1979.After a decade in engineering and computer, then working as a planning consultant, I decided to invest in an activity that truly inspired me—one I could pursue for the rest of my life. I enrolled in a drawing class.

I began with portraiture—not out of fondness for the subject, but because it represented a genuine challenge. By confronting difficulty, as Sri Aurobindo wrote, one evolves. This principle has guided my journey.

1982. In Woodstock (NY), I discovered, with Albert Handell, the power of pastel on abrasive surfaces. Following his advice on perceiving values transformed my visual sensitivity: I realized that vision itself can evolve. I left engineering to become a full-time painter.

1983. My engineering mindset persisted: I sought to understand mediums and to experiment. In addition to pastel and watercolor, I adopted tempera on traditional gesso and encaustic techniques.

1985-88. Pastel Society of America in New York. I participated in their annual exhibitions for four years and won three portrait prizes.

1986. In search of guidance in the gallery world, I delved into the writings of Daniel-Henry Kahnweiler, a major art dealer and defender of Picasso. I shared their opposition to abstraction and discovered how misunderstood Cubism truly is. I added still lifes to my repertoire, exploring certain Cubist ideas: flat and colorful architecture, contrapuntal structures (Juan Gris), and anything that could strengthen the painting as an autonomous object.

1986 to 1993. Three solo exhibitions in the same gallery.

1993. I encountered the thought of Wilhelm Worringer, “Abstraction and Empathy.” For him, abstraction was an instinctive response to a world perceived as threatening, and the source of the major artistic styles—Egyptian, Greek, Gothic. I discovered aesthetics as the science of form.

Worringer undermined the Cubists’ aesthetic edifice. Convinced that Kahnweiler had replied to Worringer, I sought out his responses, but they left me unsatisfied. This research engrossed me: I left my gallery, isolation deepened, and my reading expanded.

2001. A new discussion with my former gallerist. I declined his offer. My research took center stage.

In parallel, to clear my mind, I started painting landscapes — something I had never done before — allowing myself freedom in rendering textures.

Often, after completing a painting, I discover elements — animals, figures — that become embedded in the composition. Curiously, these forms have nothing to do with the subject I intended; it is as if my unconscious surfaces in the work.

2004. I learned, three years after the fact, that the gallery had, without my knowledge, sold my only two remaining unsold works at auction in Toronto, a city where I had never exhibited. This act, done without my consent, confronted me with the precariousness and fragility of artistic identity in the face of market decisions.

I have written and rewritten an essay, trying to clarify my thinking. Yet there is always the sense of something important slipping through my fingers.

2012. “Spätrömische Kunstindustrie” by Aloïs Riegl, highly recommended by Worringer—thanks to a friend in Rome, I acquired the English edition. Riegl's essential idea, that unresolved difficulty carries within it the seeds of evolution, resonates strongly with my own experience.

2014. The publication of a French translation of Riegl’s work amplified the impact of these ideas. My thoughts shifted to the origin of styles: to understand art evolution—or its stagnation—one must also challenge predecessors’ interpretations.

2025. Thirty years of exclusion from the gallery world and recent administrative complications are testament to the precariousness of being an artist. Yet, driven by the same will to understand, I carry on: seeking to explain how contemporary art — a faithful reflection of a society in crisis and transformation — has taken shape throughout history. This is now my path.