Remember *Gremlins*? As long as they stayed dry, everything was fine. But spill a little water, and all hell broke loose.
That’s my brain when I try to explain something out loud. In my head, it’s all clear, structured. But the moment I start talking, it’s like someone dumped a bucket of water, and now there are wild ideas running in every direction.
Today wasn’t a training day. But not training doesn’t mean doing nothing. So I went for a walk. Before that, a glass of water with salt and lemon.
The salt? For the electrolytes.
The lemon? Because I like it. And for some scientific reason I can’t remember right now.
While walking, that thought hit me again. I know exactly what I want to say. But when I say it, it doesn’t sound the same as it does in my head. Like something got lost in translation.
This Thursday, I’m on a podcast with Josef Ajram. Speaking in public doesn’t bother me. What does? Making sure what’s in my head comes out just as clear when I say it out loud.
Because this happens all the time. Some people talk, and they hypnotize you. They know how to tell stories. How to sell you anything.
Then there’s the rest of us—the ones who express ourselves better through images, through lines, through shapes.
I paint. And when I paint, everything flows.
No blocks. No filters. No second-guessing. It’s natural. Automatic. Free.
But of course, that trap always shows up. You see someone who speaks well, and you think you should be able to do it too. If they can, why can’t you? And if you can’t, you get frustrated.
Big mistake.
Everyone has their own way of communicating. The key is finding yours and owning it.
Now tell me.
If this hit home, *Saturno: Lights & Shadows* is going to blow your mind.
It’s not just a book. It’s proof that art isn’t explained. It’s felt.
You can keep waiting for the perfect moment.
Or start with what you have.
What’s it gonna be?