In childhood, I was taught to trust no one. Since my earliest years, I was told to believe only what I could see with my own eyes, hear with my own ears, or touch with my own hands. But at times, I could see things that others could not see or hear a sound that no one else could hear. A little ermine would come to my bed at night to play with me, and the four baby bears from Shishkin and Savitsky’s Morning in a Pine Forest (1989) invited me to join them as they climbed the trees. I truly trusted in these experiences. They were as real to me as my parents and my playmates. But at that time, there was no one in my life who would support me in my exploration of this invisible world. The people who surrounded me were certain that I should see, hear, feel, and perceive just as they did. So slowly, I shut down my magical world. And life went on. Many years passed, and by the age of 27, I began to notice that I did not experience real joy or being alive. I realised how monotonous and grey my adult life was. I found myself walking the same paths as my parents, just as most of us do—especially those who are eager to convince themselves that they are different to their parents. Of course we do. How else would we learn about life, if not from Mommy and Daddy? But at 27, I asked myself if this was all that life was about? Was it truly just school, university, work, hobbies, marriage, children, old age, and death? When I reached this moment of doubt, I started to contemplate whether is was the real world that I saw with my physical eyes. Could I trust what I heard with my physical ears or felt with my own hand? My biggest doubt rested in the emotions I experienced. Could it all be so black and white? It couldn’t be true. I knew that the world and life had to be far more than that, so I started to search for the door to expand. I was curious to investigate what lied behind the limits of what I knew—what I could see, hear, touch, or feel. I wanted to get back in touch with that invisible world. This search would take me many years. I discovered that entry was not so easy to find. And beyond this, I met other obstacles like fear, doubt, mistrust, desperation, helplessness, and other similar sorts of creatures. But the door always appears to those who are truly looking. In my painting Ceremony space, I created an opening, and I want to invite you inside. I painted a space and the possibility for expansion into the unexplored and for relaxing into the questioning of reality and its illusions. Ceremony space welcomes you into a healing world. Enjoy.