What I aim with my art work, is to find a place in between events and to penetrate into the very condition that I am trapped in, into the very rift and situation that I am situated in my milieu or in the mode of how I experience and perceive the things – events - instances that make up my environment —my world. I attempt to distill and disclose the concealed moments of my experience as being a part of a condition, of a lively plexus and of spontaneities or occurrences in the reality-of-being there.

I'm an essential part of my "centripetal visual-reality", of the "space of things", of our human theater and somehow, of our own "mental bunkerization" and of our fluid and unpredictable phenomena and yet, I am not fully it; i.e., I am still I as long as I am the wondering and gazing eye.

 It is important for me to hear the sound of things and to feel the caress of an image and the nothingness of a voice. What are these things? I am not talking about supernatural or spiritual or metaphysical things. I am talking about our- world- of- things, making the concealed aspects of my experience appear tangible, or to make instances that at first do not seem perceivable become real.

In other words, my artistic rupture takes place in a locality that is enveloped in the presence of a condition. It is the very core of this condition- experience- involvement that my art has evolved and engaged itself as a form and also; let me say, my paintings are the manifestation of this milieu of technological shattering speed; of vibrancy and force, of visual sensation, of simultaneously emerging and re-emerging and dissolving realities that pass-by me and yet are connatural or just build-in-me — a part of me.

The inspirational sources of my "visual information" are anonymous people and continuously changing sequences — instances and forms immerging and dissolving from any sort of public surrounding (I live in New York City). It is my daily existence in the midst of events, of visual orgies and surprises with their complex layers of experience; like my daily subway-ride with its speed and colorful wave of overlapping, and continuously altering figures and images where forms dissipate and again events become real. But even more so, the anonymous city crowd appears like a river of fluorescent walking silhouettes, which in its path of movement, becomes the flash of my colors and the contour of my precarious lines.

My paintings smell of their oily surface. They are dry and soft, opaque and transparent — they are bold and visceral and lost in the midst of the crowd, lost in disclosure and concealed in forms. The surface is palpable or thick — dark diminutive and murky — bright shinny colors — muddy light — glassy and matt. The dry and the wet linen drips, it ripples and it undulates — it swirls with curvilinear motions.

As with the cacophonous and intense steps of the precarious morning crowd, the ablaze activity of the swoosh brush is smashed delicately while dancing with the fluorescent crowd schizophrenically — the canvas becomes a distilled moment of my experience that screams forcefully in space while revolving for attention — the day continues and events repeat themselves again — I am present in the colorful vortex of becoming that which is not yet there — I am present in the threshold of profane vision and of our dissipating reality — my paintings take their own path creating another possible world — another existence beyond the grasp of my immediate sight.