Before I work, I talk.
Not to explain, but to orient myself.
These conversations are part of my process.
They slow me down enough so that the images can come without force.
Breakfast stretches into two hours, not out of laziness, but out of relief.
Support arrived. The pressure shifted. The system holds again.
Lately I’ve been thinking about gravity.
About bodies, buildings, trees, ruins.
Everything is under constant load.
What we call “standing” is actually continuous effort.
A ruin is a compressed body.
A figure is architecture under stress.
The same logic applies everywhere.
I’m considering bringing my large oil paintings from Graz to Mérida
by cutting them into fragments, printing them on A4,
and reassembling them here.
Not as copies, but as anchors.
A way to bring the old hall back as a time machine.
To rebuild a working space inside a new one.
Drawing is how I gain security in imagination.
Painting is where pressure becomes fixed.
More soon.