How little is needed to express something fully?

This question has been at the centre of my artistic practice since I began exploring the one-line drawing in 2013. At the time, I was studying aesthetics at university and trying to understand both the world around me and my own place within it. I became fascinated by the possibility of reducing the complexity of human nature to a single, continuous line.

Inspired by Monroe Beardsley’s theory of aesthetic value, I began exploring the relationship between unity, complexity and intensity. In my work, the line creates unity, the human form holds complexity, and the material brings intensity. What appears simple is, in fact, an attempt to express something infinitely complex.

I have always been drawn to working within limitations. The one-line drawing, the directness of a black ink pen, and a carefully considered palette of deep, warm blue and pale beige became the framework through which I could develop a visual language of my own. Later, I began working with acrylic paint, choosing to work without water to retain a sense of immediacy and control over the material.

My practice is rooted in a need to understand and communicate what I cannot always put into words. Drawing and painting allow me to give form to feelings before I fully understand them. The work becomes a way of looking inward, making the intangible visible, and finding a point of connection with the outside world.

The human figure remains central to my work. Women, men, birds and horses recur as subjects through which I explore identity, vulnerability, sensuality and the relationship between the individual and the world. I am interested in the human form not simply as an image to represent, but as a means of expressing something that lies beneath the surface.

Although my work has developed over the years, I continue to seek a balance between intention and intuition. I have no formal art education, and I have largely found my own way through experimentation, observation and a willingness to follow what feels necessary. Being somewhat of an outsider has shaped the way I see and work. It has also given me the freedom to develop a practice that is personal rather than prescribed.

More recently, my attention has turned towards still-life painting, particularly flowers. These works are approached with a sense of urgency: an attempt to capture something while it is still there. A flower blooms, reaches its fullest expression, and begins to fade. I am drawn to this fleeting quality of life, and to the possibility of holding a moment in paint without taking away its impermanence.