A MANIFESTO FOR THE RIGHT TO REMAIN UNDEFINED

Let me continue to believe in art in its most beautiful, naïve way, rather than become part of an artificial social game.

Will this mean living in a cave, as I have for the past twenty-two years?

If only you knew how frightening visibility can be. Not because I don't want my work to be seen, but because of what being seen seems to demand: a fixed identity (given by the society-by others), a fixed fabricated signature that never changes (because you are expexted to speak one language in visual arts too). But I'm a polyglot. I eliminate "the constructed words" while I communicate and look for its absolute meanings.

And what if I want to change? What if I don't want to be remembered?

How can I translate the euphoria I experience while painting into "words"? Will you ever be able to feel what I feel? How could you, when even the most honest expression can never convey a feeling in its entirety?

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Why must I shape myself to fit into others' world when others may never even glimpse mine? Even this web site is what others require- bio, statement! Why?

I don't want to turn the most intimate, inexplicable joy of making art into a performance, a product, or "a carefully constructed identity". 

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I'm looking for that tiny minority of people who still believe in the genuine possibility of connecting through art. People who remain empathetic to the needs of other souls. People who, despite their own bruises, are still searching for beauty — not to escape the world, but to find something in it that makes living a little more bearable.

Perhaps we will never fully understand one another. Perhaps we will never be able to enter each other's worlds.

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I want to keep painting without knowing exactly who I will become. 

I want to believe that art can still be a place where we meet without having to perform, compete, or prove our worth.

If this means remaining invisible to most of the world, so be it.

But let me keep the joy.

Let me keep the mystery.

Let me keep the freedom.

And let me believe, at least for as long as I breathe, that somewhere, someone is still looking at a painting with an open naive heart.

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