I work with painting as a body.

What was once surface becomes skin — a place where memory, tension, and rupture are held. My practice begins within the language of painting, but refuses to remain there. The canvas is not an image to be resolved; it is a structure to be confronted.

I cut into it.

This gesture is not destructive — it is revelatory. The incision opens the surface, exposing what was meant to remain contained. What lies beneath is not hidden content, but a field of force: fragments, pressure, resistance. Painting ceases to represent and begins to exist.

Through this process, the work shifts. The plane collapses, the stretcher emerges, and the pictorial field unfolds into space. What was once bidimensional becomes volumetric, unstable, and present. The work occupies space as a body does — with weight, tension, and vulnerability.

Material is never neutral. Fabric, paint, and structure carry traces of use, of time, of what has passed through them. I work with these residues not as symbols, but as active matter. The surface becomes a site where memory is not illustrated, but embedded.

There is no attempt to repair the wound.

Instead, I remain within it — allowing the work to hold its openness, its fracture, its unresolved condition. In that space, something shifts: silence is broken, and what emerges is not an image, but a presence.

Painting, then, is no longer a surface to be seen, but a body to be encountered.