My studio

My studio on the outskirts of Paris isn't just a workplace—it’s where I wrestle with my thoughts. It’s a space for what I call "rigorous distillation". This is where raw emotions meet a very focused, sometimes exhausting, discipline.

I don't just paint; I put my experiences under pressure. It’s a site of collision where my imagination and reality overlap. I use structure to catch and hold the explosive energy of empathy so it doesn't overwhelm the canvas.

It’s a process of burning away the noise to find the essence of things. I’m constantly carving a path from chaos to clarity, trying to make invisible forces like freedom and empathy feel tangible. In this space, painting isn't just about "production"—it’s simply the most honest way I know how to exist.

My Statement: The Architecture of Feeling

I don’t believe art comes from a place of peace; it comes from friction. It is a response to the raw energy of being alive — the drive to survive and the stubborn search for meaning. My work is where my Soviet-forged discipline meets a hypersensitivity I’ve carried since I was four years old, holding a dying seagull in my hands.

I act as a translator for forces you can’t see but definitely feel. My process is a rigorous distillation: I take the chaos of empathy and subject it to pressure. I use structure to contain and intensify an idea until only its essence remains. It’s an act of deliberate deconstruction where forms and meanings finally take shape.

A painting is never a static object; it is a manifestation of energy. Whether it’s the haunting stillness of a martyr or the authentic joy of friends after a salsa class, I am looking for the "residue" of life. I want to bridge the gap between the invisible and the seen, inviting you to feel the same spark that ignited the work.

I refuse to see kindness as a weakness. In my studio, empathy is a radical, inexhaustible force. My mission is to use this energy to process our shared experiences and remind us of our power to sculpt our own destiny.