My work is built in layers - paint over collage over ink over printmaking - each element carrying its own history, its own weight, its own light.
That isn't just how I make things. It's what I believe about people. That the most interesting, most alive, most beautiful things in existence aren't simple.
They are accumulated. They are earned. They are rich precisely because of everything they've absorbed.
I grew up in the Middle East. I worked in parliament. I spent time in humanitarian aid. And somewhere inside all of that: the grandeur, the heartbreak, the bureaucracy, the raw human need. I became deeply certain of one thing: people are longing for beauty.
Not as escapism. Not as distraction. But as nourishment.
I make art for people who long for art that speaks of life's beauty and who refuse to apologise for it. For collectors who are done with cold walls, cold aesthetics, and art that demands to be intellectualised before it can be felt. For people who want to walk into a room and feel something shift.
My visual language draws from the ornamentation of Klimt, the spiritual abstraction of Kandinsky, the dreamlike symbolism of Chagall, the emotional colour fields of Rothko, and the extraordinary textile traditions of India and architecture of the Middle East.
But more than any artist or tradition, my work is shaped by faith; by a belief that beauty, like grace, is something offered freely, to anyone willing to receive it.
I trained formally at The Liberal Art School of The Hague, then the Art Academy of Haarlem- Leiden, and later at the Milan Art Institute's Mastery Programme.
I have exhibited in the Netherlands and internationally.
But the real training was everything that came before the studio:
every place I lived, every broken thing I witnessed, every moment of unexpected grace that made me reach for colour instead of words.
That is what I am putting on your wall.
My work is built in layers - paint over collage over ink over printmaking - each element carrying its own history, its own weight, its own light.
That isn't just how I make things. It's what I believe about people. That the most interesting, most alive, most beautiful things in existence aren't simple.
They are accumulated. They are earned. They are rich precisely because of everything they've absorbed.
I grew up in the Middle East. I worked in parliament. I spent time in humanitarian aid. And somewhere inside all of that: the grandeur, the heartbreak, the bureaucracy, the raw human need. I became deeply certain of one thing: people are longing for beauty.
Not as escapism. Not as distraction. But as nourishment.
I make art for people who long for art that speaks of life's beauty and who refuse to apologise for it. For collectors who are done with cold walls, cold aesthetics, and art that demands to be intellectualised before it can be felt. For people who want to walk into a room and feel something shift.
My visual language draws from the ornamentation of Klimt, the spiritual abstraction of Kandinsky, the dreamlike symbolism of Chagall, the emotional colour fields of Rothko, and the extraordinary textile traditions of India and architecture of the Middle East.
But more than any artist or tradition, my work is shaped by faith; by a belief that beauty, like grace, is something offered freely, to anyone willing to receive it.
I trained formally at The Liberal Art School of The Hague, then the Art Academy of Haarlem- Leiden, and later at the Milan Art Institute's Mastery Programme.
I have exhibited in the Netherlands and internationally.
But the real training was everything that came before the studio:
every place I lived, every broken thing I witnessed, every moment of unexpected grace that made me reach for colour instead of words.
That is what I am putting on your wall.