Sometimes I feel like I'm at the intersection of all my passions. I'm reading a book, and a melody just pops into my head, and then I catch myself wanting to draw the main character. Or I'm running in the park, something energetic playing in my headphones, and I notice the play of light in the leaves and think, "I need to remember these colors."

I'm 21, and I live in Belgrade. The city is noisy, but I have my quiet spots. A bench in Kalemegdan, for example, from where you can see the confluence of the Sava and Danube. I like to go there with my sketchbook. I don't always draw; sometimes I just watch the water change color, how the light plays on the waves, and that feeling—it's like I'm becoming a part of that landscape myself. Later, at home, these impressions might pour out into a new drawing.

My room is my kingdom. On the shelves, books are mixed with art albums. Music is almost always playing here. Sometimes it's something loud and rhythmic, perfect for doing push-ups or working on my abs—yes, I do a bit of sport to stay in shape, to feel fresher after a day of studying. Other times, it's only piano classics or melancholic indie, and then I pick up a brush.

Studying can be hard sometimes, my head spins from all the terms and dates. And then my salvation is music in my headphones and an open book. In those moments, it's like I'm falling into another world, where there are no deadlines, only a story someone has told you personally. Or I retreat into myself with a pencil in my hand. Drawing is like meditation. The whisper of graphite on paper, the birth of lines and shadows... In these moments, a silence and order settles in my mind.