For as long as I can recall, art has played a transformative role in my life—ironically, out of proportion to the time I've actually dedicated to it. My creative journey has been primarily dominated by musical endeavours, leaving the realm of painting less explored in comparison to many of my artistic peers. Consequently, my portfolio of paintings is somewhat sparse.

The limited scope of my painting can be attributed to a few factors. Foremost among them is the ever-present constraint of time, a scarce resource due to my involvement in myriad other projects. However, even with limitless hours at my disposal, I wouldn't find it feasible to paint regularly. For me, painting is far from the leisurely activity it's often assumed to be. It demands a taxing level of concentration, accompanied by a paradoxical form of "forced relaxation" and even stress—conditions that, for me, are unsustainable in the long run.

Onlookers often remark that I appear at ease while painting, misinterpreting my disciplined calm for relaxation. To clarify, this is a form of cultivated tranquility, a necessary precondition for my art. Without this forced relaxation, my brushstrokes would be rigid, adversely affecting the final outcome of my painting. This has been my consistent experience.

In essence, painting for me is an intricate dance of self-control and self-regulation. Externally, I maintain a composed demeanour; internally, however, there is a fervour that I must both contain and, when executed skillfully, channel into my art. Achieving this equilibrium is an accomplishment I've managed only a few times, indicating that more practice lies ahead. And it's a challenge I'm eager to tackle in the years to come.