What Dreams Are Made Of (6)

In this painting, something seems to be taking shape, yet it’s hard to say exactly what. At the heart of the canvas, forms briefly come together before scattering again, as if the very matter hesitates between becoming tangible and fading away. Nothing is fully defined, and it is precisely in this uncertainty that the dream begins. The eye is initially drawn to a dark shape, almost curled in on itself, carrying the weight of the composition. Yet around it, movement intensifies. Lines stretch out, colors break free, and large diagonal shapes appear to unfold their wings toward the light. Turquoise hues bring the breath of air and water; pinks and reds pulse with life; golds and yellows radiate a luminous presence. But no single color dominates the others. They meet, overlap, and softly erase one another, like the fleeting sensations of a dream at the moment of waking. Above all, the light seems to come from everywhere. It has no specific source or direction. Instead of illuminating, it wraps around the matter, almost dissolving the edges of the canvas. The space becomes an in-between place—not sky, not earth, not water, but perhaps a bit of all three. So this painting may not depict a dream itself. Rather, it captures the instant when the dream begins to pull us away from reality.