I paint in tension.
Not as a style.
As a condition.
Painting no longer occupies a stable place. It is not enough to do it well, or to uphold a tradition. Nor is it enough to shift it toward the conceptual as if that solved the problem.
I work on that edge.
Between matter and its dissolution.
Between the image and its loss.
Between what can be controlled and what activates on its own.
There, painting stops being a closed object.
It becomes unstable.
I am not interested in representing. Nor am I interested in denying the image. I am interested in working at that point where painting still insists, but no longer sustains itself in the same way.
Color does not describe.
Matter does not fix.
The surface is not enough.
Something is constantly forced: the need for painting to remain possible in a context where everything tends to become immediate, reproducible, automatic.
Painting does not compete with that.
It opposes it.
Not out of nostalgia, nor from the defense of a craft, but from another temporality. One that cannot be accelerated. One that accumulates, that makes mistakes, that turns back on itself.
Insisting is part of the work.
But insisting is not enough.
One must force the limit. Take painting toward zones where it loses security. Where it stops functioning as a clear image and begins to operate as a field.
A field where something happens.
It is not about explaining or illustrating. It is about sustaining an experience that is not quickly resolved. That cannot be consumed in a first glance.
There, tension appears.
Not as a conflict to be resolved, but as a structure.
Painting does not stabilize.
It remains at that point.
And at that point, it can still happen.