I paint animals because I feel a deep connection and natural closeness to them. However, I am not interested in faithfully reproducing their appearance; instead, I strive to capture their essence - a sign that represents them. I simplify forms, reduce details, leaving only what is essential: a trace of presence, a suggestion of movement, an echo of character. In my work, the animal is not literal, but rather evoked, like a memory or an intuition.
I approach landscape in a similar way. It is not a record of a specific place, but a space of sensations and tensions. Horizon lines, arrangements of shapes, and rhythms of color construct a state rather than a view. The landscape becomes a sign of space - open, sometimes unsettling, at other times calm - but always reduced to an essence that resists clear definition.
Still lifes also undergo this process of reduction. Objects lose their functional obviousness and begin to exist as relationships between forms, weights, and voids. What is familiar is transformed into a composition of visual tensions, where presence and balance matter more than recognizability. Seemingly static arrangements gain an inner life through rhythm and proportion.
The viewer is not given a finished image, but an invitation to interpret. One must pause, look more closely, allow the eye and imagination to work together in order to discern the hidden form. Often, it is only a subtle reference to the object - a line, a shape, a rhythm - that nonetheless carries its energy. Within this economy of form lies space for personal experience and individual interpretation.
It is a process of balancing between presence and absence, between recognizability and abstraction. In this ambiguity, I find a shared language for animals, landscapes, and objects - a language of signs that suggests rather than describes.