The Inner Shell as an Invisible Support
My artistic practice explores a structure that simultaneously protects and constrains, holds and presses, conceals and reveals. I call it an "inner shell"—an invisible support formed at the intersection of the psychic and the somatic, the personal and the collective, the material and the meaningful.
Wilhelm Reich described the "character armor" as a system of defenses crystallizing within the body—chronic muscle tensions that block anxiety, anger, and arousal. This shell is not an enemy but an adaptation: a creative act of survival that was once necessary. Yet, over time, the protection becomes a prison; what once safeguarded now constricts. This duality—support and constraint, protection and captivity—lies at the heart of my work.
I use the interplay of contrasting textures as a visual language for this dual state. Two opposing surfaces—rough and smooth, dense and void, heavy and crumbling—do not merely coexist on the canvas. They exert tension against one another, like two segments of a shell, and their junction forms a seam—a boundary, a point where the protection either holds firm or tears open.

My Process
I construct each work like an archaeological cross-section—layers in which the shell gradually emerges through the surface. Layer by layer: moving from a Symbolist translucency, where the defense is sensed but not fully revealed; through a Surrealist shift, where the solid begins to flow and the soft turns to stone; to an Expressionist rupture, where the shell breaks open to expose what lies beneath.
For me, texture is not mere decoration, but structural honesty. Just as architectural tectonics reveal load-bearing elements, I strive to expose a hidden framework—that "skeletal form" that holds the whole together when everything visible seems to drift. Structure is an "invisible complex of internal connections" that creates visible wholeness. My inner shell is precisely such a structure: unseen, yet essential for anything to stand.

Materials and Method
I work in oil because the medium allows texture to evolve over time—drying, layering, cracking, and running. I build up rough textures with a palette knife; this represents the shell, with its weight and resistance. Smooth areas are created through glazing—thin, transparent layers—representing the vulnerability that shines through the protective barrier. I leave the boundary between them sharp: the junction of these two textures is a scar, and I want it to be visible.

Message
I want the viewer not merely to see the protection, but to feel its weight and its cost. The shell is neither a diagnosis nor a verdict. It is the foundation upon which we stand and the cage from which we try to break free. In every work, I ask: where does the line between support and restriction lie? And I invite the viewer to find their own boundary.