When the rays of the morning sun touch my studio, that's when my soul finds calm and peace.
In that moment the light is perfect, and I can let my dreams touch a new canvas.
Where would I be without the old Flemish masters? The weight of their history rests upon my shoulders.
Maybe I would still be an artist who seeks perfection.
Attempting to perfect these techniques has given me gray hairs. My impatience is tempered by the spiritual pressure of those who invented painting the way it should be practiced.
There is always a more beautiful item waiting to be captured. There is always a different color that shows the true nuances of the world.
My paintings are a reflection of me, and in them, I become someone I otherwise could not.
It is as though all of the colors, lights and images they create come to life before my eyes.
To me, the objects from ancient times are filled with soul and energy. The joy I feel when I conquer pigment and canvas, and give life to history, is worth an eternity of time.