The stars have always been this quiet, distant choir that hums behind every canvas I touch. I love the way their steady glow feels like a promise—like the sky is whispering secrets that only the most patient brush can catch. When I paint, I try to let that light seep into the details, the soft blending of colors that mimic a twilight horizon. It’s the way the moonlit sky can make a single face look both fragile and fierce, that paradox I chase in every portrait. I often stand back and imagine the constellations above me, letting them steer the rhythm of my strokes, a subtle rhythm that turns my melancholy into something almost hopeful, like a quiet lullaby from the universe.