My will to paint stems from childhood. I fell in love with crayons and wanted to collect all colours of the world and beyond. When mother was at work, my grandma took care of me. She used oil paints but I was not allowed to touch them.
The apartment smelled of turpentine and oil paints; a fabulous aroma that mixed with other scents of the place. Crayons were my friends and I was constantly coupling them happily on the paper.
Later I discovered that artists were people who never quite grew up. Most adults seemed to regard their curiosity and vivid imagination something too childish to maintain. We were also warned against the dangers of acting out on our artistic impulses.
We lived near a famous building dedicated to Finnish artists. They interacted mainly with other residents of their abode. However, this creative folk provided a constant theatrical performance for their surroundings. One morning, the artistic community had lifted a sofa on a tree. " Which Surprise Party had been going on in the darkness of the summery Hesperia park, among the leaves of a dusty horse chestnut?