When I was 8 I got my first diary. My cousin Tomas, who was in his twenties, gave it to me for the first communion. On the same day I got my very first analog camera from my beloved godparents. Other kids got expensive gifts like bikes, computers and other long awaited devices, so on Monday following the ceremony I remember being a bit embarrassed at school for not being able to brag about extraordinary gifts. But when I was home alone I played with what I got! I took pictures on happy moments and I wrote away my sadness with the help of the notebook with a lock. I kept there all the words I’d not dare tell to my parents nor my best friends. That diary was my confidant and a shield from the outer world.

And now, when I am older, I wonder how these adults were capable of reaching that sweet little girl that I was and give something that was tailor made to fit the soul perfectly. How could they know what I loved before even I knew it? Continue reading

The form

I have always admired people with the Cicero’s gift, who easily lullaby listeners with their stories. Some do it naturally, others acquire the skill after hundreds of dollars spent on NLP trainings. To me the result is always hypnotic. Such sight can be spotted in places of social conjunction like coffee corners in office space, in pubs were the music is not too loud and the voltage of drinks hasn’t reached the electrocution level yet, at family dinners or in preaching houses of all religions.

I honestly admire speakers who attract crowds with smart talks. I admire even more Continue reading

If they can, I CAN

Yesterday I read about the concept which can be relevant to releasing one’s creative potential. I am talking about self-efficacy. This matter has been scientifically studied by one of the most significant psychologists of our times – Albert Bandura ( It’s a believe that one has when it comes to the ability to perform certain actions or pursue dreams. For some this believe is strong so their sense of self-efficacy is great, for some, like myself, this believe has not been so strong and has influenced my creative side. How so?

Apparently people with a weak sense of self-efficacy doubt their abilities and are more reluctant to take risks as they fear failure. This description perfectly matches the person I have known from the mirror for the past two decades. That person’s name was self-doubt. She resonated fear from underneath a mask of a big joker. She was a leader keeping silent not to upset the loud and sensitive ones. She wanted to belong. And she did – to others. She kept her ideas in the pockets which were holes-eaten by bugs named vitae adultus and those classified as ars oblitus and with time lost them all unnoticeably as if they were worthless pennies.

That person does not exist anymore. One year ago I stepped on a ferry crossing the oceans of unknown and insecure hopefully heading to my true self.  Self-efficacy is the next puzzle I was missing in my map. According to the theory there are four ways to improve the sense of personal efficacy, but my favorite one is: social modeling. In short it means that if someone sees their peers were able to do something, there is greater chance that they will do it as well. So I think to myself, if my friends, who are all extraordinary and gifted with talents and brains, and still NORMAL people, can do it, I can do it too.

I CAN write and publish a book.

I CAN paint and hang my painting on a wall or give it to a friend as a “just because” gift.

I CAN participate and win a photo contest.

I CAN get a writing job.

I CAN write a blog…


…and if I can, you can!




Hungry artist

Some may believe that in order to create artists should have 24/7 access to the safe of ideas, be able to call inspiration hotline in the middle of the night and get a regular appointment with their family muse to have a check up on their artistic health. And I think it’s all true, people who are creators are of sensitive nature and require special care and protection. However, I would like to add one more predominant.  I claim that all artists should live next to an Italian restaurant, whose owner is in love with them and prepares happily delicious pasta everyday to feed their hungry souls. Why is it so important? Because I can create without my laptop, I can write notes in my next-to-the-bed notebook in complete darkness without a lamp and I can get by without taking pictures with my cute blue Cybershot when the technology says “no”, but I cannot do it without eating.


How to elaborate on a story when your stomach speaks louder than your mind? How to focus on the plot when you’re drifting away into dreaming about how to prepare your porridge this morning? How to come up with a sophisticated sentence when your subconscious only rhymes to hunger or bread?

Does that make me a no-artist? Shouldn’t I enter in some state of flow when all human needs pause and play again once the passionate creation is finished?  Or should I stuff myself before starting to work so that I don’t get distracted by rumbling sounds of the digestive system? But then I’d risk being sleepy and lazy, which could limit my intellectual powers, and they could actually come in handy in the process. What to do, what to do? How to shift the weight from consuming to producing, from putting in to letting out, from swallowing to savoring?

It is obvious that the entire act of creation is about being active, so if one has been passive the entire life, reading instead of writing, listening instead of speaking, spending instead of earning or sitting instead of walking, it ain’t gonna be easy. I am not going to change overnight and I am aware that old habits take their time to lure me back into the past and to the usual, but I am going to try to overcome this weakness of mine, which is excessive attention to food, and ignore it or trick it somehow the next time it hits and I will let it know the rules changed,  that now the mind, the body and the soul have an important purpose to serve, and that is to participate in the divine creation.




Moroccan disaster

I am a fan of constructions built in moroccan style. It’s because it’s mystic, it’s sensual and arty. I have never been to Morocco, but in many places in Spain you can enjoy some precious leftover of Mauretans visits. For example in the heart of Las Palmas, Gran Canaria there are two little kiosks  that certainly come from the African inspiration rather than colonial appropriation.

Each time I walked past it, I couldn’t satisfy my eyes enough, so I desired to take the image home and keep it on the night table. And here the fun part starts. Photos are too common, everyone can keep it in their mobiles, postcards are nice, but not always easy to find and both are totally not challenging enough, so I had this brilliant idea, “let’s paint it”!!!

Me, a total dummy when it comes to visual thinking, spatial imagination or dimension sensivity, went today to copy that simple block to a 10×15 format. I packed all the pencils, canvas and a took an extra bag full of enthusiasm…luckily!

The sweet little building I saw before turned into a monster full of details, shadows and angles. How was that possible? It was the same building and it was the same me! But there was one more actor joining the scene: big ambition, with not enough skills to direct the piece!

Did it make me curse myself for the hideous idea? – Oh, yes!

Did it make me judge myself? – A great deal!

Did it suggest to quit and throw it all away? – Sure!

Did it scream out loud “YOU CAN’T PAINT, YOU CAN’T PAINT…”? – I think everybody around heard it.

Did it make me stop? – No!  

3.5 hours later I was looking at my version of the building. And frankly, it’s was a disaster. I was not proud of it at all.

Aquarelle pencils version

And getting worse and worse…

…after brushing with water

So you see, it’s not going to hang in any gallery (probably it won’t even hang on my wall), but  I was proud of myself for doing it. It was fun, it was free, and totally different from what I’d normally do. And what is more, I plan to paint some more in the coming  days! Hahaha!



When I was a kid I got a precious gift from my Mum’s friend from Italy. No one in the class had such a thing. It made other kids jealous and it made me think that it’s so extraordinary that I should take very good care of it, meaning hide it and not use it. It was an album win special gloss paper and some stickers inside which you could easily stick and unstick. These stickers were so beautiful, so much different from what I used to know, they were in the forms of bears, dinosaurs, angels, some had glitters on them, some had the 3D effect. In one word, they were priceless.

It was my dream to stick them all around the room, on the furniture, in my school books, on the bike, mirror, walls and doors…everywhere. But I didn’t. I didn’t allow myself. I took the album out of the closet sometimes and went through pages with a heavy breath in the silence of my undecorated room and I was sad.

Some years later, when I grew out of silly colorful toys, during a cleaning of the house before Xmas I found the album. And I froze. All of the stickers were still there. And it hit me. WHAT A WASTE! When I found them and was brave enough to make use of them I no longer wished to do so. I realized that I deprived my younger self of that pleasure.

Now that I am an adult and each time I notice I am denying myself a treat, some fun or worse, the right to fulfill my need, I go back to that story of and remind myself  that the time is now. There are thoughts that pass my mind like: “maybe later I would have more money to travel to some faraway land”, “maybe in the next decade I would be more fit for some activities and jobs, because now I should focus on the career and my relationships”…but I know, that if there’s something I really wanna do and I don’t, it will stick with me for long…but rather as regret than a soul warming memory.

PS It’s never too late to spoil one’s inner child. Today I discovered they had an entire stickers section in a Chinese market.  I felt like a kid again, but with a wallet of an adult 😉 So I got myself these:


Ratio price/satisfaction – to the moon and back!!!


Last week, for the first time, few people, who were not my friends or family, liked the post that I wrote in this blog. And it gave me a huge feeling of awe, followed by an even bigger fear a tiny moment later. A fear whispering: OMG, now it’s serious, so I have to do it well, OMG, what if don’t like the next piece and stop following me…?, They’ve been doing it for longer than me and will probably judge me…Aaaaaaaaaaaa!

I don’t know how it happened that total strangers found a way via digital wires to my site, but I know that for the first time I chose to publish something publicly on FB. Maybe I was tired from the move and packing of the past few days, certainly I was not being rational. Apart from writing to myself, for myself and about myself, and couple of incidental articles I wrote to a teenage magazine 15 years ago, there was no trace of my artistic attempts noted in this galaxy…So what’s changed?

It’s precisely one year ago when I dropped my promising career in a worldwide consulting company rhyming with adventure (which btw turned out to be the contrary) where I reached a point when I wanted to escape the life I was living, literally, through the window on the 13th floor. Fortunately, the company policy was to locate their offices in buildings where windows would not open (and now I can totally see why). It was on March 8th, as a gift for the woman that I was, when I registered my 1 person business as a translator. I did work for few months in the field and for some time I thought I was fulfilled and finally found exactly what I had been looking for. However, this idyll didn’t last long as, again, there was one tiny detail missing – ME. What does it mean exactly?

Trying to speak about myself as humble as possible and quietening the ego to the lowest volume, I ADMIT that the artist in me was awaken. It no longer wanted to read other people’s books, fantasies or legal drafts, it wanted to create on its own. And what is more important, it didn’t want to excuse everybody around for…BEING AROUND. And if acknowledging it myself was a mile stone, then telling it to the world was like a step on the moon. I think it would have been easier for me to tell my parents that I was lesbian if I was one. My artistic COMING OUT was difficult bearing in mind that I followed my parents advice to study Economics. – “At least you will a job in a bank”,  and as much as I regard some people working in financial institutions, the result of trying to put me behind the counter was similar to crusades, I suffered, I bled and finally surrendered, preserving little debris of the inner culture. This treasure was hidden underneath for years until digged out by an archeSOULogist, my best friend Selena ♥♥♥, who made me reach for it, polish it and make the best use of it. Suddenly more and more artistic energy was flowing my way from other friends, both old and new.

So one year later, here I am, writing, not only for myself anymore nor just for the pleasure of others, but out of pure liking and natural need. I finally admit that it’s something I wanna do, so I do it!

Thank you!