Gust
A series about unstable balance - like a gust of wind that gathers and disperses form at once. Everything holds for a moment before it falls apart.
The cycle Gust emerged from an interest in form at the threshold of dissolution. I am not concerned with the precise depiction of a plant, but rather with the moment when it ceases to be an object of observation and becomes movement, gesture, tension on paper. The plant remains recognizable, yet at the same time it is already beginning to dissolve into painting.
Botany plays a particular role here. It is neither my subject nor a pretext for illustration. The plant is rather a partner in dialogue. It prevents the work from allowing minimalism to become a purely formal play of stains and lines, where technique exists for its own sake. The presence of the botanical motif preserves an emotional connection to reality. Within the image there remains an object of attention, admiration, and observation. I am not interested in the plant itself, but in my relationship to it—a mixture of curiosity, respect, and inner silence that is subsequently transformed into a brushstroke.
This body of work is often associated with the Chinese painting tradition. I regard this connection as natural. The use of ink, empty space, seals, and botanical motifs does indeed create a certain visual affinity. However, I do not consciously seek to align myself with any specific aesthetic or philosophical tradition. While classical Chinese painting often aspires to harmony and balance, I am more interested in tension, instability, and the mutability of form. If there is any kinship here, it arises primarily on the level of means rather than in the underlying way of thinking about the image.
For this reason, harmony in its classical sense is not the central concern of Gust. What interests me far more is a state of unstable equilibrium. The works emerge at the boundary between order and disintegration, between concentration and chance. I seek forms that appear complete and yet continue to transform within the viewer’s perception. A question must remain within them. A slight discord, unease, or doubt is not a flaw here, but a source of vitality. It is precisely because of these elements that the work does not definitively close with the final touch of the brush. It continues to unfold, pulsates, and repeatedly assembles and disassembles its own image.
The seal plays an important role within this system. I do not perceive it as a signature or a decorative element. It is a fully integrated part of the composition. At times it serves as a counterweight to the mass of ink; at others it accentuates empty space or directs the gaze along a new path. Its function is not to conclude the work, but to enter into dialogue with it. For this reason, its placement is never accidental. It may intensify the tension of the composition or define a space that would otherwise remain indeterminate.
Equally important is the treatment of the sheet of paper itself. For me, the space of the paper is not a background but an active participant in the composition. The edges, the distances between forms, and the position of the image in relation to the boundaries of the sheet generate additional forces of attraction and resistance. Often, emptiness itself becomes the primary carrier of tension. A subtle shift of form, a change in the margin, or a crop can completely transform the character of a work. I am interested in internal axes that arise not from drawn lines, but from the relationships between the density of ink and open space.
The title of the cycle refers to a sense of movement that cannot be fully captured. Gust is a moment of transition. Between observation and gesture. Between the plant and abstraction. Between control and freedom. Between completion and the continuing life of form.
Botany plays a particular role here. It is neither my subject nor a pretext for illustration. The plant is rather a partner in dialogue. It prevents the work from allowing minimalism to become a purely formal play of stains and lines, where technique exists for its own sake. The presence of the botanical motif preserves an emotional connection to reality. Within the image there remains an object of attention, admiration, and observation. I am not interested in the plant itself, but in my relationship to it—a mixture of curiosity, respect, and inner silence that is subsequently transformed into a brushstroke.
This body of work is often associated with the Chinese painting tradition. I regard this connection as natural. The use of ink, empty space, seals, and botanical motifs does indeed create a certain visual affinity. However, I do not consciously seek to align myself with any specific aesthetic or philosophical tradition. While classical Chinese painting often aspires to harmony and balance, I am more interested in tension, instability, and the mutability of form. If there is any kinship here, it arises primarily on the level of means rather than in the underlying way of thinking about the image.
For this reason, harmony in its classical sense is not the central concern of Gust. What interests me far more is a state of unstable equilibrium. The works emerge at the boundary between order and disintegration, between concentration and chance. I seek forms that appear complete and yet continue to transform within the viewer’s perception. A question must remain within them. A slight discord, unease, or doubt is not a flaw here, but a source of vitality. It is precisely because of these elements that the work does not definitively close with the final touch of the brush. It continues to unfold, pulsates, and repeatedly assembles and disassembles its own image.
The seal plays an important role within this system. I do not perceive it as a signature or a decorative element. It is a fully integrated part of the composition. At times it serves as a counterweight to the mass of ink; at others it accentuates empty space or directs the gaze along a new path. Its function is not to conclude the work, but to enter into dialogue with it. For this reason, its placement is never accidental. It may intensify the tension of the composition or define a space that would otherwise remain indeterminate.
Equally important is the treatment of the sheet of paper itself. For me, the space of the paper is not a background but an active participant in the composition. The edges, the distances between forms, and the position of the image in relation to the boundaries of the sheet generate additional forces of attraction and resistance. Often, emptiness itself becomes the primary carrier of tension. A subtle shift of form, a change in the margin, or a crop can completely transform the character of a work. I am interested in internal axes that arise not from drawn lines, but from the relationships between the density of ink and open space.
The title of the cycle refers to a sense of movement that cannot be fully captured. Gust is a moment of transition. Between observation and gesture. Between the plant and abstraction. Between control and freedom. Between completion and the continuing life of form.
