Taking the vocation of someone and mix it in your mouth with irony is quite distinguishing. Telling an artist that he's going to starve his brush to death on the canvas is brutality. I tell you what: I do this since I know myself. I'm sketching on train and sometimes when the bus is full and the trip is long. People stare at what I'm drawing and they ask nonsense; as I draw, I keep their words next to my ear, never getting inside. It's a way to get out of the ordinary. I do it for hours sometimes. My friends nicknamed myself as the 'busy girl', but I'm actually striving to pursue my dream: I want to be someone. I want to be someone out of my art. I want to be someone and only then I can get my ticket to something more: my old dream of becoming an architect. Some ask me why didn't I chose that path earlier. I did, but someone had to say 'no' in the blunt of his cigarette. Always laughing: that's my father. I respected his decision, althrough I'll never forget. I think of nonsense when I draw. I love my ink and when it' sgoing along with water. It feels like making love, but not the ordinary: it's a deep conversation, a spontaneous touch on the back of my head and finally, the touch of water at my feet when I'm looking at my artwork from the distance. Exhausting is what people call and they sleep. That's so funny! When I am exhausted, I can call 'deep' as my second name and 'random' the first one. It gives me chills and pain in my chest at 5 a.m., but it's magic in my hand and I do it on purpose, for amusement, for getting out, for running away, for loving, speaking and getting a speed feeling of my facial muscles being contracted when I put my head on the pillow, knowing that I did it. 7 a.m. is it's name. And it's about 1 a.m. right now and I get into my mood. I'm betraying my father's will and my human condition: I'm making art and that's what I truly am.
