How is man’s castle of imagination made? That Surreal structure of illusion! That point on the border of awareness and doubt. The man’s that very Imagination which resembles a balloon with a long thread in his hand or in someone else’s hand, and is baffled in the hands of the wind! For me, the work of art is a conscious reaction to an exciting and instinctive rebellious imagination. An uncontrollable envision about everything. The quality to which my ecstasies and  envies are related. I have fallen in love with fatal jokes about myself, in a demonstration of destructing the glory of humanity, by representing the image of the people around me, "the third-class citizens". I can call this wandering of imagination with whore feet; "walking with brain"! We are destroying the classic beauty so cruelly and so vengefully.  Those common ideologies are being so deterrent. those fizzle efforts to make a perfect image, intimidate my unpredictable world. They do not let me feel that art is a simple, yet strange matter. But the source of all these, is somewhere rather vague. Like a dream that I have had with wide-open, maybe half-open, or closed eyes. Like incarnating an illusion, like watching a butterfly from way too far or way too close, like the memory of my childhood ramblings in the big garden of birds, trees, flowers and other creatures. My grandpa’s garden. The garden of  imaginary castles. As of now, I will not be very surprised if one day I see a delicate female foot in the garden of my house, wearing magenta fishnet stockings, with bruised skin and large abstract patterned wings colored in Indian red and azure blue on a black background, attached to it.I wish to eliminate the distance between memory, imagination, life and creation; so I divert my way to that castle in an unknown destination.
I paint, with a little bit of skin, flesh and blood!
And I know it is enough!



Bitterfly 2015