My name is Olivia, I’m eighteen years old, and I live in France - in a small but very cozy town, where the morning always smells of coffee and fresh croissants. I can’t imagine my life without creativity: drawing for me is a way to breathe, to see the world in colors that others don’t notice. I often take a notebook and watercolors with me, sit somewhere by the river or in a park and transfer what I feel onto paper. I also sing. Not professionally, just for fun. Sometimes an old guitar sounds in my room, and I sing my favorite songs - quietly, so that only the walls and maybe the neighbors behind the wall can hear. At such moments I feel alive. And I also love books. They are my quiet companions. When I read, it’s as if I live several lives at once: I travel, I fall in love, I search for myself. Every page leaves a mark on the soul, and maybe that’s why I became so dreamy.

New set of watercolors and brushes Sketchbook with thick paper Vinyl player and favorite records Travel to Italy or Japan Retro style camera Warm oversized sweater in lavender color Book about contemporary art Small pendant in the shape of the moon Tickets to the concert of your favorite band A day by the sea with a notepad and music

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I dream of one day having my own small exhibition so that people can see my paintings and feel what I feel when I paint. Not for the sake of fame, but for the sake of a real response, for the sake of that look in which recognition flashes. I also dream of living by the sea. A small house with large windows, the smell of salt in the air, the sound of waves instead of an alarm clock. In the morning I would paint sunrises, and in the evening I would sing with a guitar, sitting on the sand. Sometimes it seems to me that all this is very far away, but I believe that step by step, day by day, you can get closer to your dream. After all, it all begins with one breath, one song, one brush stroke.

Sometimes I think that my perception of the world is a little strange. When I listen to music, I don't just hear sounds - I see colors. Each melody has its own shade, its own light. For example, when the piano plays, I see a soft blue like the early morning sky. The guitar for me is amber, warm, like the sun's rays on the skin. And the violin is purple, a little sad, but incredibly deep. I don't know why this happens. Maybe because I'm too sensitive, or maybe because my soul just paints even when the brush is on the side. Sometimes I turn on music, close my eyes and imagine how the colors are dancing in front of me - then I take a brush and transfer it to paper. This is how my paintings are born, inspired by sounds, not words.