Some memories never leave us.
They simply change their shape.

Art has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. As a child, drawing and painting were as natural to me as speaking. During my studies and the years that followed, I gradually lost touch with that part of myself. Life became focused on achievement, structure and responsibility, and with that, I lost something that had always felt essential.

Returning to painting was not the discovery of a new passion. It was the return to something I had always carried within me.

My work is rooted in memory, longing and the quiet emotions that often resist language. I am less interested in depicting specific people or places than in capturing the feeling of remembering them. The women that appear in my paintings are not portraits. They are fragments of emotions, fleeting moments, traces of personal and collective memory. They can be me, they can be someone I once knew, or they can be you.

The warm ochre tones that define my work are closely connected to my earliest memories. Having spent the first years of my life in India, many of my recollections seem to exist in this palette: sunlit, earthy, familiar and slightly faded with time. Like old photographs, they remain present while becoming softer around the edges.

Through simplified forms, layered surfaces and intuitive mark-making, I create spaces that invite contemplation rather than explanation. The titles offer a subtle entry point, but never a conclusion. The women who inhabit my paintings rarely explain themselves. Their strength lies in stillness, intuition and presence. I want the viewer to bring their own memories, stories and emotions into the work.

Ultimately, my paintings are an exploration of what remains when a moment has passed—the feeling, the atmosphere, the trace it leaves behind. Perhaps that is what I am searching for in every painting: not the memory itself, but the quiet space where it continues to live, waiting to be remembered once again.