I didn´t know how hard it would be. And yet rewarding…

This is no holliday. I need to make a living, pay my bills, take care of my son and to paint. 8 hours, 12 hours, 16 hours daily. With no promise of a salary in the end of the day, month, year. Only promises of new projects, new shows, new possibilities. So much hope inside. Meanwhile, on the outside, canvas growing wild in my bedroom, livingroom, everywhere around me. People come and go, they appreciate it and they say: I wish I had the means to buy one… (YOU DO!) …no, I have other priorities now. Of course, colorful naive images on the wall are not made for the busy, struggling, simple man. So I am the busy, struggling, simple woman that must consider a second or third job in order to make life happen too. My heart gets heavy; I worry about being completely absorved by this workingman day that some call job and leaving my soul behind on the paintings I´d never be able to paint. I have plenty of work, it´s just not providing [yet]. It´s like considering a sabbatical just before the big break. It´s like choosing between love and money as they would be inconcievable essencials, forbidden by destiny to be reached or recieved at the same time.

I feel trapped, but i´m not giving up. I feel lonely but not hopeless. Dreams of new paintings polulate my sleep and new, exciting images keep appearing before my eyes: that must be a sign.

Or I´m just really naive.