I reconcile with their laughter and the heaviness of their steps left behind the topcoat shadow. The hats give me joy, like eclipses with smaller or bigger rays-only accents of the scenery that I admire from here, my own place. Until now I was green-cold! Please pay attention to my eyes. Do you have the courage to see what I see? You can escape, or throw out or ignore anything you have on hand in this moment so that you can rest for a single moment together with me in this showcase?
Do you have the strength to fully immerse in this experience with yourselves and let your thoughts flow, let your dreams go the way they want-down on the knees? My retina is full of reds and warmth even though my skin is still shivering… If you would like to feel, I would send you all the feelings that travel through my body and the tears that stretch trying to find my eyes and not on the cheek-tears like an undecided magnifying glass which brings closer and then sends away blacks and reds and greens and coats and topcoats.
In this hotel room here with me lay on the bed my body and desire, the longing and the quietness, the wishful thinking and the fear.
I am looking for a way to express change, becoming. I start every time from a sheet-witness, already folded. I do not bother to unfold it, but I start to work on it as it is, as I found it. But the paint stains get imprinted on the other parts of the sheet as well. Ever since the beginning, the other parts also felt the broken charcoals and the diluted paint that was leaking on the canvas I was working on. I am making these comments behind a small glass piece: the threshold that makes me feel like I am in a showcase placed so high to be observed by the passers-by from the street. And I melt to be able to profoundly include the state of everyone who is walking by, in a hurry or not, to take care of their affairs.
This project made me deal with the attempt to cover scars – possibly to the extent to which the lie is honest, since everything is transparent on the sheet. I took it upon myself, in order to see what the effects of such craziness, of such undoing, of such an evening are. Each moment changes the next. Each stain represents a fingerprint. No decision may be changed anymore, or, not without traces.
Any negligence, any bleeding transpires and I find it nice to try to figure out a hidden figurative that is below the folding of the white sheet – in which it sinks. I find that a complex is formed by joining small pieces, such as the desire to rest is born from accumulated anxiety, from pieces of tension. For creating a complete piece of work I put together body parts, because only parts can still be seen when you try to put all into a single piece.
I see stains imprinted everywhere around me. Paint on the floors, on the scuffed walls, on the marked trees, dampness, tattoos... all of them are signs that refuse to be removed afterwards. Hard as you may try to degrease earthenware clogged by steam and oil, you are bound to fail. What is the point in doing something you will later want to hide? For me, the fingerprints do not besmirch, but enrich the world surrounding us: the fingerprints are the ones showing how people allow themselves to get lost, to forget about themselves. Every time we will find that something is different... it is the clue that we are subject to becoming and all that is left for us to do is to enjoy every condition we have, each side of the sheet.
Could the stains be named nothingness? Why do we need them? Do we need witnesses? Of course not. But it becomes interesting when something you do not need is useful. Each piece of sheet represents an encompassing, yet short night, after which, until dawn, all is left is signs of trouble. Each sheet with its honest story, but which remains story as evidence and only has the value of a memory. Otherwise, it is simply a common canvas, of low quality, that only has hasty stains. I find these stains sufficient to bring the white sheet to life – alive for the force that crosses it: the guest – a stained illusion, imperfect, but rich in emotion. I see a history in every stain, an attempt. In this way, I can bring stories to life, I can maintain the powerful colors of the light of joy or of the structure of fears.
Loaded with what I absorb permanently from the background of the place I live in, I am looking for answers inside myself. Since I have no clear reference to reality (but only memories of feelings and signs) I generalize representations of the human body. I am therefore dealing with two existences: that of the visionary and that of the human (the character compliant to the becoming and the ephemeral). I live, like all other people, the time of globalization: in painting as well, I try to gather all the people in a single one. I put together body fragments – because only fragments may still be discovered in such a crammed world. But in essence, in each of these fragments of flesh and skin are hidden memories retained on the retina of my eyes as an observer. The result: bright frames that hide traces of bodies in a continuance of colored steam – the atmosphere that dominates my thoughts: a dance peeled from the walls – different every time. I found the bathtub as a pretext for searching for memories and a spring of my thoughts: that peace brought not by quietness, but through the fact that it is an intimate cadre that releases imagination and ties together much faster all the accumulated information. Sunk completely in the bathtub or, on the contrary, creating an opposition with it, I paint with the mind’s eyes what I lived recently. And this way, my canvases become a journal that is more honest that what I could write, since through me people and space may be glimpsed, the jostle of the world running towards peace is seen. They are all in my eyes.
I see the contrasts of the colors I use and the brush strokes and the matter and the fusion of forms and volumes… I can picture them all whenever I take a bath and the steam rises on the tile or earthenware and their imperfection can be seen through the joints of the lute. My mind runs together with the running water towards mineral lands and the tension and anxiety of my own condition makes me realize that no matter how much poetry and figurative there might be in my thoughts, I am heading with rapid steps towards synthesis of shapes.
And so, under the mark of my vibrant and highly colored brush strokes, all these elements that cross my mind simmer, allowing me to build a world that is silent in the middle of chaos and speed, as did Chagall with his world during WWI. It is not about indifference, but about what we choose to guide our thoughts and mind.
I paint a freedom that I find in the ground, permanently alive for the water that runs through it, making its way to the deepest and most intimate traces, where the deposits of non-ferrous metals are. Whether it is about brass, copper, zinc or cobalt, they are bodies of women who transmit heat in a different manner. More rigid or more malleable...
Each soul builds a room where the temperament is locked. On the other side of the door the character features are left free, the ones that are influenced by the habits, preferences and values of parents, but preponderantly, by society norms. May I call this phenomenon “intentional filtering of personality”? Is it in our power to decide how heavy should the door to our room be closed?
Not everything that glitters is gold. He drags after him the weight of some shadows that no longer have the same value and relevance nowadays. Gypsies have forgotten their tents somewhere in between a unique kind of greatness and nobility of some primitives with fervent blood.
Group exhibition: Young Generation to Debut - Cultural Center Arcuș - Romania - 2014