Why do I Paint?
A lot of painters seem to have stories about how they’ve been creating art since they were small. They tell stories of scribbling on every surface they could find, of sketchbooks filled with doodles, and of a natural path leading them to art school. My story is different. I wasn’t the child who always had a pencil in hand.
But art was always around me.
I grew up watching my father paint in the basement. He painted everything—our car, the windows of our house—nothing escaped his brush. My mother painted, too. She’d come home from workshops with new creations. And in my school, a Waldorf school, painting was woven into the curriculum. It wasn’t optional; it was just part of life which I liked a lot.
What stands out most to me from those early years is the feeling of completing a picture. Even as a child, I remember the satisfaction of following an idea to the end and creating something tangible. When my mother hung one of my paintings on the wall, I felt a quiet pride every time I walked past it. That little painting made me feel like I’d added something meaningful to our home.
In high school, we exhibited our work at the end of an art course. I was completely unprepared when a woman approached me and asked if she could buy two of my pieces. I didn’t know how to react. Later that night, I called my art teacher, unsure of what to do. He didn’t mention pricing or logistics —instead, he said something that stuck with me. “Take it as a sign that there is some talent” he said. “A calling, a confirmation.”
But I ignored that calling for a long time. After school, I gave up painting. It didn’t feel like a realistic path. I thought I needed to do something “serious,” so I studied International Relations, a mix of politics, law, and economics. I keept going but I never felt that spark, that sense of connection.
Later, I tried journalism, and then filmmaking. In 2017 I co-founded a startup with two friends. Founding a company was an interesting and learning experience, but as time went on, I felt more and more alienated. I spent my days deep in calculations and strategies, and something essential felt missing.
During this time, I started painting again—just small things, here and there. Especially when I was outside, in nature, I felt the pull to pick up a brush. It wasn’t about creating something to show or sell; it was about the act of painting itself. It brought me stillness. It was a way to connect with myself.
Looking back, I see that painting was always there, waiting for me. It wasn’t the straightforward journey many others describe. But now, it`s part of my life.
