When Light Begins to Appear in My Paintings: An Artist’s Quiet Turning Point

When Light Begins to Appear in My Paintings: An Artist’s Quiet Turning Point

Recently, something has changed in my paintings. The light. There’s a certain glow now—an atmosphere that wasn’t quite there before. The light in my paintings is a reflection of an inner transformation. Looking back, I realize that until I fully embraced the path of being an artist, I was like a salmon swimming upstream.

To live that way, against the current, required relentless effort. There was nothing effortless or natural about it. My life was built entirely on labor, perseverance, and control. And at times, those efforts were rewarded. When I received recognition, when I was invited to teach at a university, when I landed multi-million dollar projects or attended international conferences—those moments validated the work. And they always left me wanting more.

But every time I succeeded, another voice inside would speak up:
“Is this truly the life you want?”
“If no one recognized you, if there was no reward—would you still want this path?”
Again and again, I turned away from the part of me that wanted to paint, telling myself survival came first. But when I was in Germany, alone with my thoughts and routines stripped away, I couldn’t defer the answer anymore.
Eventually, I said: “Yes. I choose the artist’s path.”
And I have continued on that path ever since.
From a practical standpoint, the art world is not an easy path. The statistics are harsh. Only the top few percent of artists can confidently say, “Follow me.” I’ve met countless creatives—some with secure careers—who quietly admit that they would never give up teaching or design work to pursue pure art.

So why have I stayed this course?
Because I answered that voice inside me.
Because walking this road with a full yes, even when it's hard, brings peace and quiet to my inner world.
I know now that there is something within me that moves me, that drives me. That’s why I walk this path as an artist with a deepening sense of certainty. I also know that every painting I make holds energy, spirit, and something unseen. That’s why I don’t push. That’s why I stay quiet. In truth, it’s not so different from the life of a shaman. When one can no longer turn away from their calling, and chooses to walk that uncertain road, what they long for is not fame—but light.
That longing is what fills my paintings now.
And that light isn’t something you add with paint. It comes from inside. The softer and clearer your mind becomes, the more naturally the light enters your work. Perhaps I am just beginning to learn that.

What comes next? I don’t know.
I just keep walking. I try to paint as much as possible. That is my truest answer.
This year, the call within me is to paint as much as I can. And for that, I am preparing to clear everything else from my schedule. After this summer, my work will change. It must. Not because I want it to—but because painting so much, day after day, cannot help but change the painter. The act will do the work.
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Painting follows life. Life informs painting. I am learning to follow the flow.