Medea

"Medea"
canvas, oil, 88x100cm
2022

For sale

The red drapery compresses the space like the stage of a ritual in which love, rage, and loss have become inseparable. Light pulls from the darkness not stable figures, but a painful knot of bodies: the whiteness of the children’s skin, the tense curve of the woman’s arm, Medea’s mask-like face, almost scorched by an inner fire. The image allows no safe distance — it draws the viewer into a moment where tenderness has not yet vanished, but is already infected by destruction. The dark green and black depths around the figures do not function as background; they intensify the sense of an enclosed, airless space in which feeling turns into fate.

For me, Medea is not a mythological heroine in an academic sense, but a form of extreme inner rupture, when love does not save, but becomes the source of unbearable force. That is why I do not aim for narrative clarity: the figures intertwine, the faces lose stability, and the body becomes almost spectral. What mattered to me was not the story of the crime itself, but the point at which passion, motherhood, pain, and blindness collide so tightly that the human can no longer be separated from the monstrous.