Observing nature is not only about seeing your surroundings but also about experiencing them, or being immersed in them. You feel the wind and the sun, smell the rosemary and thyme, hear the cicadas, you can touch the leaves and flowers. Some leaves appear very close, others at a distance. Everything around you is moving, and so is the moment.
Works become part of that observation when the prepared cotton is put directly on the ground. The surface stays wobbly and uncontrolled because of the plants and stones underneath it. When the canvas is stretched, spots appear and lines are continuing unexpectedly.
These works stem from an attempt to make paintings lighter, or less heavy on matter. Before, I considered oil paint too explicit and too meaningful. Here, in nature, to paint is to perform a natural act. It's a direct way of expression without any questions. The struggle here is not about the medium, but it's in the painting itself.
With touches in pure colours, articulating themselves in musicality and freedom, I register a surface. The markings are anonymous, personal and unobtrusive towards their carrier. They exist in a constellation of their own and in a relation to the surface, the cut-out of which is decided by the frame. That way some markings remain visible and others disappear through stretching. The visible stains diffuse across the borders, like echoes going off into space. We are subjected to these works more than we comprehend them. They appear to us as atmospheres that we enter without any resistance, taking a gentle step from the outside to the inside. Because the medium is tactile, and because it asks us to focus, in entering we step deep into the surface, as if we infiltrate a place where surface and space coincide.