I see colors in Van Gogh hues. The world around me beckons to be captured and pinned down as a shape or a texture or a word that I might later refer to as a memory or a reflection of my soul. I see art in everyday life. I transfer this creative energy to every motion, moment or memento that passes me. I file images in my mind like an intense conversion in a Caravaggio painting or a simple flirting with happiness like Renoir would depict. Is every little lily pond just a Monet in disguise? Or a urinal simply Duchamp reminding me that anything could be art, but probably (most definitely) is not! If I could translate my children’s laughter into a masterpiece I would have nothing left to say, but such a thing is impossible to capture as a tangible object. So, I create because the world I see refuses to be tied to physical boundaries. I am an artist and before I rest my head at night, I have created a hundred works of art in the recess of my mind.