“Little minds are interested in the extraordinary, great minds in the commonplace.”
Elbert Hubbard

The lie is that we are all born extraordinary. The truth is most of us are all just born average. The knowledge and acceptance of our own mundane existence does not mean we would never achieve anything – on the contrary, that is exactly where we start. In order to become great at something, we must humbly acknowledge we are not already great, that we can do better. There is no progress, no development without movement. It is vital to keep trying to do different things, and by the process of eliminating our non-talents, there is always a chance we would discover what we are better at. The process takes time, risk and work, but seeking to become extraordinary, we cannot settle on who we think or what other people say we are. Throughout my life I have been told numerous times I would fail, I was no good, I would never achieve anything significant. Was it my ego that would drive me to prove everyone wrong? Maybe. Did I fall and stumble so many times that I had lost count? Absolutely. But my hunger for more, for higher and better always pushed me to get up, to keep moving. Do I pretend I have reached the extraordinary? Not at all. But every hat I have worn in life, every experience I dared to undertake, has enriched me and made a part of who I am.
In writing this common-place novel, the first person I thought of pleasing was myself. Not entirely a memoir, not entirely a fictional story, it incorporates real historical facts and characters, that have been meticulously researched, and my ancestors’ account. However, more often than not I let my imagination flow.
As Pablo Picasso said, “we all know that Art is not truth. Art is a lie which makes us realize the truth, at least the truth that is given to us to understand”. Most of us connect with art, because with a little bit of imagination we can find ourselves in it. It is my hope that you can find yourself somewhere in this story, where truth and fantasy, facts and dreams, intertwine till the lines are blurred. What makes a person an artist is not what they have, but what they do with what they have. It has very little to do with skill. Being an artist is a matter of sensibility, how you relate to the world. Facts come from the outside and are subject to interpretation. The truth comes from the inside. Truth is not defined by the top three results in our Google search. It is debateable, and I attempt to demonstrate just that, brush stroke by brush stroke, throughout this story.
Picasso would understand.
This is not a story about a human being; this is a story about a human becoming.