I draw signs that are nameless yet evocative. Neither vegetal, nor animal, nor anatomical, but states of the soul, before-beings. Black Box of a world all my own, witnesses to signs heralding probable incidents as well as efforts to avert accidents, my drawings assert themselves through the quality of these signs.
Lightning gestures trace unforeseen images straight out of the unconscious.
My strokes rush forward to assert themselves, under the temptation of the unknown, blindly forcing their way through to penetrate and take hold of the small sheet of drawing paper, to give themselves over entirely to the register of uncontrollable impulses while trying to invent and approach the invisible.
Seen as a whole, these are battles: boredom, solitude, contempt, despair in the face of resolve, of strength, of momentum, of tenacity.
Struggle between my hand and my eye.
My hand often becomes an obstacle to seeing, And the eye the author of hesitations.
Following one upon another, my images allow me unbroken links that ward off emptiness and the interruption of flight. Aerial dance, a call to effusion, to impetus, to a fair wind.
Impatience in the arms of time.
Bujar LUCA