Clueless Ink

Moments unfold, and in the future, we create space to paint them.

Brushing over the skeletons and sketches of our past, we craft beautiful, dramatic stories.

Dancing on the spectrum from subtle to bold or vivid, we leave it for the world to interpret.

An inner urge pushes us to paint slowly, blending torn pieces with colors, facts with experiences—our smiles captured in polaroids or a simple question threaded with more questions.

Sometimes, we linger in the past, believing it validates our existence.

With time, surrounded by a room full of paintings and stories, I’ve discovered their worth—they sell well, connecting hearts, echoing experiences, and validating the meaning of life.

Is it acceptable to reflect on our past for a moment without questioning the space it occupies in our present?