Something dark breathes in the centre and draws the eye into its depths.
The lines look like traces of an invisible pressure that overlaps again and again.
It feels as if a thought is circling without an exit.
The surface remains rough and restless, as if memory had been burnt into it.
The shape is reminiscent of an eye that does not observe, but swallows.
The darkness does not appear dead, but tense, as if before an eruption.
The grey around it seems cloudy from within, like poisoned air.
Something old seems to be resting in it, not sleeping, but lurking.
The structure makes the room seem unpredictable, as if it could tear at any time.
There is a feeling that clarity is not welcome here.
The dots and splashes reinforce the impression of erosion and decay.
The composition looks like a web of repetition and compulsion.
It is as if a thought has anchored itself in the body and is growing in silence.
The picture surface remains open to interpretation and builds up pressure in the viewer's mind.
In the end, all that remains is this pull inwards, into the black core that explains nothing.
I work with whatever is right at the moment: Acrylic, photography, digital. A work may begin on canvas and end somewhere else entirely. I layer, discard, edit. Mixed media and collages are my style.
My great-grandfather was a painter. Oil was his thing, I work differently...
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