“Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.”
— Albert Einstein
As a child I learned to read the night sky the way others read a book. Lying with my head on my mother’s arm in the cool grass, I would trace constellations and spin them into stories: dragons breathing fire, pirate ships at war, dancing mice, and impossible friendships. My mother fed that habit—encouraging the games of make-believe that later became the language I use in the studio.
My Cosmic series is an attempt to return to that unguarded way of seeing. Using oil paint and glitter dust on large canvases, I build molten clouds of colour and scatter shimmering stars that join and disconnect like memories. Shapes emerge and dissolve into abstraction; dots become constellations of private scenes and public myths. The brush moves freely—sometimes wildly—so the works read like the interior life of a child now grown, refusing the dulling bounds of adult realism.
These paintings are not an escape but an insistence: imagination is a vital mode of knowledge. By foregrounding playful narratives and fantastical elements I invite the viewer to suspend disbelief and re-enter a space where a stick is a lightsaber, a blanket a spaceship, and ordinary things become extraordinary again. My work asks for the permission to dream openly, to honor memory, and to celebrate the irrepressible logic of childhood.
What I make springs directly from lived experience—an imaginative childhood that some called eccentric, others misunderstood. Those fragments of laughter, admonition and wonder are what I stitch across the canvas. In the end my practice is an act of reclamation: painting stars to reconnect the dots of the past, and keeping childhood wonder alive in the face of an often indifferent reality.
