Events

My recent works delve into emotional archetypes, into the areas of tension between humility and desire, between light and fracture, between grounding and elevation.

My recent works delve into emotional archetypes, into the areas of tension between humility and desire, between light and fracture, between grounding and elevation. In Reverentia, the luminous halo—broken, imperfect—becomes the symbol of a human reverence, fragile yet authentic. In Nostalgia and Affectio, I seek to grasp emotional memory, that which persists within us despite the passage of time. These works mark a turning point in my practice - they move away from narrative to enter a more universal, more meditative dimension, where painting becomes a space for active contemplation.
I deeply believe that art must transcend the artist. A work should not be read through the biography of its creator, but through the energy it carries and transmits. Art is an indirect confidence - the work speaks the words we cannot utter. It reveals what the artist himself could not otherwise express. When we humanize art too much, we reduce it to the scale of the individual - Art - in its purest form - aspires to touch something vaster, something more timeless.

It is in this spirit that I continue my work. I paint to create bridges between people, to offer spaces where we can find ourselves, lose ourselves, and transform. I paint to give form to the invisible, to make perceptible what flows through us without allowing us to grasp it. I paint because it is my way of breathing, of understanding the world, of conversing with it.

My work is constantly evolving, but it remains faithful to this essential quest - to explore the human soul, in all its beauty, fragility, and light.

 Inner Light gathers a constellation of abstract expressionist works that explore the quiet radiance at the core of human experience. Across these canvases, gesture becomes language, texture becomes memory, and color becomes a pulse—each painting a site where the visible world dissolves into something more essential. The works in this series are not depictions of light but encounters with it: light as intuition, as resilience, as the subtle force that shapes our inner landscapes.

The paintings unfold through bold, physical brushstrokes—sweeping blacks, molten golds, drifting grays, and sudden flashes of color that cut through the surface like revelations. In some pieces, diagonal strokes collide with fine golden lines, creating a tension between weight and delicacy. Others revolve around circular forms that seem to turn on their own axis, their layered whites and charcoals suggesting both turbulence and equilibrium. There are works where color erupts—pink, blue, violet—surging against the gravity of darker marks, and others where the palette narrows to black, silver, and white, allowing texture and movement to carry the emotional charge.

Throughout the series, the compositions hover between structure and spontaneity. Rectangular forms anchor the space while drips of gold or streaks of black break free from containment. Horizontal gestures act like breaths across the canvas, connecting opposing forces or bridging two forms suspended in dialogue. Even in the most minimal works, the surface vibrates with the energy of the hand—scraped textures, layered washes, and translucent veils that reveal and conceal in equal measure.

What binds these paintings is a search for the moment when chaos yields to clarity. The works do not offer narratives; instead, they invite the viewer into a space of recognition, where emotion is felt before it is understood. The “inner light” of the title is not a fixed symbol but a presence that emerges through contrast—between dark and luminous, heavy and airy, controlled and instinctive. It is the quiet glow that remains after the gesture has passed, the resonance that lingers in the layered surfaces.

In this exhibition, abstraction becomes a form of introspection. Each painting stands as a threshold, asking the viewer to slow down, to sense rather than decipher, and to meet the work in the space where perception becomes feeling. Inner Light is ultimately an invitation: to witness the subtle radiance that lives within motion, within matter, and within ourselves.

Soul Gestures brings together a body of abstract expressionist paintings that trace the invisible movements of the inner self. Each work in this exhibition is born from the belief that emotion has a physical rhythm, that thought leaves a mark, and that the soul—though intangible—reveals itself through gesture. These paintings are not representations of the external world but manifestations of internal states, captured in the immediacy of the brushstroke.

Across the series, bold blacks, molten golds, and shifting grays collide with sudden bursts of color—pink, blue, violet—creating a visual language that oscillates between force and vulnerability. In some works, diagonal strokes cut through the space like impulses, while fine golden lines thread themselves through the composition like fleeting intuitions. Other canvases revolve around circular forms that seem to pulse with their own gravity, their layered whites and charcoals suggesting cycles of tension, release, and renewal. There are pieces where color erupts in vibrant arcs, and others where the palette narrows to monochrome, allowing texture and movement to speak with quiet intensity.

The paintings often balance structure with spontaneity. Rectangular forms anchor the compositions, only to be disrupted by drips of gold or sweeping black gestures that refuse containment. Horizontal strokes act like breaths across the canvas, connecting opposing forces or bridging two forms suspended in silent conversation. Even in the most minimal works, the surface carries the imprint of the hand—scraped textures, layered washes, and translucent veils that reveal the emotional residue of each gesture.

What unites these works is a search for the moment when the inner world becomes visible. The gestures are not decorative; they are traces of presence, fragments of thought, echoes of feeling. They emerge from instinct rather than intention, allowing the paintings to function as emotional landscapes—raw, layered, and alive. The “soul” of the title is not a fixed idea but a shifting field of energy, revealed through contrast: between dark and luminous, heavy and weightless, controlled and eruptive.

Soul Gestures invites viewers to witness these internal movements, to feel the resonance of each mark, and to recognize something of their own emotional terrain within the layered surfaces. The exhibition is ultimately an exploration of how the unseen becomes seen—how the gestures of the soul find form, color, and motion on the canvas.

The Unbearable Fragility of Being gathers a constellation of works in which the human form becomes an exposed architecture—part organism, part mechanism, part trembling apparition. Across these paintings, bodies open like chambers, reveal their interiors, and confront the viewer with the delicate machinery that underlies existence. What emerges is not a narrative of despair but a meditation on transparency, vulnerability, and the strange luminosity found in being unfinished.

In these works, the body is never sealed. It is stitched, wired, cracked, or mechanically revealed, as though identity itself were a structure in perpetual reconstruction. Figures rise from torn surfaces, their torsos rendered as wireframes or sculptural reliefs, their hearts suspended in cages of ribs or metal. As described in the text, “the figure emerges from a torn, textured surface, as though pushed into existence before it is fully formed,” a line that becomes the emotional axis of the exhibition. The paintings insist that fragility is not a flaw but a condition of truth.

The series unfolds through multiple allegories.

In 36th Week of Euphoria, gestation becomes a surreal emblem of creation and endurance. The opened abdomen reveals gears and cogs—“symbols of the unseen labor of creation”—transforming pregnancy into a metaphor for becoming, for the relentless work of building life, identity, and hope.

In Ephemeral Idylle, two lovers meet as intricate worlds—mechanical, wounded, and beautifully mended. Their embrace is tender yet uncanny, their bodies carved with modeling paste and filled with hidden chambers. Their architectural heads lean toward one another like monuments shaped by memory, suggesting that intimacy is both construction and surrender.

Oneiric Lace drifts between waking and sleep. Here, butterflies rise from mechanical cavities, carrying thoughts, memories, or fragments of the self into the air. The figure’s exposed interior becomes a quiet revelation of transformation, where “the mechanical and the fragile coexist without conflict.”

In Icarus, myth is reimagined through the lens of longing and imbalance. A single golden wing glows with aspiration, while a bladelike structure pierces the figure’s hand—a reminder that the forces that lift us can also wound us. The red line down the spine becomes a burning thread of destiny, a mark of the cost of striving.

The Threat of Thoughts turns inward, portraying consciousness as a system under tension. A wire extends from a hollowed head to a disembodied hand manipulating a mechanical device, evoking the invisible threads that bind us to our anxieties and inner narratives. The painting captures “the moment when the mind becomes its own puppeteer,” revealing the delicate balance between introspection and overwhelm.

Vertigo dissolves the boundaries of perception. A molten golden mass churns with embedded eyes, watchful, fragmented, omnipresent—while human feet sink or rise from the unstable ground. Suspended above, a fragile sphere hangs by a thread, embodying the precarious equilibrium we cling to when the world tilts.

Together, these works form a meditation on existence as a state of exposure. They reveal the gears of longing, the scaffolding of identity, the wounds we carry, and the quiet resilience that persists beneath it all. As the text notes, “to be alive is to be unfinished, permeable, and vulnerable.” In this exhibition, fragility becomes a luminous force,a way of seeing the self not as a closed vessel but as a living structure shaped by memory, desire, and the trembling beauty of being.

There is a moment in drawing when the line hesitates, when it trembles at the edge of the page, aware of its own limits. In Need to Fly, that moment becomes the core of an entire artistic universe. The line does not simply describe; it escapes. It rises from graphite, charcoal, or ink and transforms into wire, contour, and structure. It becomes a body in space, a thought made physical, a gesture that refuses to remain obedient to representation. This exhibition traces that metamorphosis: the instant when drawing grows wings.

Across these works, the line behaves like a restless intelligence. It begins within the familiar territory of the two‑dimensional surface—anatomical studies, geometric constructions, manuscript‑like fields of text—and then breaks away. It slips out of the pictorial frame as if pulled by an invisible force, bending into three‑dimensional form. The wire becomes a continuation of the drawn gesture, but also its rebellion. It is the line’s desire to inhabit the world rather than merely depict it.

This transition from drawing to sculpture is not a technical shift; it is an existential one. The line becomes a metaphor for the human impulse to transcend boundaries—physical, emotional, intellectual. In these works, the line is always in the process of becoming: becoming body, becoming thought, becoming flight. It is never fixed. It is never still. It is always reaching beyond itself.

The backgrounds—layered with fragments of writing, mathematical notations, anatomical diagrams, and textures reminiscent of aged manuscripts—serve as the silent archives of human inquiry. They evoke centuries of attempts to understand the world through measurement, language, and observation. Yet the wire contradicts this impulse toward containment. It rises from these dense surfaces like a refusal, like a declaration that not everything can be captured by logic or notation. The line becomes the space where intuition overtakes calculation, where imagination overtakes structure.

The figures that emerge from this interplay are neither fully human nor fully mechanical. They hover between states: part diagram, part body, part memory, part dream. Their limbs are arcs of wire; their torsos are geometric scaffolds; their gestures are suspended between vulnerability and resilience. They appear to be caught in the act of transformation—caught between the weight of the world and the desire to lift off from it. They are beings in the process of becoming airborne.

In many works, the line seems to search for equilibrium between gravity and aspiration. It curves around voids, traces invisible forces, and maps the tension between what holds us down and what propels us upward. The wire is both fragile and determined, delicate yet insistent. It embodies the paradox of flight: the need for both structure and surrender.

I need to fly is not about literal flight. It is about the internal necessity to rise—to break form, to exceed one’s own outline, to step beyond the known. It is about the courage to leave the safety of representation and enter the uncertainty of space. The line becomes a living metaphor for this leap. It is the moment when thought becomes movement, when desire becomes trajectory, when the inner world pushes outward with enough force to reshape the external one.

In this exhibition, the viewer is invited to witness the line’s journey from surface to space, from depiction to embodiment. The works ask us to consider our own thresholds: the places where we feel the pull to step beyond what is expected, to inhabit a new dimension of ourselves. The line’s escape becomes an invitation—a reminder that transformation is always possible, that flight begins with a single gesture of refusal.

I need to fly is a meditation on liberation. It is the story of a line that refuses to remain flat, a body that refuses to remain still, a thought that refuses to remain silent. It is the story of the human need to rise, to expand, to inhabit the world with more courage and more vulnerability. These works do not simply depict flight—they enact it. They show us the moment when the line lifts off, and in doing so, they ask us to consider our own need to fly.