No matter what anyone says, despite being fundamentally at odds with this world, I truly love the era I live in. Life, for me, has always been full of love.

But at the same time, long before the world ceased to exist, I found myself amidst the dust of ruins — and there, in the darkness, I searched for the light. That is why my recent paintings are both very dark and very luminous.

In my earlier works, the floating rocks that surrounded my figures gradually turned into debris left behind by destruction — and in fact, I embraced that debris, as I regard it as a form that reveals a deeper truth. For this reason, my figures began to reshape themselves within that very rubble. They often appear after a collapse, with vague and ambiguous postures. I consciously choose this, because I do not aim to depict tragedy; I seek a form of truth. In my view, both metaphorically and literally, these ruins point to the images of what is considered “normal.”

The theme of migration, which I carried over from my previous Katabasis series, still resonates in this period. The rocks that remain from that time still float in the air, and my figures are sometimes still in a state of migration. In these recent paintings, covered in the dust of migration and debris, my figures — as in the earlier ones — seem to be in search of some elusive, undefined presence.

The role of color has deepened over time. The colors I use carry not only the dust of the ruins and the shadow of darkness, but also the fundamental elements of life — fire, earth, light, and warmth. These colors seek the human warmth that seeps through the cold walls of catastrophe. That is why my paintings are not merely representations of bodies; they are forms of existence, memory, and resistance.

I do not paint skin — I paint the human.