Maybe it was a need to express myself, maybe an attempt to understand the world, or maybe just a child’s imagination that only grew stronger with age. I drew in notebooks, in the margins, on whatever scrap of paper I could find. Instead of lesson notes, I ended up with sketches of strange characters and worlds I preferred over quadratic equations and battle dates.

Surrealism came early — reality never quite convinced me.

I chose surrealism and magical realism because that’s where I feel completely free. Surrealists are often seen as lunatics, dreamers. But in a world as chaotic as ours, isn’t relying solely on reason and logic the real madness?

I didn’t go to art school, didn’t graduate from any artistic program. I’m self-taught. Partly by choice, partly by necessity. Instead of academic frameworks - intuition, experimentation, music, and endless reflection. That’s what leads me to create paintings that lie somewhere between dreams, intuition, and emotional autopsy.

There was a time I tried to stop. Exhaustion, frustration, burnout — classic. I quit painting, cut myself off. Theoretically, it was supposed to bring relief. In practice — it only got worse. I lasted a few months. A world without creating felt even less comprehensible, even more chaotic. I missed that one space where I could disconnect — and at the same time, fully exist. I didn’t return to painting to “build a career.” I came back because I can’t function without that disconnection — which isn’t an escape, but a way to return to myself.

I create because I don’t know how not to. Sometimes intensely, sometimes in stillness — always honestly. My paintings are personal maps of psychological states and symbolic landscapes. Often enigmatic, sometimes sad, sometimes absurd, full of symbolism. Like life. Like me.

Painting is sometimes meditation, sometimes escape, sometimes therapy. Music often accompanies me, sometimes silence. I draw inspiration from psychology, from observing people, from relationships I don’t understand — and probably never will.

I publish under a pseudonym and don’t show my face. Not because I’m ashamed — though maybe a little — but because I prefer to let the paintings speak. In a world where everything screams “Look at me!”, I try to whisper: “Pause and look. But not at me.”

Does art change anything? Will my art change anything? Is it even art at all? I don’t know. But I know that if even one painting stays in someone’s mind a little longer — it was worth it.
And if not — then at least I had a moment where I felt like it all made sense.

 

Painting series

 

"Time" (2023 – ongoing)

This series is more than just painting to me — it’s a „study of time”. An attempt to capture something that can’t be stopped or fully understood.
Time has always fascinated me — not only as an abstract concept but as something that tangibly shapes our lives. It slips through your fingers, tangles up your thoughts, returns in dreams. It speeds up when you want it to slow down, and slows down when you need it to move on.
In these works, I try to depict time as a substance — a presence that permeates everything we do. Composition, color, symbolism — it all circles around this single idea.

I’m not interested in time as a linear “from–to.” I’m drawn more to its illogic — looping moments, memories that resurface, thoughts that leap into the future before you’ve even finished your sentence.

Portals
Portals appear frequently — not as fairytale doors to other worlds, but as subtle transitions between what is known and what is only sensed. They are cracks in reality, spaces suspended between times, places, and possibilities. They are a metaphor for the question “what if...?”, but also a way of peering deeper — into the self, into reality, into what might exist if things had gone differently.
These passages don’t always lead where we want to go. But they always lead somewhere. And that, in itself, means something.

Chess
Another strong motif is chess. On the surface, cold, logical, predictable — but that’s just a façade. The chessboard is time in its purest form: a seemingly ordered structure where every move changes everything. One mistake, one impulse — and nothing is the same.
Each piece has its role and range, just like we have our capacities and limits. The game unfolds in time — and against it. We face it, we make choices we can’t take back.
For me, chess is a visual parable about life: a constant match between fate and strategy.

This isn’t a series about time, per se. It’s more of a journey through questions:
What is “now”?
Has the past really passed?
And what if the future is already happening — just somewhere else?

 

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The “E” Series (2022 – ongoing)

This series is like poking a stick into emotional soil — seems gentle, but suddenly you hit something that starts to pulse.

“E” as in emotion? Or existence. Or the echo of what once was felt and keeps coming back.
Or whatever you want it to mean.

Some of these paintings look like someone trying to piece themselves back together — but without the instructions. Sometimes something (or someone?) is screaming, sometimes it’s falling apart. And all of it in colors that aren’t frightening — in fact, they carry a quietness to them, like sadness dressed in a nice coat, going out for a walk in a melancholic mood.

It’s a balance — between intense emotions and subtlety, between suspended motion and its eruption. Just like life: sometimes you freeze, sometimes you flinch, search, try to reassemble yourself.

This isn’t a therapeutic series. It’s more of an honest attempt to understand why some things still ache — and whether it’s possible to live with that, without turning it into a drama. Or maybe turning it into one — but with a bit of style.

A deeply personal series, but if you listen closely, you might just find a piece of yourself in it. Even if it’s a bit crooked. That matters too.
 

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The “AP” Series (2019 – ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

“AP” (originally Alternative Painting) is the first chapter of my painting journey — the moment I stopped worrying about rules, labels, and how painting “should” be done, and started just… painting. And living it.

I wasn’t looking for ready-made forms. I followed instinct, emotion, the satisfaction of creating itself — even when the result was a little wild. That’s how a style began to form — one that later became the foundation for everything else.

“AP” was (and still kind of is) my playground — a journey into the imagination, a way of translating what I was learning about myself into the language of art. It’s a record of my path — from the earliest, most intuitive experiments with surrealism, to the awareness of how powerful a brush can be when you just let it speak.

I’m not closing this chapter — it’s just resting for now.

Ready to return anytime, when that kind of expression calls again.
 

 

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I encourage you to contact via the form if you have a question.

 

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