Memories 2001. Original pastel, 42x32 cm Private collection

There is hidden treasure, deep inside ourselves, only we can see it, touch it, only we can have it whenever we want, to spend it as much as we wish and not to spend all of it ever. It's name is Memories. And in the moment when something is missing a lot, you go to your hidden treasure and search for the thing you haven't had for a long time and you would really like to have it once again, touch your sorrow, and again in one moment, happy like that. You remember one of those many days that changed your life. In the sea of memories you look for the answers to many questions, in only one moment you realize that many things you could not prevent and stop but you are happy that you have memories, your endless treasure house, you could carry every joy and every sorrow of your heart in it and to enjoy them whenever you want. If there had not been so much joy, you would have never known how much the life is beautiful and only one, if there had not been so much sorrow, I could not have written this to you now, there would not have been enough colours in my paintings. I return to my short childhood with smile on my face, I remember my first coloured paintings and little dreams, little wishes, first small dog, first violin that I rejoiced that much. And I would like to be a child again just for one moment, to touch all those clean and forgotten things, to be happy for small presents, for every flower in my mother's garden, every colourful bird that would by chance flew to our windows, every coulored pencil and my grandpa's big boxes of candies. Now I know that I was a child for such short time, but that short time never died in me at least a small part of every my painting I will give to my childhood - maybe to blueness of the sky, that was carrying our first kites, maybe to greenness of grass, where we were trolling so many times, maybe to silver twinkling of river, where we chased frogs for the first time and laughed for long time. I return to my first school days, to first wickedness when we did not even know what we wanted. The thing that we were young and immature was enough. I return to my first sea and its waves, first shells which I was looking for hours and hours on the other beaches. I return to those people who are not present anymore but who gave me a lot, to my
grandfather, who was my voice of wisdom, who took with himself all our secrets into one world far away, who gave me a heart that big, I return to our last talk. I return to my friends and our sleepless nights. I return to my Peggy who knew how to love, to look after and to protect my peaceful dream. Every day I return to my mother and my father who live for my smile. I return to day before when for the first time I wished to write down these words. I quest for my memories, for the day when I stopped being a child and I know that I will search for it forever since it does not exist. Every new morning was brining me new drops of life that were collecting, disappearing and again falling down on our soul, heavy and inexplicable. And in the moment we do not want that at all, we hear them again persistently banging on the windows. And we can not handle with them, we can only wait for the sunshine to melt them but the Sun is not allways shining on our windows. I remember my sorrows and unfinished stories, I remember the life that did not want to give a lot and wanted to take a lot. And if there it had not been I would not have remembered one love on wheels, I would not have remembered one March and deep dark eyes in purple colour of sunset, I would have not known why I like Carmen and "Forrest Gump". If there had not been that much of darkness, my paintings would not have had that light. If there had not been that many unfulfilled wishes I would not have dreamt. And again I rejoice at every new day although I know that it is full of sorrow and disappointment, I rejoice the fact that I exist, the fact that I breed, that I create, that I transform everything bad into good, I rejoice at every smile that I see in someone's face, every warm word. And I know that everything is not still lost since we exist and our memories too.
( "Memories", author Suzana Stojanovic, 07.27.2006. )