When I begin to paint, my mood always shifts, and it is impossible to predict what it will be each time. Lately, I have been drawn again to working with circles and round canvases. I want these forms to contain the entire Universe—or at least fragments of it that cannot be fully grasped by my mind, yet align perfectly with my perception and inner sensations.
When canvases run out, I turn to watercolor, while acrylic and oil paintings go into a state of waiting.
Creating any painting requires inspiration. I used to think that painting works on commission, according to a client’s request, was quite simple. However, after one recent period leading up to New Year’s, I created so many paintings in a short time that I realized I could not work at such a pace.
It felt like production work, although not entirely accurate—each painting was still unique and individual. Nevertheless, it became overwhelming. After completing the final piece and bringing joy to its new owner, I felt completely drained and did not touch brushes for about five or six months. The sense of inner fullness simply did not return.
It became clear that the problem lay in the boundaries I had imposed on myself. Once I released these mental constraints and decided to paint from a place of inner freedom, I regained confidence that I would no longer need to chase an “elusive muse.” Ideas began to flow faster than I could follow them, each work carrying even more emotional depth, and every painting would eventually find its own home and its own viewer.
I do not feel the need to explain why the circle form has become increasingly attractive to me. It is not about the cyclic nature of existence, as is often suggested. Rather, it feels like a way of looking into the depths of the unconscious—into my inner microcosm—like observing it through a kind of telescope.
The most important thing is to perceive what is happening inside, to hold those sensations long enough, and then translate them onto the canvas, filling the artwork with them.
Sometimes I feel as though I do not fully understand how it happens, and at times I cannot even explain it. But when I hold a brush and it glides across canvas, paper, or any other surface (once I even painted a kitchen for someone from the theater world—who, believe me, was no less full of ideas than I was), I feel as if I am transported into another dimension. I am both creating and co-creating something new at the same time.
It is an extraordinary sensation—impossible to fully describe or translate into words. It can only be felt when you see the result of your work.
And of course, as a former jeweler, I could not help but try working with more dimensional forms. Without a doubt, there is meaning in that as well. But for now, I am only at the beginning of the journey—and we shall see where the palette of colors leads me.
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