Your drawings are noted for their use of a white line on a black surface. What is the significance of this inversion of traditional drawing, where the light becomes the subject and the absence of light is the foundation?

I started working with dark, black surfaces 14 years ago. To me, starting with a white surface is like beginning with the obvious, with everything already known. The black space, on the other hand, seduces me with its mystery, its power, and its invitation into the unknown.

Some of the motivations that led me to work this way were: the sense of theatrical drama this setting brings to the work, the search for a visual metaphor to represent my fantastic existential vision across different planes of life, and the psychological drive that manifests between Thanatos and Eros. But most importantly, this approach allowed me to reflect on light as a physical manifestation.

I think of an immeasurable universe where darkness is almost everything and nothing at the same time, where abundant matter lacks a livable light. That timeless “dark truth,” that space, encompasses the largest percentage of what we recognize, and light is nothing more than a random phenomenon—a brief flash that bathes matter, reveals bodies, and gives us a fleeting moment of a dream.

Your artist statement describes your work as a “divine tragedy.” What is the philosophical or personal origin of this idea, and how do you believe suffering informs the beauty and power found in your art?”

Divine Tragedy” is a poetic expression. I adore poetry and believe its power of abstraction makes it the most beautiful artistic language. I work on my drawings with the idea of composingvisual poems. In them, I see darkness as a symbolic representation of truth and existence.

I consider my work an expression of positivity and luminosity. It’s crossed by a “lyrical breeze” that tells of emotions, of sorrows and joys that merge. It’s a space where there are no dualities or extremes; everything fuses and beats at the same time.