It starts with some order
and ends in chaos.
My work has too much genius and too little acceptance.
I am in a chaos from which
inspiration arises.
The scream of the painting provokes
and infuriates me.
I have had an interesting dialogue with
the painting, will I have enough courage
to face the challenge?
The characters I paint,
do they understand my torture?
I prioritise madness, I save
reasoning for later.
I can’t relax, because the pictures
lose their intensity.
I like to break the secrets of
figuration in painting, I will risk my life
to achieve my purpose.
They say I’m a loner, I’m not,
the people in my paintings
are my refuge.
I will continue to paint, however,
death could prevent it.
I take the brush, squeeze it, turn it over, flatten it
on the canvas, slide it on the white, this is the
beginning, who knows what the end will be like.
