Abstract
Constant experimentation with various creative possibilities usually evokes the artist's rather intellectual orientation. Images of dead animals on down-filled blankets (where the background is not a canvas, but our grandmothers' type linen including occasionally visible fabric- covered buttons), while at the first sight cruel, they simultaneously awake our feelings of compassion, empathy and sorrow.
This cruel contrast unlocks the dimension of intimacy: we are not animals but we are their next of kin. They are under our skin, even though we are not aware of it, and are unable to say how they got there.
If we ignore for a moment those pedagogical conventions which all too often mar the fairytales, there appears something akin to induction to life which is not able to be mediated by men, but can still be mediated by animals. For cynicism obliterated our vulnerability.
Since we are thus losing our humanity, we are obliged to seek it elsewhere: in our relationship with wolves, cats, carps, i.e. with those beings that still have traces of humanity left. It is exactly for this reason that their death on down-filled blankets is touching us so deeply, however distant the humanity thus mediated remains.
This is a paradox of borders: they divide us in order to unite us.