For me, sculpture is trusting the pressure of my own fingers. Whatever is in me, which I do not know, puts pressure on the flower, sometimes precise, when a beautiful eye is imprinted on the flower, and sometimes ruthless, when it becomes an ugly pit. The volumes of my insides appear before my eyes only with the pressure of my fingers, and then I can see what is inside me! Unlike painting, where I look outside, in sculpture I look inside myself. After it is made, I sit, see and think about what this is. What was my intention and this circular cycle continues, and its meaning is still unclear to me.
