The story of the subaltern goes well beyond interesting backstories. What is frequently missed, is the extremely ruthless fragility of the banal transient moments of the day to day life, felt only if you outlive harsh tyrannies. Call it whatever you want, but Baudelaire couldn’t possibly know about such a transience. 


Here, painting must turn to a verb; a physical struggle, a mental labor. I find myself, over and over again, fighting against tonalities and memories, for that matter. My works usually begin with unassuming snapshots, but then, through tangled trails of print-making, those pieces of reality are manipulated to the point of implosion.


Rather than formulating ready-made critiques, I am only telling stories. I want to guard the precious mystery of the closet by aggressively camouflaging it under toxic stains and rough smudges. To me, Private spheres are charged with an unyielding sense of loss and longing - qualities that are somewhere around the heart of a shared identity.