The compositions I paint, I perceive as frames capturing a dynamic process in a state of suspension. A dense painterly texture, composed of countless highly contrasting elements, suggests that these phenomena – though motionless within the image – are in motion.
And if they are in motion, what kind of motion is it?
The image of a “suspended process” can be seen and experienced in different ways: either as a disturbing direction of the entropic disintegration of reality (a structure falling apart), or as a constructive direction of its formation, through the mutual synchronization of the elements present within the painting.
What is fascinating is that, depending on the type of viewer, their personality, and the projection of their emotions, the very same image may be perceived in radically different ways. Is this a flaw of the painting – its lack of definition? Or perhaps that is precisely its strength? I don’t know…
As a creator, I interpret these painterly freeze-frames of my own as a constructive process. Perhaps this is because the laborious work on a painting is, in itself, driven by an attempt to create something that has meaning, harmony, and internal coherence (are these not the qualities of a good painting?).
I would like the painting to affect the viewer in precisely this way – as a form of participation in the process of reality taking shape. I believe that such an experience of art can transform a person, lift their spirit, and give hope. To reveal meaning, rather than its disintegration.
