Wow, just fabulous stories filled the room... while viewing my album. The memory of the past events proved the reality of the impossibility. The recognized as a disabled for life arranged lots of art shows all over his country and the abroad. Thus the truth became a test to me. I could either boast my colorful biography or recall the people who helped me to stand up and care of me until now
You see my wife Elzbieta on this shot. The photo was taken in exhibition of my works. Yet such truth would be the lie. I just signed the canvases that were planted in my heart by Elzbieta and blossomed out there. Not I but she was the artist worthy of praise. The above statement is not a sound bite, but the truth. Just think. While one bothered his head about the framing of the pictures, the other cared of the flowers in the garden, worried over their comfort under the snow- did everything for the flowers not freeze. Which of them was the artist? What spreads the gratitude and inspires the awe? Is that the paints on a paper, or the living by faith? The reflection or the life?
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