The Icebreaker is one of my most special creations. It took months, not in execution, but in waiting. I had completed the background, and then… nothing. The canvas sat untouched for a long time. I was creatively blocked, distant from my work, uncertain.
Then one night, I had a high fever and couldn’t sleep. Restless, I started scrolling through a group of abstract artists on Facebook.. Their work struck something in me. The freedom, the rawness, it reminded me why I love abstract painting in the first place.
Suddenly, I felt a wave of inspiration. In that feverish state, I got up, went to the canvas, picked up my palette knife, and just began.
My hands moved instinctively. My colors came intuitively. In a short span, something emerged, alive and complete.
If you look at the painting vertically, it resembles a ship cutting through ice. Turn it horizontally, and it becomes a city floating in water. I named it The Icebreaker because it did exactly that, it broke through my block, restored my confidence, and brought me back to the joy of creating.
Every time I see it, I remember that moment of return, the sudden clarity, the relief, the sense of coming home to myself.
Old and New is a painting very close to my heart because it opened up so many possibilities for me. Like all my work, I approached it without restriction, no fixed outcome, no fixed technique, just a willingness to explore. But with this piece, I truly pushed my boundaries and tried things I had never done before.
For the first time, I ventured into collage. I used sand, paper, crayons, and gold leaf. Most importantly, I did something I had never imagined I would do: I took an old painting, and I cut it apart. In a sudden, intuitive moment, it felt completely right. I didn’t overthink it. I simply took my scissors, cut into that old painting, and began to paste it onto the new canvas, which I had already layered with a blue base.
Looking back, it feels almost radical, because I had never used any of my earlier works in this way before. But when I see the result, I feel as though that old painting has finally found its home. This work became a true merging of old and new, not just in materials, but in spirit.
The sand I incorporated was inspired by an artist I encountered in Cornwall. There are also subtle echoes of artists such as Hilma af Klint’s visionary forms, glimpses of Piet Mondrian’s compositional clarity, and even influences from Paul Klee. All these threads came together almost unconsciously, creating something that still amazes me every time I look at it.
This painting taught me the beauty of not knowing where you’re going. When you let go of control and stay present, possibilities open up. Old and New is my reminder and my invitation, to embrace the unknown. Sometimes, what emerges is far greater than anything you could have planned.
The Gaze is a painting that feels both deeply personal and universal. When I began, I only had a faint idea: I wanted to express a sense of oppression of voices, desires, and longings kept behind invisible bars. I imagined a face behind those bars, but nothing concrete.
As I moved my palette knife across the canvas, a pair of eyes emerged, unexpected and unplanned. In that moment, the painting seemed to take over. I simply followed where it wanted to go.
Those eyes stopped me. Even now, they move me every time I look at them. To me, they represent the stifled, unheard voices, silent, unseen, yet ever-present. Through this painting, I feel I’ve given them space. I’ve allowed them to be seen. And for that, I’m deeply grateful.
I used sand mixed with black acrylic paint to give texture to the bars. I enjoy working with different materials, and sand has slowly become one of my favorites for the grounded, tactile quality it brings.
The Lullaby is one of my most emotional pieces. It was inspired by an image I saw of a woman in Gaza, cradling her baby, who was no longer alive. That image struck me deeply, and no matter how much time passed, I couldn’t shake it.
When I began working on The Lullaby, I carried that image with me. I didn’t want it to be only an expression of grief, I wanted it to be a tribute. A way of holding space on canvas for all those innocent lives lost too soon. I approached this piece with care and quiet intention, letting the emotion guide every stroke.
To me, The Lullaby is not only about grief but also about remembrance, tenderness, and the kind of love that endures even through unimaginable loss. If you look closely, you’ll see I’ve embedded frayed jute threads, sand, and a small piece of seashell into the work. These elements in a way represent the fleeting nature of life to me.