I want to clarify something essential.
The fact that I distinguish between materials, methods, tools, and techniques does not mean I am striving for certainty or a closed system. This ability to differentiate has emerged through long practice — it has not confined me to repetition. Knowing materials does not mean knowing in advance what will come from them. It means daring to enter situations where not everything is known.
I have consciously chosen uncertainty. Uncertainty is not a lack; it is a state that exists precisely in the space between material and making. It is bound to painting — and more broadly to art — in a way I do not want to lose. Material resists, surprises, and forces listening. Colors, surfaces, and forms affect me directly. I select them in my work through intuition, and they act like candies, enticing and lingering in the body.
I see that some artists, after long careers, choose certainty, recognizable repetition, and controlled forms. I have not chosen that path. I do not want to become a monument to my own work. I want to remain in motion, unfinished, searching. My practice is physical: it produces concrete works that remain in the world, but the outcome is not predetermined. It is precisely the fact that the work remains that gives uncertainty its meaning.
I am not seeking complete knowledge. I am seeking a space in which not everything is known — and in which the material is allowed to respond back.