In this series, human presence appears as a fleeting trace, neither fully here nor gone. Figures emerge from a haze of light and dissolve into it again, caught between appearance and disappearance. The blurred silhouettes evoke the rhythm of cities, yet the atmosphere feels suspended, as if time itself had slowed down.

These works are not portraits but moments of existence, fragments of movement, solitude, and reflection. The surface breathes with layered oil, where each brushstroke holds both substance and dissolution. Light does not merely illuminate; it erases and remembers.

Here, fragility becomes form. What remains is not the body, but the trace, the quiet echo of being among others.

These works revolve around the tension between body and consciousness, between control and the loss of it. The figures are naked, vulnerable, exposed to the point of the grotesque. Their gestures oscillate between comedy and agony, the moment when emotion becomes a mask and the inner self forces its way to the surface.

The bodies speak where language fails. Skin becomes a stage, muscle becomes memory, pain becomes an echo of civilization. In the repetition of the pose, in the trembling of the brush, a psychological portrait of the modern human being emerges, trapped in the loop of their own affects, in the absurd self-staging of a fragile existence.

In my painting, I examine how emotion translates into matter. How color, flesh, and gesture merge until the body itself becomes a vessel of inner states. I am drawn to the moment when the figurative begins to collapse, when realism is no longer representation but a psychic imprint. The brush does not hold, it dissolves. Skin turns into surface, surface into tension. Within this controlled loss of control, truth appears, not beautiful, not final, but flickering, vulnerable, human.

I paint people caught in moments of in-between, between action and stillness, intimacy and estrangement. I am drawn to the unspectacular, to the quiet drama of everyday life. There is a certain truth that only appears when nothing seems to happen: a gesture, a glance, a certain fatigue.

My figures are never heroes. They exist in suspension, observed, photographed, exhausted, absent. I capture that instant when the human becomes visible precisely because it is overlooked.

Painting, for me, is not representation but reverberation. I shift reality slightly until it reveals its hidden structure. Sometimes this happens in small signs, a shadow that doesn't align, an animal that appears unexpectedly and tilts the scene toward another kind of reality.

I see the present as a psychological space. The surface of the everyday becomes a site of projection of power, vanity, tenderness, and indifference.

My koi are not about fish, but rhythm, the quiet tension between movement and stillness. Harmony, for me, is never static. It breathes, shifts, and finds balance even in chaos. One painting moves; the other rests. Both belong to the same pulse, where motion becomes form, and beauty holds its breath.

I work with fragments of memory. In anciens crowd, the crowd dissolves, yet traces remain. The porcelain pistols are their counterparts, they speak of power, fragility, and the paradoxical desire to protect oneself while breaking at the same time.