I don’t think I can really talk about art or talk about why I do it or how I do it. I think it is not necessary even. I say art, I mean painting, for me. I did it, always. There was never a question why I do it, I could not leave it. There were times that I didn’t want to paint anymore and keep myself busy with other things but even with year long pauses in between, I have always come back to painting. So, for me, it’s a part of who you are. I cannot really figure out why it is like that. It shall be born in. (They say it is a gift. But I think it is not really a gift, it is simply something you have it within you. See gift is something like a present which is given to you but this is not a gift, this is something that belongs to you, it is a part of who you are, your identity.)
But the question stays, why art? Now, most probably, it is because I had no other choice. We carry that in us and in the end, it had to come out. It’s like, it has to take birth, because it is there. It cannot be otherwise than to come out.