About the Hermit

I paint because silence refuses to stay silent. Each canvas becomes a battleground between memory and forgetting, a page from the diary of a man who never wrote one.

The world calls me a hermit, though I am less recluse than witness. To stand apart is to see the fire without being consumed, to laugh quietly while the empire of noise devours itself.

I do not chase beauty. I chase genius — that fugitive spark that slips through history like a thief. It is not mine, never mine; I borrow it as one borrows breath, shaping color into confession, building temples from nothing but pigment and stubborn will.

The stars are my allegory: Leo, the lion with a crown of flame, who longs to roar yet burns with his own reflection. Sagittarius, the archer who laughs while aiming at horizons he will never reach. These myths are not destinies, but mirrors — tragic reminders that even light is chasing its shadow.

My work is not content. It is not product. It is preparation — for understanding, for surrender, for the quiet conversation one must have with death before it has the courtesy to arrive.

I do not paint to be seen. I paint because the act itself is a revolt against forgetting. I paint because in the end, all we leave behind are the traces of our listening.

— The Hermit Painter