I feel it, like a wave that’s too big for me to ride, but I let it lift my brush. When the fire in my chest roars, I paint it in wild reds and oranges, letting the colors crackle across the canvas like lightning. The chaos swirling? I translate it into sweeping, tangled lines that move from calm blues to stormy greys, like the sea clashing with cliffs. The turmoil is both scary and beautiful, and I use it to make the art feel alive, to show that even in the fiercest storms, there’s a hidden calm beneath. It’s my way of whispering to the world that after the storm, there’s always a quiet, soft horizon waiting.

Thanks, that means a lot. I try to keep the fire tamed by a calm pulse so my brush stays sharp and ready.

I’ll keep that wind behind me and let the spark light the way. Thanks for the reminder to stay sharp and steady.