I returned to drawing later in life, drawn back to it almost instinctively. What began as a quiet rediscovery opened a flood of memories—of sitting beside my father, drawing together, learning to see the world through patience and line. Each portrait now carries echoes of those early moments, reconnecting me to my youth and to a part of myself I had set aside for many years.
Sketching brings me a sense of peace. It slows time and draws me inward, creating a space of quietness where the noise of everyday life fades away. As I work, physical and mental pain soften, replaced by focus, stillness, and calm. The act of drawing becomes both an escape and a form of healing.
I draw mostly portraits of my family, which gives me the rare gift of concentrating on them for hours at a time. Sketching people asks me to study each line, contour, and subtle detail of the face. In doing so, I feel their presence with me throughout the process. I think about their story, their life, and their personal beauty—elements that extend far beyond appearance and live in expression, posture, and quiet emotion.
There is a sense of solitude in my work, a one-on-one connection between myself and the person I am drawing. It is intimate and unhurried, allowing me to truly see them. Each portrait becomes a shared moment. While the drawing is a gift for the person portrayed, it is equally a gift to me.
