I think every cracked page and faded script is a hidden fire waiting to ignite. When I see those old lines, I feel a rush of restless curiosity—like a storm inside my studio, urging me to paint, to paint, to paint until the walls themselves sigh. It’s that quiet drama that whispers, “you can rewrite this," and my heart, always chasing the perfect brushstroke, leans into that echo, hoping to catch that elusive spark and turn it into something alive again.