Light does not illuminate the painting.
It passes through it.
That displacement changes everything.
Painting ceases to be a surface and becomes a field where something occurs.
For a long time, I worked with light as an effect. Something constructed with color, suggested, represented. But at some point, that was no longer enough.
Light began to behave differently.
When the canvas does not completely block, when matter ceases to cover and begins to filter, light is no longer outside. It enters. It mixes. It acts.
Color no longer describes.
It activates.
It appears in depth, not on the surface. It brightens and dims according to the intensity, the time of day, the position of the body.
The work is not stable.
It changes.
And in that change, something appears that I do not entirely control. Light introduces a variable I cannot fix. It disarms what seemed resolved. It puts painting back into motion.
That is the point.
Painting ceases to close in on itself. It depends on something that exceeds it. It becomes permeable, vulnerable, open.
It is not an image.
It is a situation.
A zone where matter and light do not entirely organize themselves, but neither do they dissolve.
They hold each other in tension.
And in that tension, painting begins to happen.