I was thinking about a story to tell when I realised that the only story that really matters is the one told after our deaths; who were we, what we were like? That being said, here is my story. I started from a young age, scribbling and painting on the walls in exchange for a spanking. Through all the changes life brings, family that came and went, losing close friends, the one constant I drew strength from is my ability to express my feelings through art. There is a myriad of emotions art makes us feel and personally I have a strong connection to the emotion of empowerment; feeling like your creative mind can be addressed and portrayed simply by waving your hands across a canvas. This inclination is irreplaceable, and as an artist I strive instil this feeling in those that connect with my work. My inspiration is a straightforward yet confounded thing to portray; it's subjective to the user of the brush and tool. From my imagination the elements of my dreams inspire new pieces. Many suffer from dreamless nights . Be that as it may, I take a gander at things around me, something as a little as an oven can create a picture in the brain and emerge as a workmanship piece. Looking at existing pieces can likewise act a wellspring of inspiration for my imagination to derive another perspective of what the original piece is showing. What better way of finding inspiration for your own garden than by visiting others.