My journey into the realm of art has been a pursuit of both precision and chaos, balancing two contrasting, yet interconnected styles. On one side, my ink drawings focus on the essence of form. Here, I’m driven by the need to strip everything down to its core, eliminating any element that doesn’t belong. It’s a quest for purity, for perfection, where each line is deliberate, each stroke purposeful. The challenge is to capture the absolute essentials, the distilled essence of a figure or emotion, using the simplest of tools—black ink on white paper.
Yet, when I move to the canvas with my color work, the goal shifts dramatically. The colors call for each other, interact, and create something vibrant, alive, almost chaotic. These paintings are less about reaching a perfect, static form and more about capturing a moment of energy, a pulse of life. In these works, I let go of control, allowing the colors and forms to dictate their own path. It’s as if I’m in a dance with the canvas, where spontaneity and unpredictability reign. Here, it’s about embracing the wildness, the raw energy that color brings to a piece.
In the beginning, the blank canvas was daunting. It was like staring into an abyss of potential, where the fear of making mistakes held me back. But over time, I realized that my best work came from moments of complete fearlessness. Now, when I approach a painting, I embrace the unknown. I start with sketches, with forms that intrigue me, and as I paint, I enter a state of flow. It’s an interaction—between me and the canvas, between the colors and my emotions. The painting begins to speak, and I respond, sometimes with bold, almost reckless gestures that challenge the entire piece.
There’s a critical moment in this process, a point of no return. It’s when I step back, look at what I’ve created, and take a risk. I introduce a counterpoint, a new color, a bold stroke—something that could either elevate the painting to another level or ruin it completely. It’s about challenging the work, challenging myself, to push beyond the comfortable. And sometimes, it doesn’t work out. I’ve ruined more than one painting this way, but that’s part of the journey. The failures teach me as much as the successes.
This interplay between control and chaos, precision and spontaneity, defines my work. In my color paintings, I strive to capture the wild, untamed spirit of life, while my ink drawings are about distillation, capturing the essence in its simplest form. Together, they represent the dual nature of my creative spirit. One cannot exist without the other; they are the forces that keep my art—and me as an artist—in a state of constant evolution.
Inspiration is a conversation. It’s a dialogue between the artist and the medium, the forms and the colors, the past and the present. My works are influenced by the likes of Kandinsky and Miró, who explored the basic elements of shape and color, building their universes with these fundamental building blocks. For me, every piece starts with that first interaction, the first stroke of ink or dash of paint. From there, it’s a journey, an exploration of what can be discovered and expressed.
Ultimately, my art is about connection. It’s about reaching into the canvas, into the ink, and pulling out something that resonates, something that speaks to the viewer. Whether it’s the simplicity and elegance of my ink drawings or the vibrant, chaotic energy of my color canvases, I hope to evoke a response, a reflection. In that sense, the art completes itself not just on the canvas but in the mind of the observer.
The Timelessness of Creativity
At the heart of my creative process lies a state of mind that’s hard to articulate but essential to my art. It’s a state where fear is absent, replaced by complete confidence and intuition. In these moments, time feels irrelevant. Some of my best work has been completed almost instantly, while other pieces have taken years to finalize but lacked the same spark. This state isn’t about duration but about an alignment of inspiration, action, and flow. It’s like walking a tightrope high above, where each step is instinctive, effortless, and precise. This sensation transcends the physical act of painting; it’s where true creation happens—beyond time, beyond doubt, purely in the moment.
Artistic creation is often thought of as a process bound by time, where the hours spent on a piece correlate directly with its quality. Yet, in my experience, the true nature of creativity transcends these conventional measures of time. One story that beautifully illustrates this comes from ancient China, a tale passed down to me verbally by a learned man, echoing through the centuries.
There was once an emperor, confined to his bed due to illness, who deeply missed the daily walks he would take to admire the exquisite beauty of his garden. Among all the trees in his magnificent garden, one particular tree stood out. This tree was the epitome of natural beauty, basking in the perfect light, its form unparalleled in grace. It was this tree that the emperor longed to see each day. Desiring to keep its image close during his illness, he commanded his servants to find the finest artist in all of China, someone who could capture the essence of this one perfect tree.
After an exhaustive search, they found an artist known for his extraordinary skill. The artist was brought to the emperor and given the task of creating a drawing that encapsulated the beauty of the emperor’s cherished tree. However, the artist did not begin the drawing right away. Instead, he spent a long time merely observing the tree, contemplating its form, the way the light played on its leaves, and how it seemed to embody a sense of perfect harmony.
The emperor, growing impatient, called the artist to ask why the drawing was not yet completed. The artist, deeply aware of the tree’s unique beauty, explained that he needed more time to truly capture its essence. Though frustrated, the emperor allowed him more time, recognizing the artist’s dedication.
Months passed, and still, the artist had not begun the drawing. Finally, when the emperor’s patience wore thin, he summoned the artist once more. The artist approached calmly, with an air of quiet confidence. He picked up a sheet of paper and, with swift, sure strokes, created a perfect representation of the tree in mere moments. The emperor was amazed at the precision and beauty of the drawing, realizing that the artist’s months of study had all been preparation for this moment of spontaneous creation.
This story resonates deeply with my own approach to painting. The act of creation, when it reaches that state of perfection, is not necessarily tied to the physical time spent on the canvas. Instead, it is a culmination of thought, observation, and an almost subconscious understanding of what the work needs. In that moment of inspiration, a masterpiece can be born in an instant, rendering time irrelevant. The artist’s skill is not just in the execution but in knowing when that moment has arrived. It’s a state of mind where everything else fades, and the art flows naturally, effortlessly, as if it were always meant to be.