1. Philosophy of Painting

My paintings are philosophical concepts that take form as visual ideas embodied in images.
Each layer of paint is like a layer of consciousness, where form is born not from intention, but from presence.
Painting, for me, is not a process of making, but an act of revelation — a moment when an idea becomes flesh and matter becomes breath.

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2. Form and Color

Form here is not an object, but a conduit between the abstract and the visible, between silence and gesture.
Color and texture exist not for expression, but for embodiment — for that which cannot be spoken in words.

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3. Art

Art is pontific — from the Latin pontifex, “a builder of bridges.”
It connects the vast realm of ideas with their primordial source, making the invisible tangible.
The artist is the one through whom something greater than himself is allowed to speak.

Art is always a search for truth,
and truth is known only to God.

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4. The Gesture and the Will

Everything begins with a gesture.
And the gesture is an expression of pure will.

Before it, there is no form, no thought, not even intention — only tension between silence and movement.

The gesture is the birth of the stroke from nothingness.
It is the moment when space first recognizes itself through action.
It does not belong to the artist — it belongs to matter itself, having decided to become visible.

Each stroke is a trace of that first gesture.
It carries the primal impulse of will — the same force that gave rise to light, sound, and breath.
That is why painting does not depict — it repeats the act of creation.

Will becomes form.
Form becomes breath.
And breath becomes image.

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5. On Genius

Genius is not a personal quality.
It is a presence that speaks through a person.

The ancients understood genius as an inner spirit dwelling within those capable of hearing the silence of being.
Genius does not arise from the artist’s will — on the contrary, it appears at the moment when will recedes and the hand no longer belongs to the body.

In that moment, the artist ceases to be the author.
He becomes a witness to how form emerges from nothing, how the invisible becomes visible, and how the movement of the hand turns into a gesture of revelation.

Genius is not a personality, but a breath seeking a body through which it may speak.
And if the artist succeeds in becoming that body, the painting no longer belongs to him — it belongs to being itself.