A bubbling disaster beneath the surface of painting as an art form; filth and fear that are not dependent on colour or event, found in its time and in its space; in the possible potential of a painting, in its behavioral and personal traits - a mortal fear. Alongside this, the positive urge in painting is not intimidated by its catastrophic nature, and I gaze at the places where empathy resides. At rock bottom of aggression and lack of regard, through the non-verbal, the mundane, the multiform, the mute, I will pursue the comfort found between two obscure selves. And in the end, confused paintings, longing to collapse forward towards you, to look onward to beyond you, inward into themselves, to diverge, split apart.
Many times, I have sought to portray the death fear of painting itself, to push its boundaries to the realm of personhood. When delusionally regarded as something voluntary, painting reveals itself to be instinctual; bearing within it perpetual negation, destruction, and ruin—paintings assimilate into one another, afflicted by oblivion, lacking identity, attempting to acquire a little sense, to find solace within another.