Minus ita I: Subtracting Layers to Reveal the Unbound Self

50x50cm)

The canvas, when I first faced it, always holds a peculiar silence. It’s a silence pregnant with possibility, a vast, waiting space. For "Minus ita I," that silence was quickly broken by a surge of blue. Not just one blue, but layers of it – a deep, almost oceanic turquoise swirling into lighter, more agitated currents. When I dipped my brush into those blues, I wasn't thinking of a sky or a sea, but of the boundless expanse of my own mind, the deep reservoir of feeling that exists before words or forms take shape. There’s a certain freedom in letting the color dictate the initial sweep, a release into the unknown.

Then came the disruptions, the vibrant bursts of orange. I felt a jolt of energy with each stroke, a sudden rush of thought, a fiery passion erupting through the calm. These weren't planned; they were impulses, like sudden epiphanies or unexpected challenges that break the monotony. The lime green dashes and shapes followed, almost like new shoots of resilience pushing through, surprising pockets of hope and vitality. They feel fresh, almost audacious, against the deeper blues and reds.

The gray areas emerged as moments of quiet contemplation, grounding forces amidst the riot of color. When I layered the gray, I felt a need for pause, a space for reflection, a moment to just *be* without the pressure of definition. Yet, even within these more subdued tones, I couldn't resist adding playful splatters and intricate markings, because even in quietude, the mind is rarely still, is it?

As I continued, I started to weave in threads of intention. The white lines, the precise geometric outlines, the scattered dots – these were my attempts to find a rhythm, to impose a gentle order on the wildness. I remember drawing those vertical white dashes, feeling like I was marking time, or perhaps hinting at structures that emerge and dissolve. The outlined stars and the small, almost hidden hearts – they are my secret whispers, symbols of enduring wonder, fragile dreams, and the quiet affection I hold for the world, despite its complexities. They are tiny pockets of light, reminding me of the myriad small joys that pepper our existence.

The title, "Minus ita I," came to me as the work neared its completion, as I stepped back and allowed the canvas to speak. It’s a very personal phrase, a declaration that encapsulates a significant part of my philosophy and my journey as an artist, and as a person. For me, "Minus ita I" is about the profound act of subtraction, of stripping away. It means "less so, I." It’s the rejection of "how it is," or "how I *should* be." It’s a defiant questioning of the predetermined, the expected, the molds that life, society, or even my own past self tries to impose.

When I painted "Minus ita I," I was grappling with the idea that true self-discovery often involves shedding layers, reducing the noise, subtracting the 'not-me' to reveal the authentic 'I'. It’s about recognizing that who I am is 'less so' defined by external forces, and 'more so' by the raw, unadulterated expression of my inner world. Each unpredictable line, each unexpected color combination, each layered texture in this painting is a testament to that process – a messy, vibrant, joyful refusal to conform. It's my way of saying: this is me, unedited, unbound. This is the truth I find when I dare to subtract.