I’ve always had an urge to paint. To paint is to immerse oneself into this world of things possible. To tame the impossible. To attempt. Because acting is pointless. To live within matter, to dominate it, to allow yourself to be dominated. Matter goes wherever it pleases, it flows, a fluid, liquid thing ; nothing can be, nor actually is, mastered. I like the brutality of expressionism. Abrupt gestures, spontaneous, rebellious and anarchic painting, a violent poetry. When performing fast, there is no room left for calculation, for will, for choice. Just a free dialogue with matter.
On the blank canvas no one knows what will come to birth, nor does anyone know what is about to be. To paint for the sake of gesture, to paint through gesture. To express your soul in its raw state. To break free from techniques. To display psychic intensity and physical impulses. To go to extremes in your relationship with matter, urgently, to be like one with it, to fight a hand to hand struggle that ends with it all over me, and me all over it.
I paint for the sake of painting.
In a world where everything is structured, where everything purports to be signified, illustrated, represented, explained, I have chosen an art that has nothing to say, an art that is free and unconstrained. An art of sheer expression. Lyrical abstraction. Personal emotions, laid out right there, on a woven linen canvas. My painting means nothing. It’s not there to talk to you. It only exists for the sake of existing. For me, for you. For the emotions it will relieve in me, and for those it will awaken in you.