STORIES FOR mY HOME

In July I made one painting because I missed the cat that had lived with me for two weeks earlier that month. I wanted to make ONE PAINTING ONLY, just to see how it would feel to do it again, without spending too much time on it afterward, since I had given up painting for the sake of painting a time ago.

But then I found myself in my aunt’s basement, where I began to find pleasure in painting again after briefly thinking that I didn’t want to make art anymore. There I wanted to try once more.

When I came back home, I made another painting because I missed the space. Then I decided to continue every month, because every month I was missing something new. I painted my figurines knowing that they too would one day disappear, and that I might not have the time to miss them. So I missed them beforehand.

Gradually I painted more and more, confused because I didn’t fully understand what it was for, and saddened by the fact that I couldn’t do what I truly wanted to do. Still, I continued more frequently — not because I wanted to be a painter, but because I wanted my figurines to be properly seen.