My 6yrs old son recently mentioned, rather joyfully, that I would end up playing my guitar for a couple of coins in the streets. He would be shy doing it, he noticed, but he seemed to be proud with the idea that I wouldn’t. 

He won’t remember the books piled in my office, nor my suffering with as many unfinished papers, when he was born and I began my post-phd in Anthropology, in Brazil. But he will never forget the paintings all around, the books all over, the guitar, the music and my happy face working now in our atelier.

When I first took my sister’s pencils in the closet, two years ago, how could I ever imagine? Recovering from a divorce, moving to another continent, leaving pieces of me scattered all around, and open to it all. 

There was a long silence and a big tempest bringing me up to this point. Of course, I could not stop. I gave up reasoning for creating, to be creation itself: always multiple, always illuminating, and always about to change, yet again.

I will certainly take my guitar out when all this is possible again. Until then, and why not, thereafter, your help can make this grow. It will allow me to get deeper in the limitless boundaries of the soul, where yours meet mine as well. Help me continue, I’m there already. Let me offer some glimpses of what is there for you as well to take. Help me proceed with this transmissions, I pledge to not conceal a single sparkle of inspiration. It will all be there, to you, for be taken.