In the mess of my childhood, I often found myself lost in the colors of my imagination. The world around me, with its vibrant hues and intricate patterns, whispered secrets of beauty and wonder. I dreamt of capturing these whispers, of translating the language of the universe onto a canvas.

As I grew, so did my dreams. They blossomed like wildflowers in the meadow of my mind, each petal a stroke of inspiration. I envisioned myself standing before a blank canvas, my heart beating in rhythm with the brush in my hand. The colors would dance and swirl, creating a symphony of emotions, a tapestry of human experience.

To be an artist is to be a storyteller, a weaver of dreams. It is to see the world not just as it is, but as it could be. It is to find beauty in the mundane, to uncover the extraordinary in the ordinary. It is to pour one’s soul into every stroke, to breathe life into every creation.

When I grow up, I want to be an artist. I want to paint the sunsets that take my breath away, the faces that tell a thousand stories, the moments that linger in the heart long after they have passed. I want to create art that speaks to the soul, that resonates with the deepest parts of our being.

For in art, I find my truest self. In the act of creation, I discover the boundless possibilities of my own existence. And in sharing my art with the world, I hope to inspire others to see the beauty that lies within and around them.

When I grow up, I want to be an artist. And in that dream, I find my purpose, my passion, my joy.

© Beatriz Esmer