The present moment is the tangible part of time over which we have some influence: the fragment we can grasp and partially control. Yet our consciousness is not confined to this single point in the uninterrupted flow of time. If it were, we would remain eternally at a starting point in our understanding of the world. We might be happier, but also more ignorant, and art would become only a fleeting trace, destined to disappear with time. Fortunately, memory and history exist to give context to our actions. Without memory, understanding why things happen would be far more difficult, and our relationship with reality would be poorer. Without history, the same mistakes would be endlessly repeated, and the power of art would not accumulate. Creation would become mere reaction, and art would no longer communicate—it would exist only as isolated moments.

The idea that painting enriches life is difficult to explain because it is tied to time and to a learning process in which expectations constantly change. Knowing that every gesture reshapes the future is not tragic, but a responsibility. In art, as in life, actions have consequences. The creative act does not end when the work is finished; what follows justifies the effort, compensates for the marks that time leaves on the body, and allows the work to live through the eyes of others. Multiple interpretations, the fantasies and emotions a work provokes—these are building blocks as meaningful as any invention of intelligence.

At the beginning there is a vague will, emerging without clear reason. It grows slowly through exposure to other creators, through shock, admiration, influence, and reaction. We recognize other sensitivities at work and respond to the provocations they offer. This motivation is not desire but inheritance: the vast accumulation of experience that time places before us, from which each person builds a personal vision. When I look back and try to identify when this began, I cannot locate a precise moment or even a specific period. The energy of creation has a life of its own. Awareness is not its birth, only the instant it surfaces. The will to create reacts against limitation; it is a desire to go beyond convention, a form of nonconformity and hope—the wish to see beyond the dust of small things.

I chose landscape as my central theme because it is the field I know best and the one in which I have dared to experiment most freely. It is where I invested the most energy in repeated attempts. Progress requires persistence: trying and failing are part of the process. Advancement is never a straight line; detours and variations are necessary. Time spent clearing the ground is never wasted. Often solutions arise from chance, which carries within it the language of chaos—the final destination of all actions. We are not masters of time, nor servants of machines that surpass us. Our obligation is to make small waves, to affirm our presence with the means available. Not to leave a permanent mark, but to participate in change itself: to change in order to remain. Nonconformity is essential. Systematic doubt allows small victories and gradual progress in a process where little is fully controllable. We can only trust that our agitation adds energy to the world, even if that energy eventually becomes independent of us and joins the natural evolution of things. If this is not a vision of eternity, it is at least a way of transcending limitations.

I do not aim to explain my paintings, but to offer a perspective on how they came into being. What matters is that the viewer approaches the work openly, without prejudice, respecting the individuality of the artist and recognizing what is unique. Each contribution adds a small fragment to the shared human heritage.

Landscape, for me, is an image of the world—not merely a mountain, a river, or a forest, but a field of experience shaped by memory and history. Creation does not follow fixed rules; it unfolds through movement and uncertainty. Reason is useful, but limited. It struggles with paradox and change, convincing us that stability exists where only transformation rules. The only constant is that rules themselves evolve.

We are immersed in time, carried by its flow. We believe reality unfolds sequentially, yet if time itself were an illusion, many assumptions would collapse. What we possess is tangible experience—the accumulation of lived moments from which meaning emerges. Representing a landscape is therefore not depicting a single instant, but a matrix of many moments layered together. Without the observer, landscape loses meaning; it becomes organized matter rather than perceived reality. My approach is guided not by what is static in nature, but by the energy that transforms it: cycles, extinction, renewal, contradiction. Difference and multiplicity drive evolution. Contradiction is the engine of change, the coexistence of rational and irrational forces.

We seek stability because change unsettles us. Yet art must venture beyond appearances, into uncertainty and transformation. It is through difference that meaning emerges and through change that the relationship between humanity and nature is formed. Our gestures are never neutral; they carry responsibility. If we aim to create something that lasts beyond the moment, we must pursue understanding.

Travel feeds this process. There is no final destination, only direction, guided by trial and error, persistence, and occasional moments of revelation. Experience accumulates quietly until, unexpectedly, something new emerges. Whether this is luck or merit matters less than the fact that it works.

At first glance this method may seem dispersed, but coherence arises through the organization of ideas. Landscapes presented in series become more legible and contextualized. They function as models of reality filtered through personal memory and collective references. My landscapes are not representations of specific places or times, but of lived experience. They invite recognition without prescribing interpretation. Meaning emerges in the shared space between creator and observer, allowing communication across time without fixing it to a single moment or location.