We see painted drawings or drawn paintings.
This work should not be approached in an intellectual way. It requires no deep thought, rather an openness to one's own feelings and sensations.
There's a poetry of texture, a poetry of lines. The lines seem to end, but come forth and add new dimensions where solids turn transparent.
The inner life of sea and land, of rock and stone is turned outward in great surfaces that contain infinite variations of rhythm.
An interplay of forces projected on paper: objects, structures, molecules, energy patterns, as they rise and fall in time ...
This all dissolves in an undefined moving chaos and telling of things not yet being given form at the 'very moment of their genesis'.
