The central motif of my artistic practice is the sensation of living on the threshold — a state in which the ground gives way beneath one’s feet, familiar structures collapse, and the future loses its certainty. In this “in-between,” one has to learn how to exist anew.
In 2018, I moved to Cyprus after a profound rupture with my familiar environment. Shortly afterwards, I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Drawing became a way to remain anchored in the present. It was then that I realized soft pastel — one of the most fragile artistic materials — could speak about my condition more precisely than words ever could. Since then, fragility has ceased to be merely a subject and has become my method of working.
At first, I turned to transitional states in nature — dawns, twilights, the moments before a storm. Gradually, my focus shifted inward: toward liminality as a lived experience of instability, and toward memory as a fragmentary and constantly reconstructed process. Empty interiors, spaces after departure, unpeopled architecture, and landscapes suspended between day and night became in my work a language of anticipation, silence, and tension — places where something has already ended, yet continues to resonate.
I work with soft pastel and charcoal, applying the pigment directly with my fingers — dissolving it almost to the point of disappearance or interrupting the surface with sharp strokes. This tactile process allows the image to remain on the fragile boundary between emergence and dissolution.
Over time, it has become clear that my personal experience reflects a broader collective condition of our time: living without stable ground, existing in continuous transition, and anxiety as the background noise of the era.
I am not searching for a style, but precision — a way to convey this experience so that it can be recognized, and so that one may find a little more air.
In 2018, I moved to Cyprus after a profound rupture with my familiar environment. Shortly afterwards, I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Drawing became a way to remain anchored in the present. It was then that I realized soft pastel — one of the most fragile artistic materials — could speak about my condition more precisely than words ever could. Since then, fragility has ceased to be merely a subject and has become my method of working.
At first, I turned to transitional states in nature — dawns, twilights, the moments before a storm. Gradually, my focus shifted inward: toward liminality as a lived experience of instability, and toward memory as a fragmentary and constantly reconstructed process. Empty interiors, spaces after departure, unpeopled architecture, and landscapes suspended between day and night became in my work a language of anticipation, silence, and tension — places where something has already ended, yet continues to resonate.
I work with soft pastel and charcoal, applying the pigment directly with my fingers — dissolving it almost to the point of disappearance or interrupting the surface with sharp strokes. This tactile process allows the image to remain on the fragile boundary between emergence and dissolution.
Over time, it has become clear that my personal experience reflects a broader collective condition of our time: living without stable ground, existing in continuous transition, and anxiety as the background noise of the era.
I am not searching for a style, but precision — a way to convey this experience so that it can be recognized, and so that one may find a little more air.
