I must have been eleven or twelve when the question was decided: either I would be a writer or a painter! The reason was that two excellent teachers and people made me love both and encouraged and guided me towards them. But they didn't take into account that I was already very much on the ground for my age, so I listened to the opinions of adults. Most of them said that art is one thing, talent is another, but you have to have a 'decent' profession!
Or would I rather be a teacher and teach what I love to do? No! I have never had the dedication I would expect of anyone else who chooses this profession.
In short, that's how I became an economist! In short. And only in terms of my qualifications. Because as luck would have it, I had the opportunity to work for a weekly newspaper (the only one in Hungarian at the time). And that was the end of it. I mean, writing!
And I wrote, a lot and a lot of different things, for newspapers and television, things I liked and, unfortunately, also what I would call journalism for a living, although it wasn't always possible to make a living at it.
Much has happened in space and time since the return of my other first love, fine art. I learned the technique of needlepoint with my mother. And I loved it. But this love was different from my passion for writing. It was more like a second great encounter, perhaps quieter than the first, but with a much greater sense of calm.
As an artist, I realised once again that there is one thing you need to have in order to feel like creating: an audience. So now I thank you, my dear occasional or regular reader, visitor, lover or customer, for having the patience to read this confessional-explanatory piece of writing. I hope you continue to honor me!
HU