I paint fear — slowly.
Not horror, but the quiet kind
we all carry and rarely show.
I work in oil, in many thin layers. A single canvas can take me months, sometimes years. I taught myself to paint — and every painting still teaches me something.
Hyperrealism isn’t my goal; it’s the instrument. Precision lets beauty and unease live in the same frame — you come close for the detail and stay for the feeling.
I make only a few paintings a year. I want each of them to outlast the feed — to be looked at slowly, in person, for a very long time.
“Most of my time is spent looking, not painting.”
For me fear is the most honest human state. I look for the moment when something beautiful starts to feel unsafe.
I limit how much I make each year. Depth matters more to me than volume — a painting should be a long-term object, not content.
Screens flatten everything. My paintings are made to be seen in a room, up close, where the surface and the layers finally show.