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A child usually remains a child until he/she reaches the age of seven. A child
lives in his/her own world of fantasy and imagination, the one an artist has
always longed for. Then, after the age of seven, a child starts losing "the
child" in his being and eventually turns into a grown-up.
This never-ending process of a child transforming into a grown-up has always
amazed me. I have been
trying to nourish "my child" in me and that might be
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the main reason of my inability to communicate with the world
of the grown-ups. So I reached for a piece of paper and a pencil in my effort
to explain my thoughts and feelings. The art turned into the main way of my
communicating to the outer world, the world of the ever serious and
self-important grown-ups.
One of my first drawings was a cowboy with a dollar purse. Why that? I have no
clue. This might be imagination of a boy who drew a cowboy just to contemplate
later on over the question of a missing Indian. Where is the Indian, indeed? I
am still in search of the missing Indian, and that helps me retaining the boy
inside myself and over bridging the gap between the boy and the world of the
grown-ups by the media I still use best to communicate: MY ART!
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1988-1992
Sometimes an artist loses himself simply by trying to prove himself to the
world around him, because most of the times his view does not match theirs. How
to prove and not to lose yourself? It is not an easy task at all to present
your work to the public, which demands certain colors, certain style and
strokes that suit their own taste. However, I am an artist exposed to the
world, which I do not copy, but interpret. Please bear with me!
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1992-1993
The colors I once used to interpret the world have suddenly turned into a bright world of color imagination, which helped me a lot in overcoming the human catastrophe of destruction. My colors turned into a strong and powerful shield. My response to a grim soldier was a painting of a little girl holding flowers. My defense against the dark catastrophe turned into a bright-colored painting showing human greed and horror of the war. My colors were my weapons against the terrible madness of the war.
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1993-1998
I lived in a perfect world, in a perfect time. I painted the perfection of German fall; no leaves to be seen on the ground. No mess, no imperfection. But still, as an artist I was allowed to fully express myself and my colors have been understood. I was allowed to be imperfect within the perfect world.
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1998-present
I crossed the big pond and I was welcomed by the new world, new life, and new opportunities. It is up to me to grasp this whole new world ...
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