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Sitting at my laptop, my thoughts slowly drift through my mind. They float to the time, when I started as an artist and was tremendously driven, searching for own style. The mental hurdles I had to take in order to finally find a style, that could not resemble anything.
I was literally a searching mind. Heavily emaciated and almost compulsively filling sketchbooks. Now that I look back in my thoughts about it, it was actually a struggle with myself.
In my mind I go back, when I as a boy of fourteen, I already had to go to work, since my parents had no money to put me through college. Everything then I was able to achieve on my own and with evening studies, to what I have always wanted and am now: artist.
Thoughts about my good and not so good times, which I went through. Also, about the things I never got to achieve. Dreams I was never been able to realize. Thoughts are sometimes shadows from a distant past or thoughts in which you look at shadowy horizons, which can never be reached.
For a moment I let my stream of thoughts flow through as I look at my new work with my realistic eye. I see that I will need to make some corrections.
I listen for a moment to the fading sound of thunder. The rain had already stopped. The light peeks somewhat nervously between the clouds and tries to illuminate my still somewhat gloomy thoughts.
