
I begin from trust.
I trust feeling before structure, intuition before strategy. I trust that making something with care, something honest, has value in itself. For me, creating is a way of contributing to the world, of shaping a quieter, more humane space both inside and outside.
When I show my work, I do so with excitement, not calculation. Each piece carries time, doubt, attention, and lived experience. Selling work is not about ambition or status; it is about continuity. It allows me to keep working, to keep listening, to keep translating feeling into form. It is how creation survives.
But trust is fragile.
There are moments when openness is mistaken for innocence, when dedication is treated as something extractable. In parts of the art world, where speed and profit dominate, the artist’s sincerity can become a vulnerability. What is lost in these moments is not only fairness, but respect for labour, for intention, for the quiet courage it takes to make something meaningful.
Still, this is not the whole picture.
I have also encountered humility, care, and genuine support. There are curators, galleries, and institutions that work with integrity, that understand art as a relationship rather than a resource. Their presence is steady and reassuring. They remind me that trust, when met with responsibility, can still be a foundation rather than a risk.
So I continue more aware, more discerning, but not closed.
I protect my trust without abandoning it. I remain open, because openness is where art begins. I believe that beauty matters, that care matters, and that ethical collaboration is not an exception but a necessity.
Art is born from trust.
And I choose to keep trusting, wisely, but wholeheartedly.
