What is a painting worth? What is the life of the prophet worth who speaks the truth; truth we do not want to hear? We often kill the prophet, because of his message. However, there will be a new generation, who will restore and declare the prophet's right and erect monuments in memory of the dead prophets. I think of Vincent, the dutch painter. A Preacher and painter of life, the suffering servant, who embodies Isaiah's Man of Sorrows. I look at my junk mail. A credit card offer, where I can select Vincent's Starry Night as the optional design. A painting from the window of the asylum. The life of the artist.

Indeed, I see the life of the artist as a prophetic call. Even if I have to face with a crowd, who does not want to listen. But why am I seeking recognition and a value attached to my work? Why am I upset when I walk into the gallery where my work is exhibited and realize that someone replaced my prices with a value tag of one dollar. Does it matter? The gallery owner apologized, stating that some teenager got in and they were playing around.

The one dollar painting. I am searching for meaning. What is a painting worth? Does it really matter? To me painting is almost a bodily function, a wink of the eye, an act of walking, a movement of my cells, etc. It is my words, my way of expressing who I am. What kind of value is attached to it?

I know. We live in a world where our life is in symbiosis with money. We measure most of the things with money. When I describe a painting to a group of adults, talking about the beauty of shapes and colors, they stare at me in great misunderstanding. But if I tell them that this is a painting worth ten million dollars, they are all excited and they are greatly moved by it.

I few months ago, I decided to create a new body of work to support people affected by cancer. I listened to survivors, stories of healing and hope and I created out of the experience, giving shapes and colors to pain, struggle, healing and hope.

I offered a proceed of my exhibit to The Wellness Community that provides free support for people affected by cancer. To be honest, no paintings were sold, so we decided to put up all the works for a silent auction. Well at least we have some one dollar bids on the paintings. What is the meaning behind all this? How should an artist feel about the group of teenagers who marked their one dollar price on the auction list? Someone told me, there is no market for paintings that deal with the subject of cancer. So there is no need for art that deals with issues of life and death?

Saturday. The mechanical cry of the alarm-clock gives me a powerful reminder that I am alive. It is painful.  It's 5 AM. I have slept at least three hours. The journey of the artist. A painful, unknown journey that I walk even in my sleep. Searching the undiscovered colors in my dreams to bring them back to share.

Sharing. A week ago I unveiled  a new body of work. My way of sharing. Colors from my dreams finally visible for others. I remember the color green at the National Institutes of Health. The green walls and scrubs. I could not touch your face, because of the risk of infection. Cancer, they said.

A few months ago I began working on a new body of work. I entered and re-entered into the life of people affected by disease and brought forth new images. My act of compassion. My way of to suffer with. I shared my memories and the new visions of health and healing. I created icons, sacred doorways and I was awaiting for people to enter.

Friday night. Opening night. Light rain in Florida. I see the face of my wife as she looks out from the gallery's window. A few people lingering. Every passing minutes gives a painful reminder about the journey of the artist. It is a painful, but beautiful journey. At least, our friends came. No sales. And it did not matter that it was benefiting for people affected by cancer. My wife tries to hide her tears. She has been working on the preparation of this exhibit for weeks. She has not been sleeping much lately.

We walked in the Florida night in silence and searched for words of comfort. I could not sleep that night. But I was awake at 5 AM. I went to the farmers' market and set up my stand among vendors of produce, flowers and vegetables. As a part time employee at a local glass studio I experiment with glass and I have made a few plates and jewelry. So I put up my little plates of fish and tribal faces and I breathe the fresh morning air of sea salt, tomato and fresh cut flowers, knowing that I am still on the journey of the artist.

I think about my paintings at the gallery. The morning pain turns into new strength It's enought to take a leap of faith. The gallery opens at 11. Can I invite you in?

Amor Fati, the love of fate. This is my honest approach to creating. My fate is to create and live the life of the artist. To me, this fate is more than determination. It is beyond predestination. It is an assurance, a divine will that reaches beyond my understanding. It brings forth a true confidence regarding my call and role as an artist. My fate is to create. I must create and create effortlessly. This is not a burden, this is not Adam's curse. This is my true element where I breathe and move effortlessly in the most familiar home, where I can move around without opening my eyes.

I remember my blind great grandmother. I had no idea that she was blind. She moved around effortlessly in her enormous house and lived a full life. I see her cooking and lighting the stove, reaching for the spices. It was a great confidence within her limits. This was her art. Embracing her limitations.

As an artist I must do the same. I embrace my limitations and move effortlessly. Finding home, love, companion and a common ground to share my honest self. Through images and colors. Through words and gestures. This is an offering that serves as a sacred bridge between you and I. Amor Fati, the great blessing.

When music captivates my being I am moved to create. There is a transcendent connection with the composer that invites me to journey into an unknown land and discover something new about myself. Who is behind the music? Who can translate this enchanted language that can reach me regardless of its origins? I want to be in a constant communication. I seek to remain engaged with the melody, but wanting to share who I really am in the context of this evening journey to Hamelin. A Road to Hamelin. A foreign but familiar land. I cannot believe that I just met the composer, who showed up in my exhibit last Friday...

I seek to collaborate with others. I want to bring forth my images that are born from an inspiration from others. I respond, because this is the role of the artist. Constantly engaged with the world and passionately commit myself to it. Commit myself to be for others and give meaning to this commitment. Life is absurd and there is not one convincing explanation of our death. Life and death. Beginning and end. Or is it end and beginning? I embrace my limitations. My limitations of understanding, my limited ability to write in an other language or to paint without formal training. I found an entire universe within my limitations and this is truly liberating. There is an art of words and I am just tasting this new possibility.