My paintings begin with feelings rather than images.
I work through color, contrast, and large forms — building a structure the eye grasps before the mind begins to read it. The overall composition and color speak first; detail and symbolic meaning come after. That sequence is intentional.

This approach developed during my studies in the monumental painting studio, where the process moves from large forms to small and back again, keeping the work visually whole at every stage.

As I paint, the work evolves alongside my thinking. A new question becomes a new symbol. One thought leads to another until a coherent image emerges.
Unexpected visual associations are central to this — they let me explore ideas fully and move beyond simple representation.

My academic training gives me a technical foundation, but I've learned that a painting needs room to breathe. Knowing when to stop — while something still feels slightly open — is as deliberate as any other decision in the process.

I intentionally leave certain areas unfinished. That incompleteness is not absence — it is an invitation. It creates space for the viewer's imagination, making them a participant in the creation of meaning.

A painting should not offer a definitive answer. It opens a door.