WHY I PAINT AND WHAT I PAINT

I was always shy about talking about what my art is really about. I wanted people to look at the pretty pictures and leave me quietly standing on the sidelines. But as I move forward on my artistic journey, I realize I can’t hide who I am if I want people to truly see my work — not just for the colour combinations or textures, but for the meaning behind them.

Ever since I was a child, I’ve been fascinated by fantasy. It wasn’t just spaceships and interstellar travel that drew me in, but the way fantasy allowed me to explore possibilities far beyond what the real world could offer. As I grew older and learned more about science, I became especially captivated by how little we actually know. The fact that dark matter accounts for about 85% of the universe’s mass? That alone made me wish I could somehow see beyond the constraints of my mortal body.

Eventually, I realized that there is a way — through art.
Art doesn’t require words, long explanations, or scientific formulas. Art, especially abstract art, is all about a feeling. And when you stand before a good painting, for just a moment, you feel a tickle in your brain — a new kind of sensation you can’t quite put into words. You might just be peering into something not entirely made for human senses, but undeniably real.

I paint intuitively, rarely looking at other images for inspiration. I look within. I search for an energy, a feeling — a glimpse into the unseen.

I QUIT SOFTWARE ENGINEERING TO PURSUE ART

I’ll start this story by setting the scene: Lithuania in the ’90s, a country that has just freed itself from the Soviet Union. I’m born into a free nation, but everything still feels fresh and uncertain. Three generations of my family are living in a one-bedroom Soviet block apartment, and even though I don’t understand it yet, money is a tough subject. Nobody around us is buying things like artwork—they’re just trying to put food on the table.

School starts, and every kid is good at something: science, math, basketball, or writing. I just happen to be good at drawing—and this isn’t met with much enthusiasm from most adults. “You should try harder at math,” they say.

And I do. The world changes immensely as I grow up—so does the art scene—but by the end of school, I choose to study Computer Science, land a job in my third year, and continue working in the field.

Some time later, on a whim, I take my first oil painting class—and I’m in love. I’m good at it too—better than I am at programming, even though I studied that while art remained just a distant memory. I start making more and more paintings, tucking them away or giving them to friends and family for free. The thought that I could make a living doing this never even crosses my mind, even though the room where I’m supposed to be working always smells like turpentine. (I actually don’t advise anyone to breathe that stuff as much as I did—please set up proper ventilation!)

But life becomes unpredictable, and I end up being the first person in my entire extended family to leave Lithuania. I arrive in New Zealand, googling tech jobs and brushing up on my coding skills.

Only—I don’t actually apply to any jobs. I paint. And everywhere in our tiny rental, there’s a canvas leaning against a wall. I meet a wonderful local artist, she looks at my work and says, “Someone would totally buy this, you know?” And that’s it—the thought is there. And it grows.

I dare to take my work to a local gallery, and they take three paintings right away. There’s an exhibition, and I’m in it. I’m no longer googling tech jobs—I’m off to buy tubs of paint and stacks of canvas. And I feel like this is what I was meant to do, ever since the first time I picked up a brush.

So when people ask what my art is about, it’s hard to say. It’s just something within me that’s always been there, finally finding a way out. I feel great joy when I paint, and if you choose to bring one of my pieces into your home, I hope it brings you a little of that joy too.