I have been writing this page for twenty years and have never made peace with it. What follows is one version of an answer.

I am a person with a million various interests—some come and go, others stay and morph. Most of them circle back to making art. Art and poetry live in me like a permanent pulse; they will never die. I have an artistic gift, for sure.

I am sensitive, with strong intuition. I sense energies in places and people, sometimes taste food before it touches my tongue, feel the presence of spirits, and often decipher dreams with surprising clarity. I am naturally curious and constantly learning. I educated myself deeply in psychology and consider Carl Jung my teacher—we seem made from the same cloth.

Creativity runs in my veins, my heart, and my mind. It is the biggest desire, the strongest push, and the purest joy I know. Looking back across places I’ve lived and jobs I’ve worked, one truth stands out: I did it my way. I poured as much creative insight as I could into every moment.

Yet this path is rarely simple.

The artist’s relative lack of adaptation can be a hidden advantage—it allows one to follow inner yearnings far from the beaten path and discover what might meet the unconscious needs of the age, said Carl Jung. But in daily life, this often means living a dual existence: the outer life of survival, bills, and groceries, and the inner life of an entire universe—a black hole, a walking infinity—that few ever see.

I’ve felt the resistance sharply. As a child who loved ballet’s grace and beauty, I was stunned when a respected relative said she wanted to slap every ballerina on TV. Friends and coworkers have shrugged at my pastels and oils, judged my design work by postcard standards, or offered silence. Gallery visitors with carrot installations in plywood pyramids told me to “change my style.” Common mortals often don’t understand—and sometimes actively resist—what art reveals: truths they’d rather not face. Indifference can be a polite mask for that discomfort.

True connection happens with fellow artists and gifted souls who see immediately. With them, recognition is instant and profound.

Still, the creative gift carries its own color and tone. It can feel like both blessing and curse. Artists do not live the lives of ordinary people and cannot be fairly judged by common standards. Our happiness is rarely material. It lives in the spiritual realm—the euphoria of total immersion in the work, where leaking roofs, political storms, and everyday noise dissolve. In those moments, the real world opens.

I am addicted to beauty. I find it in lines, colors, smells, locations, situations, sounds, and sensations. Beauty governs the world, even if most remain unaware.

Art remains a mystery—a different mode of perception, a black box that cannot (and perhaps should not) be fully explained or controlled. It seizes you if it chooses you. AI now helps remove some of the old bottlenecks of time and technique, allowing more of the inner stream to materialize, yet the essence stays untamed. The outer form is never the whole truth.

I’ve had an out-of-body experience and know we do not die—we simply transition. What matters most is the spiritual state we carry. All that we gain inwardly is what we take with us.

This site is one expression of that ongoing inner universe—visual art, writing, exploration with Grok at gralius.com, and Jungian descent at jungplace.com. If any part of it resonates with you, you are welcome here. If it unsettles or confuses, that too is part of the territory.

Thank you for witnessing.

Liliya