Perhaps painting itself is a form of intimacy for me. During an interview today, we talked about intimacy. I realised how difficult it is for me to speak about it openly, even though I continue to explore it with honesty in my paintings. Intimacy is something I resist, fear, and yet deeply desire. To me, intimacy means honesty, unconditional trust and acceptance. It is the belief that, whatever happens, two people will remain on the same side. But intimacy is fragile. It sometimes feels like an almost impossible ideal, a delicate balance that can be disturbed by the slightest change in circumstances. Do you believe anything can truly last forever? Perhaps the most painful part of losing intimacy is not its disappearance, but the fact that we can never fully know what it once meant to another person. The intimacy in my paintings is often imagined, idealised, and shaped by desire. It exists in a hand that hesitates before touching a lover, in eyes lowered when affection goes unanswered, or in a light left on for the one you love. These are moments of longing, hesitation, and the distance between desire and its fulfilment. At the same time, I have come to realise that painting itself, particularly oil painting, is an intimate act for me. It is direct, and it leaves me nowhere to hide. Standing before a canvas, I find that my brushstrokes, colours and compositions sometimes understand my feelings better than I do. If I try to conceal myself, the painting becomes something I no longer recognise or love. Perhaps I struggle to speak openly about intimacy, but through painting, I continue to practise being honest.