Unmaking the World

Maybe it's the torture of facing mechanistic patterns—always certain, concrete, reliable. Maybe it's the precision of man-made order, the way we live—houses, furniture, doormats, cars, the compartmentalization of our lives, even those damn textbooks that taught us to write within the lines. Did I mention already that I despise straight lines?

Maybe it’s the anguish of being caught in templates, patterns, rituals, and the deterministic theories of materialism that made me fall—fall from certainty into openness. For a moment, I fly, and then I drop into the void of the meaninglessness. It’s in this embrace of finality that I find project of life. The work. The work that follows finitude, the drive to keep going. If everything falls into the void, if everything loses purpose, then here’s my chance—the chance to fly, to fall, to make a mark with the full knowledge it will vanish.

This is an honest attempt, born out of the pain of wrestling with certainty. To work, to keep working, to find ways to embrace the dark, to redefine it—if only for a moment. My work breaks me free from all artificial substances. Being one with nature doesn’t mean losing yourself, it means extending yourself into eternal servitude. You find gain in lost moments, meaning after its worth has expired. The waves of the ocean are never lost. Fire never truly loses its flame. A silent ocean is potential, preserved. An after-fire still burns with possibility.

I paint to arrest that potential, the fire, the waves, however briefly. That’s the nature of these fundamental elements of life. I’m not interested in skin and shapes at low resolution. The dread of realism is heavy—it clings to us all the time. Our senses are tricked into certainty. The magic gets lost.

The magic of Essence.

Eessence is dynamic; it only looks static through identities and semantics. That’s no hard work. Thinking in certainty is a stroll in the park. Uncertainty—that’s what takes you to the reality of dreams. Dreams of unfolding into oblivion. Rose petals never stop opening to more and more potential. 'The Void' is a container of these forces—a rush of power and emptiness at the same time.

In order to smell potential, emptiness to be understood first.

Emptiness is non-work.

Emptiness is potential, unrealised.

Emptiness is ego.

Emptiness is the fatality of life’s fortunes.

Emptiness is seeing darkness in the dark.

Emptiness is the ignorance of youth.

Emptiness is dust.

Emptiness is the prison of certainty.

I want to break free. 'The Void' is the remedy for the emptiness of the heart. Once you taste the Void on your tongue, you can’t go back to the language of intellect. It was non-linguistic from the start.

Works of art, at least, are symptoms of this Void's grandeur—music, painting. I only hope not to corrupt these symptoms with lyrics and narratives. If we fall too far behind, the void of potency will turn empty forever. There’s no coming back from that.