My answer to the fakeness

I started painting because I wanted to show something that’s becoming increasingly rare:
it’s not about the end result, but about what someone makes—and especially how and why.

Not perfection.
Not the overproduced product.
Not the AI-generated filler that only exists to take up space.

But the human: the hesitation, the choice, the time, the attention someone truly gives.

Nowadays, everything seems allowed—as long as it’s fast, scalable, and ‘efficient’.
Big corporations fill the space with content that looks like something, but has nothing inside.
The music industry is upside down: you pay for a ‘live’ concert, yet the vocals were pre-recorded and the band is just miming along to a backing track.
You’re sold the illusion of authenticity, while its essence has long disappeared.

My work isn’t perfect. And that’s the point.
Just as I don’t expect a concert to be flawless—
but I do expect passion. Presence. Someone being fully there with their whole being.

That moves me.
The human moves me.

That’s why I paint: as a quiet counterweight to the noise.
Not to protest, but to remind.
Of what emerges when you truly make something—with your hands, your feeling, and your attention.

My paintings are my response to algorithms, fake experiences, and the illusion of life without any life in it.