These paintings tell a story.
 Not the story of a place or a precise event, but an interior one, singular to each viewer.
 They speak of what we’ve passed through, and of what remains.
 Nothing is imposed. Nothing is fixed.
Each work opens a space—a silent dialogue with the viewer, a suspended moment where emotion takes form.
 An invitation to place something of oneself within it: a sensation, a blurred memory, a feeling from somewhere far off.
It is within this quiet exchange, this resonance between the painting and what each viewer brings to it, that the series finds its meaning.

Most of the works are prepared with paper, adhered directly onto the canvas.
 The paper offers the oil a particular brightness and a singular tactile quality.
 This silent foundation, barely visible, buried beneath the surface, slowly emerges under the viewer’s gaze.
The material carries the gestures of brush or knife.

These delicate marks echo the movements of memory—its layers, its erasures, its absences, and its unexpected resurfacing.

Muted tones, drawn from winter, extend the painting’s interior atmosphere.

A quiet clarity moves through the compositions, sometimes diffuse, sometimes more intense.
 But always, a point of light remains.

A discreet yet constant presence—like an opening, a marker, a breath of hope, a possible direction within the darker spaces.