When I paint, everything becomes quiet.
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Everyday life falls away, and I move into a space where feeling and color speak the same language. Abstract art is freedom to me: it doesn’t have to explain, depict, or prove anything. It is allowed to simply resonate. And that is exactly where its power lies.
My works often hold two poles at once: light and vulnerability.
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I believe true presence doesn’t come from perfection, but from depth—from the courage to remain open. These are paintings that don’t want to decorate, but to accompany: in the space, in the gaze, in the feeling. Sometimes they are quiet, sometimes they challenge something. And sometimes they open exactly where words become too small.
My father introduced me to art early on. Through him I learned to look more closely. Even though he no longer sees my work today, these paintings are dedicated to him.
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I don’t paint full-time, but whenever there is time and space for it. My works are therefore highly limited. Each piece carries a great amount of devotion and time.
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I work intuitively. Emotions and moments from everyday life shape the direction a piece takes. The process is rarely linear: I apply layers, dissolve them again, compress, open up, and leave traces behind. Each painting tells a story and reflects a chapter of my life.
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I use a range of high-quality materials—not to create effects, but to let depth, movement, and resonance emerge. Many of my works grow on hand-stretched canvases that I build myself, because quality plays a central role for me.
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Some of my strongest paintings are created in challenging times—not because pain is the goal, but because in those phases something becomes especially clear: the need for clarity, for light, for inner grounding. Painting then becomes a place where everything is allowed to settle—not logically, but through feeling. From this process arise color combinations I could never plan: harmonious, moving, surprising, alive.