​​I paint to understand. My work is a record of inquiry into language, structure, memory, and the unseen forces that shape our lives. Having grown up in Prague under a regime that valued order over imagination, I was drawn early to the power of expression. In my uncle’s attic studio, surrounded by the scent of oil and the silence of unfinished canvases, I first understood that art could carry what words could not.

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My practice begins with writing—not for what it says, but for how it moves. I use calligraphy not as legible script, but as a gesture, a form of thought made visible. The strokes, layered and instinctive, build into something that exists between language and abstraction—something felt more than read. This approach draws from traditions that have long inspired me: the existential introspection of postwar Europe, the gestural energy of Abstract Expressionism, and the philosophical tension between control and freedom.

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I believe that painting, at its best, reveals rather than explains. It is a space for presence—for rhythm, intuition, contradiction, and reflection. I’m not interested in creating answers. I’m interested in creating the conditions for questions to arise—for myself, and for the viewer.

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What drives me is not perfection, but truth—truth that often lives in impermanence, in process, in the fragment. I work in layers: of material, of emotion, of time. And somewhere within those layers, meaning begins to surface—not clearly, but unmistakably.