has its roots in the disgust caused by excessive intimacy with the self, a self that doesn’t stand itself.
The desire to get to the surface of its depth results in some
“realities of live being, that are rebuild every moment, that connect one day to the other, throwing bridges over gaps, over amorphous states and irretrievable absences”
(Lucian Raicu, “Reflections of the Creative Spirit”).
The slightly shocking character (even for me) of these paintings does not seek to support the proclamations of Andre Breton, that
“beauty will be convulsive or will not be at all”,
instead itseeks to portray those remains of personal seizures, which – not without surprise – we discover that we share with everyone else.