Anti-overthinking_
When my mind won’t stop, I draw. Or paint. Paper, screen—it depends. Acrylics, oil, sometimes just lines that don’t want to be anything. No goal. Just sitting with it. Letting the hand move until something soft appears. There’s Matisse in the lightness, Magritte in the pause, Čiurlionis in the quiet drift. Pipilotti Rist reminds me it doesn’t have to make sense. Some things stay as they are. Others grow into something else.
