Wild Steam

This painting was born from a quiet, sun-drenched afternoon when everything felt both heavy and light at the same time. The air was warm, thick with silence and subtle movement — the kind of moment when you don’t know if you’re about to cry or bloom.

I stood still, watching a simple bouquet resting in an old jar. The water inside had gone a bit cloudy, the stems tangled and imperfect. And yet, something about it was wildly beautiful. Alive. The steam on the window nearby had begun to blur the outlines of everything, turning shapes into whispers. That’s when I felt it — this wasn't just a bouquet; it was a breath from the wild. Untamed softness. A kind of chaotic tenderness that refuses to be arranged.

I started painting with no sketch, no rules — just movement. I used my hands, rags, dripping color, thick strokes. The result is not meant to be polished. It’s meant to pulse. To remind you that even in the blur, in the drip, in the wild mess of everyday life, there is so much tenderness. So much aliveness. So much quiet magic.

Wild Steam is a love letter to fleeting beauty. To things that breathe without asking permission. To moments that don’t wait for perfection.