I begin in silence.

Not metaphorical silence—real, dimensional quiet. A void, made of color. A field that doesn’t depict anything but remembers everything. This is not background. This is origin. Each painting begins with this void. It is my way of reaching back—before form, before thought, before time. A state of unity, of oneness. From here, I build. Layer by layer.

The second layer: transmission. Semi-translucent symbols float above the void—gestures pulled from the margins of esoteric texts, cosmological diagrams, Gnostic hymns, alchemical blueprints. These marks do not explain; they invoke. They come from a spiritual practice older than language. They are the quiet codes of a body trying to remember its source.

Then come the silhouettes. Figures—but not portraits. These are not individuals. These are human thresholds. Empty forms surrounded by atmosphere. I do not fill them; I leave them open. The body becomes space. The body becomes the opening. You do not look at it—you look through it. Inside each silhouette is the earlier work: the symbols, the void, the memory of stillness. You see it only through absence.

And then I do it again. More layers. More openings. I am not painting a moment. I am painting time. Each layer is a breath, a door, a veil. A spiritual muscle being stretched outward from my center until I meet the edge of form—until the painting arrives and says: this is the boundary. Stop here. I paint from the inside out. I do not plan; I listen. The painting tells me when to pause, when to seal, when to split open. The final work holds the entire journey. It is an excavation of light from darkness. An offering.

My process is devotional but not soft. This is a rebellion against forgetting. Against the flattening of spirit into product. Against the empire of speed. I don’t paint what is seen. I paint what is felt when silence speaks. What is revealed when softness becomes strategy. When the body becomes cosmos, and the image becomes a door. Every silhouette I leave empty is an invitation: Look again. Feel harder. Remember. What emerges is not an image—it’s a map. A vessel. A layered transmission meant to be seen with the body, not the eye. These works do not speak in caption. They speak in pulse. You don’t have to understand them. You have to stand in front of them.

They will do the rest.