Eye of a mother Painting

I paint in the same way I breathe. I stay the same, yet am in a constant change. This is how I entered the world of art and remained alone on that path. I’m not some ”based artist”, like an artist from Poreč, or from Istria. I do not belong anywhere. At least, that’s the way I feel, and the feeling is perfect. There is no drawer in which I can be shoved. Very early on, as a little boy, I defined myself as a painter. From the very beginning, I painted on paper, benches, walls, and in 1999. I graduated in painting. Today I live my boyhood dream wrapped up in this crazy time in which we live, and on which I did not count on when I was dreaming. Formal education is, by some, being pushed as an imperative, as an alibi. Going to study art, for me meant leaving the rows and throwing away the rifle to take the brush. It was so long ago, I almost don’t remember the details. I think that being a painter is a job where you are the loneliest. It’s a job by which I communicate with the world, and it’s easy to get misunderstood, but at the same time, art frees me from that solitude and confusion. Some vicious circle. I want to do something that is rarely done in art. Something that leaves the observer outside their comfort zone when standing in front of my art, and makes them ask if what they’re experiencing is in fact possible.This is where I try to survive and create. This idea is what keeps me going, although I have to admit, it is not easy. Almost every day I ask myself numerous questions, to which there is the only one answer: creation. This everyday ritual gives me a reason to live. A ritual of constant learning, changing, choosing the toughest path, constantly asking questions, with a clear head and faith. Inspiration for me is music. In silence, I could not take the brush in my hands. Inspiration is a written word. Inspiration is in history, religion, practically in everything. It’s my neighbour, who may inspire me to create five new paintings. In the empty streets and deserted cities. Often at night before bed, I make sketches in my head for future ideas and paintings. The images come by themselves, sometimes they turn into dreams, and sometimes they move onto the canvas. Inspiration is in the history of art. In everything and everyone. Faces are like books. The face meets the tide of life, and before it draws back, I record it in paint. Figuration as an inspiration. Traditional painting as a starting point and as a commitment.