My artistic practice is grounded in the notion of universal human suffering. I approach this condition not through personal trauma, dramatic narration, or emotional display, but as a recurring and unavoidable state embedded within the history of humanity itself. Religion, sin, pleasure, shame, and structures of power constitute the primary fields through which I examine how this suffering is inscribed onto the body and subsequently disciplined.

For me, the sacred is not an exalted narrative but a form of necessity that leaves residue on the body. Surrender, waiting, hunger, silence, and burden appear in my work not as events, but as reduced states. Narrative recedes, gesture is erased, and dramatic causality dissolves. What remains is a condition the body accepts: the simultaneous bearing of obedience and resistance.

In my work, the body is neither an identity nor a representational tool. It is the most immediate surface upon which moral and ideological systems operate. Belief, order, and authority both sanctify and restrict the body. The tension between pleasure and shame is formed within these limits. As such, the body is neither innocent nor erotic; neither free nor entirely repressed. It exists through the weight it carries.

I deliberately withdraw narrative from my works. I do not construct a language that solicits empathy, offers explanation, or demands emotional identification. These works do not tell stories; they suspend a condition. The viewer is not invited to understand, but compelled to remain.

This approach is directly informed by my engagement with medieval iconography. In these images, suffering is not dramatized; it does not cry out or gesture. Figures remain calm, almost inert. Yet this stillness does not suppress pain—it renders it inescapable. In my work, suffering is likewise not expressed but borne. Silence, therefore, is not an aesthetic choice but an ethical position.

The reduction of figures into simplified and geometric structures is not a stylistic pursuit, but a conscious act of purification. My affinity with the early twentieth-century intellectual climate that sought to strip form of the unnecessary is decisive here. Geometry is employed not to idealise the body, but to make visible the systems of order, pressure, and necessity that enclose it. Excess is removed because suffering requires no ornament. Detail is reduced because sin is carried not through narrative, but through form.

The tradition of archaic sculpture plays a significant role in this process of reduction. In these figures, the body is both abstract and heavy—stripped of gesture and defined by burden. In my work, the figure does not stand outside the sacred, but is shaped entirely within it, under its persistent pressure.

My primary concern is to render universal human suffering visible through belief and surrender, without resorting to dramatic agitation or aesthetic gratification. Rather than drawing the viewer inward, I position them opposite the work. These works do not console, offer solutions, or promise catharsis. They establish only a threshold.

The body that stands at this threshold does not belong to another.

The suffering that stands there is not an exception.

These works function as silent, reduced, and unavoidable witnesses to humanity’s ongoing conflict with its own essence, beliefs, and desires.