Between Softness and Strength

Writing and painting were always there —

two expressions of the same inner movement, traces of my path.

In this first blogpost, I choose to open my inner world.

Without explanation, without noise.

Not because I must, but because I simply can’t not.

Here, language becomes no explanation, but a breath —

for me, and for those who wish to journey gently alongside.

Writing has always been there, just like painting. They come from the same source – different languages of the same movement.

Sometimes I filled page after page in my journal.

Sometimes I scribbled along the edge of a grocery list, or on the back of a drawing.

Often I wrote in my head, without a single word landing on paper.

Somewhere deep down, I knew: this isn’t just about words or images. It’s about remembering who I am. About allowing myself to be who I am. About leaving traces of what might otherwise disappear too quickly.

This blog – or rather, this space – was not created to persuade. It was created to share. First and foremost for myself. As moments to breathe. To reflect. To anchor. And as an invitation, for those who are touched by my work and want to feel where it came from. Not to explain the work. But to offer it ground. Depth. A gentle foundation.

Some writings will be quiet. Some raw. Some healing. Some confusing. Because I don’t promise a polishe story. I only promise honesty. I’m not moving toward more visibility (on social media, for example), but toward more truth – and in that, I want to be seen. Or better yet: in that, I allow myself to be seen.

There is no border between what I paint and what I write. And yet, setting boundaries is something I’m deeply working on today.

For a long time, I had no boundaries. Not because I wanted it that way, but because it was taught to me as the safest way. To be liked. To fit in. To not be 'too much.'

“Just act normal, that’s already crazy enough.”

That sentence – I heard it so often –

belittled me without raising its voice. It quietly and subtly stifled my ambition. It made greatness seem inappropriate. Embarrassing even. And so I hid my urge to create art, my girls (and with them, myself). My journals were kept secret. My thoughts made reasonably ‘reasonable.’

Today, I choose to share. Without pressure. Without shouting. But with steadiness. And softness. Because even boundaries can be gentle. Especially the ones between me and the world.

I hope this may be a resting point for you, who is reading this. An opening into my inner world, that perhaps helps youto inhabit your own space more softly.

Whether you read quietly or choose to respond – either is welcome. You don’t need to do anything. I only might invite you to feel what lingers. And who knows, maybe this space will one day become a book (because yes, I finally dare to dream and do big).

Or maybe it will simply remain what it is now: a gentle place to land from time to time.