Category: Sculpture

     This series consists of generic portraits of ordinary citizens like myself, for whom safety is synonymous with normality. These are individuals who have not experienced violence directly and who live with the implicit belief that violence belongs to others, somewhere distant and abstract. The works originate as extremely small drawings, intimate and fragile in scale. As each drawing is subjected to a gradual process of physical destruction, the stages of this transformation are carefully photographed. The resulting images are then printed at a very large scale, amplifying both the material vulnerability of the original drawings and the latent tension between perceived safety and underlying fragility.

The starting point for “Still Untitled” is my long-standing practice in photographing artworks, guided by the principle that a photograph of an artwork should not be considered an artwork itself.

For this series, I created unstable and/or ephemeral objects and structures solely to be photographed. These objects and structures are constructed directly in front of the camera lens and are made in such a way that they achieve three-dimensional coherence only in their two-dimensional photographic representation.

It’s a reversed process. In art reproductions, the photograph aims to hide its presence, functioning like a window through which the artwork is viewed. In these photographs, the subject is volatile, and its representation is the artwork.

 

 

Between 2007 and 2017 I photographed passengers in buses and trams, drawn to a particular state that appears when people are transported — a suspension between departure and arrival, when the body continues its route while attention wanders elsewhere.Public transport once held a quiet, shared reverie. People watched the city slide past, followed reflections in the glass, rested, or remained folded into their own thoughts. Sometimes the anonymity offered by the large city allowed couples small gestures of closeness — a shoulder leaned upon, a whispered word, a kiss — brief tenderness sheltered inside the moving crowd.

During that decade I felt this interval slowly changing, as scrolling began to occupy the same empty time.

What began as observation gradually became a record of disappearance.

The individuals are not portrayed as characters but as presences temporarily detached from their surroundings — sometimes attentive, sometimes withdrawn, sometimes absorbed in each other.

 

The 40-year crisis came with the fear of death, with the feeling of the emptiness of life. With the painful contrast between the beauty of the world and the sense of the meaninglessness of one’s existence. Anxiety, depression, psychologists. But among these I was lucky enough to see a bright place, the refuge of childhood, the drawing.
I resumed this activity from where I had left it many years ago, practically with the same means.