Because sometimes words stop at the edge of the heart
and do not dare to go any further.
Because there is a silence that is not emptiness,
but a beginning.
I paint when I feel a light gathering inside me
that does not ask to be defined,
only to be opened.
I do not begin with a subject.
I do not search for a story to illustrate.
Not even for a clear form.
At first, there is color.
Or perhaps more truthfully,
color finds me.
It chooses me in a pulsing shade,
in a red that breathes,
in a blue that withdraws and returns
like a tide.
Between intention and surrender
there is a pendulum.
One step forward, one step back.
A decision, and then the consent to let things happen.
I control and I release.
I guide and I allow myself to be guided.
From this irresistible play of colors
ideas are born —
not as statements,
but as suggestions.
I refuse the figurative concrete
when it closes meaning too quickly.
I prefer gestures just emerging,
forms that do not fully decide,
spaces that remain open.
I do not transmit messages.
I transmit states of being.
A vibration.
A gentle unrest.
A sense of wonder.
My works do not seek certainties.
They do not offer answers.
They remain in fragile territories —
where emotion has no fixed contour,
where the viewer completes what I only begin.
Perhaps this is why I paint:
to remain in this state of searching
where nothing is final,
yet everything is alive.
And perhaps the simplest truth is this:
I do not choose the forms,
I do not decide the themes.
It is the colors that choose me.
