Why did I start painting?
Maybe I missed the warmth, the flavour of home, the individuality and intensity of colours and sensations.
Or maybe I fancied Kate Moss (do you remember her?) and, as I could not have either her or the dream, I painted her.
Several years later, I am still painting.
Maybe I have never stopped fancying Kate, and, as both her and the dream are still out of my reach, I paint everything but her.
Ultimately, I paint because I want to paint.
Or, perhaps, I may not.


No cause and effect link between  one’s life and one’s hand is possible, yet the line of life on my palm is split. A sense of rupture coupled with a child-like wonder at the real and virtual surrounding worlds permeate my work: paintings, painting installations,objects, photography.


Meaning is not the reason of being of the work I produce, it is merely its excuse.