful yet.
Just an empty wall and a decision to create something anyway.
Today, more than anything, I feel grateful to the woman who stood in front of that wall and chose to begin.
