"Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." This starting sentence of Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina binds my art together: The diversity of human unhappiness. On my canvas there may be all kinds of painful subjects, but in the end there must be compassion and empathy, hence resolve and satisfaction. 

​

You don’t have art unless you would die without it. That’s a reason why, in 2023, I left my tech career for art. Sometimes it’s about the capacity to heal yourself: if you can use art to heal yourself, others will heal, too. Art gives us hope; it reminds us we are not alone when we are suffering. At this time, behind each heavy curtain of a social media page, there is a broken person, but we all say, I am fine; everyone carries so much behind the smile. This is what I aim to reveal – the radical vulnerability, the disquietness behind the quiet, the storm behind the tranquillity, and the loneliness in the crowd. My works expose our inward turmoil, and in effect they often carry a veil of melancholy. Melancholy is the tragedy well-handled; I believe that giving some room to melancholy in life makes it more resilient.

​​

I currently draw and paint portraits and figures and plan to expand into sculpture. I am devoted to the traditional portrait protocols: the sitting, the interaction between model and artist, and the deep human encounter that takes place over time. I also like to compose figures. I am a dancer in my heart and soul; to me the body is poetry in dance, and also in art. Choreographer Pina Bausch said, "I am not so much interested in how people move, but what moves them." I hold the same idea in art. My figures on canvas do not interpret characters, but ideas and emotions; by interpreting the particular, they reach the universal. I depict the most personal emotions until they form a collective mirror that can reflect the souls of others. Then the art can hold our hands; we can heal together!