Drawing is the place where thought slows down.
Drawing as an act of attention.
A line does not define an object; it searches for a relationship. Painting extends this search through layers of colour, transparency, and matter, allowing images to emerge gradually rather than being imposed.
Every work begins with an act of attention.
Before the image takes shape, there is the line—a fragile trace suspended between thought and gesture. Drawing is not simply the origin of my paintings; it is their invisible structure, the quiet rhythm that continues to breathe beneath every layer of colour, every fragment of paper, every embroidered thread.
I understand drawing as a form of thinking through the body. It is a practice of observation that does not seek to possess the world but to enter into dialogue with it. The line becomes a path of discovery, wandering through memory, landscape and imagination, allowing unexpected relationships to emerge. It records not only what is seen, but also what is remembered, sensed and dreamed.
Painting expands this conversation into the language of colour.
In my early works, colour possessed the clarity of myth. Brilliant blues, luminous reds and radiant golds echoed the spiritual intensity of Byzantine icons, where light became both matter and symbol. Rather than describing reality, colour constructed spaces of contemplation, inviting the visible and the invisible to coexist.
Over time, the palette grew quieter. The landscapes of Northern Europe, their changing skies and diffused light, led me towards the subtle complexity of chromatic greys. In these restrained tonalities I discovered that silence also has colour, and that absence often reveals more than presence. Layers became slower, atmospheres more porous, allowing time itself to become visible.
Today these two worlds meet. The luminous intensity of earlier paintings returns through textile practices, botanical prints, collage and mixed media, where vibrant colours encounter recycled papers, natural fibres and traces of everyday life. Pages from notebooks, newspapers, forgotten letters and ephemeral printed materials are transformed into visual sediments, preserving fragments of lived experience while opening new narratives.
Nature is never a subject separated from humanity. Plants, seeds, forests, insects and water appear as companions rather than motifs. Their structures, cycles and quiet intelligence offer another way of understanding existence—one based not on hierarchy but on interdependence. Within these living systems, the human figure becomes one element among many, continuously shaped by its relationships with the surrounding world.
Each painting grows through accumulation rather than certainty. Layers conceal and reveal one another like geological formations or archaeological sites, carrying the memory of every gesture that remains hidden beneath the surface. Nothing is erased completely; every mark continues to exist, becoming part of the work’s internal history.
Painting, for me, is therefore neither representation nor illustration. It is a space where matter remembers, colour thinks and imagination becomes a form of knowledge. Every work remains intentionally open, inviting viewers to slow their gaze and inhabit the fragile territory where memory, nature and transformation continuously reshape one another.