The artists are the eyes of mankind (M. Voloshin)
I am an artist. My way to call myself an artist was too long.
I have loved drawing since my childhood and spent hours drawing everywhere. Even on furniture and walls. But I did not get high marks in the drawing, because I always drew what I wanted and without obeying the demand of the school teacher. I started to redraw the cartoon characters and copy famous artworks.
My friends used to ask me to draw something. I even had the unsuccessful experience of drawing portraits of my classmates. Unsuccessful because they criticized them and I was so disappointed that put it on ice. Then I understood that I shouldn’t have given up. I should practice harder.
After school, I certainly wanted to choose something related to art. But I chose teaching foreign languages, after consulting with my parents and friends. I got married, my son was born and 20 years passed without the art. I worked at school, then at university, where I started doing scientific research on linguistics.
It was ready when a calm and planned life was over. Having got an inexplicable diagnosis, I had to quit my job. I would say that I was forced to quit, they did everything so that I had to. It was my personal tragedy because I loved my job. I had no idea what I would do at home.
After three months crying I decided to do something. It’s a chance for you! – I told myself. You dreamed to paint, so let’s paint! I went to an art shop and bought oil paints, brushes, and canvases. I didn’t even know that oil paints could be mixed. The first painting appeared on the cardboard because I was afraid of the canvas.
I do not know where this feeling of self-confidence has come from. I did something on a hunch, and then found confirmation in the books. I watched every free workshop in the Internet. I was working every day and my paintings started selling! At the end of 2013, I had two huge customizations. And then the war came.
When I got ill, I thought that nothing could be worse than my disease. Leaving my apartment, I didn’t know at all if I could see my paintings again. I was leaving and they were staying on the walls. It hurt me so much! It was like I was leaving my children. That period was a real nightmare.
When it ended at last, I came home and could not help starting to paint. But the problem was that I was not able to take up brushes to paint again. Hands trembled when I got down to it. I had no energy, no mood, no air for creativity. The long period of moral and physical recovery came.
And now I can say I am an artist again! And I am so grateful to God, fate and my family for the talent and possibility to create! I cannot live without the smell of paints and canvases, hands and furniture spotted with paints. I want to know what feelings people have when they are watching at my paintings. Yes, I breathe painting!
And I am not a muse, because I am an artist!