The storm raged outside, rattling windows, bending trees, cutting the world off from its usual hum. No power, no screens, no distractions—just the glow of a torch, the sound of rain, and Just Kids by Patti Smith resting in my hands. As I turned each page, I wasn’t just reading; I was traveling—back to New York at 17, to the art school halls, to the city’s towering icons and dimly lit galleries where I first felt the intoxicating pull of creation. Stripped of modern comforts, I found myself face to face with the very reason I create—art as survival, as longing, as a way to capture fleeting moments before they slip away. The storm eventually passed, but the quiet it left behind lingered, reminding me that sometimes, the absence of noise is exactly what we need to hear ourselves again.

It all begins with an idea.