I look at my works as a parable of the human fate,
Based on such stuff that dreams are made of,
On loneliness, insecurity and the search for those truths
Hidden in our subconscious,
The reality of which appears every day and less pale in life.
I look at dreams as a glass,
A transparency within us,
A fragile poetry, a black box with our own hide.
My creativity attempts to turn the decomposition of human contemporary feelings
Into images related to each other
As if they were ruled by an alchemic formula.
Dreams don’t die: they are true realities as it is our everyday breathing.
Although our system is the policy that alienates us from dreaming,
Dreams ever didn’t and still don’t die.
We perhaps have died.