My joy is quieter now

I used to want everything to be bright.
Now — I want it real.
Joy is not in the applause,
but in the quiet where I feel good with myself.
And that — is real.

Toward the Dreams Again

Amid the darkened walls and shadows, a direction appears for the first time in a long while.

Then comes a step — taken not out of confidence, but out of trust.

And once again, toward the dreams.

Where Silence Meets the Sea

A woman sits, gazing into the distance where the sea stretches out. A seagull rests nearby on the shore, quietly watching her. In this place, silence becomes presence, thoughts flow like water, and I finally feel my heart able to breathe in peace.

Fantasy

This series is about moments when reality quietly brushes against something else — soft, almost forgotten.

Unicorns show up as if they’ve always been there, walking among the trees. The forest feels alive with a fairy tale that comes back only if you’re ready to listen. And somewhere in the mist, mountains appear — distant, unreachable, but somehow very close to the heart.

For me, these paintings are inner landscapes. Places where things you can’t normally see become visible: wonder that’s been waiting, a door to something new, permission to dream without being afraid.

It’s about a world that’s always been right next to us — if we just let ourselves feel it.

The Place Where I Am Not

Sometimes I need to look

toward the place where I am not —

to understand myself a little better

in the place where I am.

The Night That Remembers Stories

Other worlds have always been near —

as if it had always been possible.

The fairy tale here is entirely real.

Human in the City

In this series, the city is not a backdrop but a living space that responds to a person — dissolving them, repeating them, reflecting them. The figures here do not simply walk through the streets: they seem to float in translucent air, fading in the morning light or thickening in the shadow of evening.

The city in these works is voiceless yet attentive. It observes, multiplies silhouettes, catches movements, creates its own echoes. A human within it is both a participant and a ghost — a presence that easily gets lost in the flow of countless similar steps.

This series is about the silence in which we live among people.
About the moments when we feel visible — and at the same time almost dissolved.

Look, I exist

The unicorn appears as naturally as the silence of the night.

In this enchanted forest, fairy tales aren’t invented — they simply return to those who are ready to hear them.

Morning in the Dissolving City

In this work, the city appears as a shifting, translucent space where human presence feels both close and distant. The figures seem to hover in the dim morning light, dissolving into the cool, blurred architecture around them. The boundaries between themselves and the urban environment are blurred: people move through a corridor of silence, memory, and foreboding. This is a moment when the city softens—revealing the vulnerability, fragility, and quiet tension of being with others while remaining deeply alone.

Night Passers-by

In the painting “Night Passers-by,” the city appears as a space of alienated silence. The lilac night sky and the turquoise moon create a cold, almost detached atmosphere in which human presence seems fragile and temporary.

The figures of people are marked only by silhouettes — without individual features, as if they dissolve in the urban environment. They do not interact with each other, but only pass by, maintaining an internal distance. The cold color scheme enhances the feeling of loneliness and internal isolation inherent in a big city.

This work is about a person among others, but alone with himself; about movement without meeting, about presence without contact.

Neon Solitude

An urban night scene where warm glowing windows contrast with the cold isolation of the street. Anonymous figures pass by each other like phantoms, highlighting emotional distance in a crowded world. Exploring the paradox of modern solitude amid the city's neon embrace

The evening that makes us repetitive

This painting captures the weight of evening, a time when the city returns our own reflections to us. Warm, rusty-gold facades and deep bluish shadows create an almost cinematic atmosphere where the figures move forward but seem stuck in the loop of everyday life. Their repetitiveness hints at the routine, memory, and quiet emotions that accompany every urban step. The work explores how the city absorbs our presence, reflecting our movements, fears, and resilience—turning every street into a stage where we relive parts of ourselves over and over again.

Don't look up!

This series is about how we all keep moving forward without ever looking up.

The city squeezes us into narrow corridors, where something is always glowing from above — lights, ads, the illusion that things are better up there. But no one looks. Because if you do, you’ll have to stop. And stopping feels terrifying.

In these pieces, the crowd moves in one direction — faceless, nameless, just a stream.

Sometimes there’s still that illusion of light from above, like someone’s promising an exit.

Often the light turns fake — pink and cheap, like supermarket decoration.

How we walk together, eyes down, because if we look up, we’ll have to do something. Admit there’s no way out. Or that there was one once, but we missed it.

Don't look up! 1

This is about how the crowd moves upward through a narrow corridor, while colorful rain pours from above — as if someone is tossing confetti from up there to keep us from stopping.

I painted the illusion of celebration overhead — bright, fake, out of reach — and the people walking beneath it without ever looking up, because stopping would mean admitting that none of it is meant for us.

Don't look up! 2

The city dictates direction and pace, forcing movement without pause or choice. Light and color exist somewhere nearby and above, but for these figures they never become experience.

Don't look up! 4

The city closes in over people, turning movement into the only possible state. The light in the sky resembles a sign or a warning, but it does not alter the trajectory of their steps.