THE ART OF LIFE WITH MAYA
MAKING LOVE WITH ART O
ur emotions dictate our thoughts, intentions and actions with superior authority to our rational minds. As many other aspects in life and some circumstances control our feelings, the sense of moderation, logical perspective and rationality play a leading role in our gratuity to be able to master these feelings. My melancholic memory of a passionate, glamorous, and uncomplicated love. It was an intuitive process of giving and creating, supercharged with emotions, reflected in a romantic fairytale, which ended because I put my mind beyond my feelings. I was seeking another adventure when the love turned into a stadium of pain and a lack of butterflies in my stomach. I realized there is no such thing as friendship once the hormones calmed down. I didn’t accept any reasoning because I was searching for a boring love. A vision of an old couple enjoying the simplicity of respect, dedication and
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support. Recognizing symbols of nature, I firmly believe this wasn’t a coincidence. Karma didn’t want us to be the two halves of an apple. 12 years ago, I moved to Holland, entirely out of my comfort zone as I knew no one there. I was feeling afraid, unsettled and uncomfortable. Many unfamiliar systems were confusing my old-fashioned and traditional way of existing. It was a new page of my book, a tabula rasa moment of
rebirth, as I find myself on a deeper level, discovering what I am capable for, gaining a different perspective and challenging myself to the limit. My only belongings were my art in my suitcase of memories, filling my heart and eyes with a sense of wonder. My energy levels dropped and liberating my identity solidified. Art helped me relieve stress, reduce and alleviate anxiety and depression, decreasing any negative emotions. It began a period of “to be” in place of “to do” as I learned a new way of thinking. I was alone. I had my art. A year before I left, there was a bridge where we met. I was wearing a white and red Russian style dress when I gazed into your sunglasses. I was rushing to get to work on time, and you had just received positive news from court, our second (spontaneous) meeting. The first one was at the Old Bazaar, in front of the gallery, where I was arranging an exhibition, and you were outside on the stairs, with a friend as our eyes met quietly. I must admit we were both shy. You asked me for a lighter. We smoked and talked for a few minutes. Later, I wrote a song, and I created paintings about you. You became my real muse. The only one I have ever had. Holding hands, gallery appointments, taxi and yellow coffee, rum and beer, crazy parties and white winter walks, from fancy meetings to cozy underground places painting the short-lasting, tender moments. What was happening were overwhelming feelings,
