WORK — How a piece begins

1 · Encounter

Sometimes it starts without looking for it. I’m travelling, walking through the city, or simply watching something ordinary. It can be a change of light, a shadow on a wall, or someone making a simple gesture. I don’t really know why, but something makes me stop. That moment leaves a trace, a vibration. I’m not thinking about a painting yet; I just try to stay with what I felt.

2 · Spark and notes

If the feeling stays, I write it down —a short phrase, a rough drawing, a colour, or a photo. I use a notebook or my phone, whatever is close. Writing helps me save the impulse before it fades among other thoughts. Sometimes that note becomes a seed that grows slowly, over weeks or months. I don’t push it. I wait until I feel that the inner image wants to come out, as if it already had its own shape or sound.

3 · Studio and refinement

When that moment arrives, I go to the studio. I start testing materials, staining paper, looking for textures that resemble the first emotion. I work freely: no plan, no judgment. The goal isn’t to be right but to find a rhythm. Most things don’t work, but through repetition a direction appears. I remove what distracts and repeat what has energy. I set a few simple rules —a palette, a scale, a gesture. They keep the idea alive and focused.

4 · Research and meaning

Sometimes the piece asks for more understanding. I go to the library, look at books and images, read a little. Not to copy, but to expand the concept, to see how others have thought about something similar. That gives the work depth: it helps it become not just a visual object but a conversation with time and with others. I take notes and let the ideas rest. The research doesn’t change the first emotion, but it gives it roots and language. It helps open the work to other eyes.

5 · Closure and distance

When the piece finds its own balance, I stop. I let it rest for a day or a week, then look again quietly, as if it belonged to someone else. If it still breathes and nothing feels extra, it’s done. I don’t seek perfection, only clarity. Then I document it, give it a name, and write a short note about how it came to be. That closes the cycle —and the story becomes the seed for the next work.