Ending space - dr. Tomaž Brejc
The time which I belong to - Mateja Sever
The sublime and romanticism in contemporary Slovene painting - Andrej Medved
A hole in time - Barbara Sterle Vurnik
Somewhere in time - Maja Megla
Artists about art : Lee Krassner
Artists about art : Georgia O'Keefe
Artists about art : Agnes Martin
Artists about art : Louise Nevelson
Artists about art : Auguste Rodin


The time which I belong to

(published in the “Artwords” magazine, Ljubljana, 1998)

ABSTRACT… that which exists only in the mind; that which doesn’t have a direct connection with reality.

INTIMATE… the innermost; essential; hidden, mysterious.

HORIZON… a line where earth - or sea - and the sky seemingly meet; a border of wisdom or knowledge.

ALCHEMY… any seemingly miraculous process of transmutation.

DEMONS… live in forsaken places. They also would like to hold and be held by somebody.

FREEDOM… can exist only in the world of duality, in human thought.

What kind of imagined time is this – what kind of mental space – which in dreams is so present, and which steals away when I want to see it on the other side?

In the private collection of symbols things are dissolving themselves with abstract desire.
This abstraction is like a compulsion… How can I paint only subtle directions, soft feelings
of something fragile, translucent and unbearably white?
I paint in awe.

I don’t know that a day is like the day before. Light before the storm is calming me.
No impatience, no desire, no human fear. Standing on the edge of horizon is still possible – the gate into the personal, fictional cosmos. Combustion of sediments, satisfaction without answers.
Painting is taking me back into humility and into the time which I belong.

To make a painting is like to take anxiety from time; is like to remember something and to make a memory visible. Yet making a painting is like going somewhere where you have never been before.

Some paintings have inside them an unbelievable amount of time.

I’m standing under the rosette of Notre Dame. Which time is she talking about? It almost cannot be human. You can only approach her mystery to the degree that she touches you with all her power. If you could dedicate to her as much effort as to float with her at the same intensity of experience as she is transmitting, you could, I’m sure, turn into an angel.
And yet this – inability? – is forgiven.

There are only horizons left, and behind them – I always like to imagine – the end of the world. From where you can jump and not fall anywhere…
Suddenly there’s no more line and the wind blows without the sound.

Horizon – so inconsolable – and yet it is only a line!
But this line has a certain visual silence…
I feel my fictional truth about it. And I feel the fiction of many, many things.
And I feel my need for fiction.

Life is a wave, which sometimes turns me upside down, and sometimes I would like to pierce the sky with a blade… What’s the world without a horizon like?

A painting sometimes deeply impacts me. I’m dumb struck and gasped. I reach a potential volume, achievable only to the spirit. Accredited to life, enthroned with my ideas, I walk on the axis of time; everything becomes a symbol.

I gaze, I stare.
In this dimension that I’m aware of.
But elsewhere – if a voice can reach there, I would say something…


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