Bali was beautiful. My time there, in short, was revelating, invigorating and overwhelming all at the same time. This trip was set up to be an interlude, as most of my out of country adventures tend to be. It was anticipated for 6 months and when I finally arrived I was ready to receive whatever it had for me. And receive I did. This journal entry, however, is not about my whole personal experience and its numerous enlightened reflections. It is about a specific sub section of this trip. Small but very important nonetheless. Upon returning to the states, the most prevalent feeling I had felt was, you guessed it, inspiration. It may go without saying that the inspiration of course could be accredited to the many variables brought up by simply inhabiting a different country and culture all together. But what I had the privilege to experience on this trip was the amazing women I got to travel with. The amazing women that came together after jumping on a plane in the name of art. All amazing artists from different parts of the world, different places in their art careers and different styles. But all commonly hungry for adventure, connection and really just some quiet time to paint in the sun.

I dedicate this journal entry to the Bali artists. All of you have been an important piece to my current embarkment into improving my discipline as a painter, in the midst of what I felt like was the peak of my photography discipline, emotionally speaking, not technically. There’s much room for improvement in my photography but my soul has recently been feeling tugged by the brushes and tubes of paint. (Now don’t get ahead of yourself, no I am not quitting photography, it is still very much a part of me, not to mention a Bali photo book could be a brewing,....shhhh.) But for a while now it had been difficult to imagine starting all over again with a new expression that I hadn’t exactly developed the focus and consistency for, in the way I had with photography for the past 10 years. Before this trip, I was asking myself whether I could really be a painter. I know, crazy, considering there's plenty of you out there that already see me as one. Plenty of you I’ve done work for too. I've even given myself the title out loud - it's all part of the "fake it till you make it” game whilst being my biggest critic. I guess what I really wondered was whether I could be the type of painter I really want to be in this very specific place in my life, at this age, with this amount of responsibility to keep myself alive out here in the city.

Nothing wrong with the way my life looks like at the moment, but could I switch gears with the tenacity and flow of the overachiever that I am on top of a year long agenda of photography projects? Did I have the ability to curate the space, energy and time I believe it would deserve? The highway connecting my emotional expressions to my photos has been built, but I have yet to build a sturdy foundation for one connecting me to my paintings the same way, and the job seemed strenuous. But now it’s after the trip, and none of that matters anymore, because whether they know it or not, the beautiful humans on this trip showed me that the answer to my question was, an absolute yes.

Some of you showed me the love of it even when you didn't have full confidence in what it looked like, you did it anyway. Some of you showed me the perseverance for it even when the world made it seem like it wouldn't take you anywhere, you did it anyway. Some of you showed me the pure talent you had for it, so effortless, made me want to know what it would feel and look like to reach that place for myself. To every single one of you, thank you for your presence, for your laughs, for being you. Apologies to any that I didn't get to steal a photo of, I still love you.

Love, Kim a.k.a The Wanderer