My artistic journey indeed began at home, shaped by the profound influence of both my father and grandfather. As a child, I often visited my grandmother's house. She was a widow who had lost her husband—my grandfather—to alcohol at a young age. Though I never met him, his presence lingered on the walls, immortalized through his drawings and the stories my family told about him. This fascinated me. I came to know my grandfather solely through his work, and that connection deeply moved me. From an early age, I would eagerly copy the drawings on the walls, intricate declarations of love crafted by an apprentice's hand. Those moments planted the seed of my admiration for art and its power to tell a story.

My father, on the other hand, was more pragmatic about art. Perhaps his own experiences had shown him the challenges of pursuing an artistic life. At first, he discouraged me, encouraging other paths and careers. Yet, when he saw my determination, he became my toughest mentor. He was strict and critical, but always eager to pass on what he knew. Through him, I gained invaluable skills, especially an eye for detail and a respect for craftsmanship.

This dual influence—my grandfather's romantic and expressive legacy, coupled with my father's disciplined and methodical approach—has profoundly shaped my artistic style and vision. It taught me to balance emotion and technique, passion and precision, storytelling and structure. These lessons form the foundation of my work today.

It took me a long time to understand the possible paths and to unravel, even minimally, the mysteries of the materials. I believe this has fostered a unique creativity in how I work with them. Materials that could be seen as cold or overly refined, wrapped in academic techniques, take on an almost childlike quality in my hands—becoming instruments of discovery. I am not a prisoner of the rules; instead, I make use of them to my advantage.

Having the confidence to believe in a body of work, a series, or an artistic identity takes time. It requires therapy, security, and affirmation. The opportunity to participate in major art events—whether individual or group exhibitions—fills my heart with a special kind of glow: the certainty that I am doing the work I have always dreamed of.

As mentioned earlier, I enjoy pushing the boundaries of materials—I love drawing with paint, coloring with pencils, and using them in ways that favor creativity, challenging conventions.

This approach is especially fascinating to me because I adore working with soft pastels, a medium traditionally associated with drawing. Yet, I use it almost exclusively for painting, pushing colors onto the canvas as if they were melting wax, dripping stories onto the surface.

In this process, the veil between drawing and painting becomes thin on my canvases. The drawing transforms into painting, and the painting evolves with the drawing, creating a dynamic interplay that blurs their distinctions.

I am deeply proud of my nationality, my country, its history, and its people. I am often captivated by my surroundings—legends, myths, people, stories—everything around me becomes my nourishment, my inspiration.

"Nothing is eternal; everything fades one day. Everything is adaptive; everything changes." This thought has been echoing in my mind for some time now, like a refrain, perhaps even a hymn. I've come to realize that uncertainties are more important than certainties. Living with the inevitability of death doesn't spare us from pain, but focusing on what exists between birth and death—that, indeed, brings solace.

I choose to explore how this space between the beginning and the end finds its place in painting—how the spaces in-between are inhabited, how harmony and discord coexist. I reflect on how this life fits within the boundaries of the canvas, pushing its edges, seeking meaning in the undefined.

My process begins with a sense of surrender, allowing intuition to guide my hand rather than a fixed plan. Each layer of paint, pastel, or pencil marks a moment in time—a reaction to the surface, the material, and my emotions. The work evolves organically, almost like a dialogue between myself and the canvas. I embrace imperfections, overlaps, and unexpected textures, which keep the piece alive and dynamic. These layers never truly "settle" because they carry traces of every decision, hesitation, and revelation throughout the process, much like thoughts flowing freely in automatic writing.

I hope to evoke curiosity and introspection. My work is deliberately open-ended, inviting the viewer to connect with it on a personal level. Whether it stirs a sense of nostalgia, wonder, or even discomfort, my goal is for the viewer to find a story or feeling that resonates uniquely with them. I want them to experience the work not just as an image but as a space to pause, reflect, and explore their own interpretations.

Color and form are my primary tools for expressing movement and emotion. I approach them as partners in a dance, where one leads and the other follows. Colors are layered and blended to create depth, while forms emerge almost spontaneously, shaped by the flow of the materials. This interplay is intuitive and experimental, balancing chaos and control. The goal is to create a fluid harmony where the composition feels alive—each element in conversation with the others, yet always slightly shifting in the viewer's perception.

At its core, my artistic philosophy is about exploration and transformation. I view each piece as a journey—both for myself as the creator and for the viewer. The mystical aspect comes from embracing the unknown, the unexpected, and the ephemeral. I believe art has the power to transcend boundaries, blurring lines between the tangible and intangible, the seen and the felt. This collection reflects my fascination with impermanence and the spaces "in-between," mirroring how I approach life and creativity as an ever-unfolding process of discovery.