My Doodling Life

I am an obsessive doodler condemned to a life of endless meetings, Doodling is a survival mechanism. My doodles, my scribbles, the imprints of a hyperactive mind trying to suppress a loud yawn in a conference room; if you like them, if they amuse or entertain you in any way, then an important part of my life was not completely wasted.

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A doodle is a random experience, nothing is intended, it is like chance encounters with unexpected characters that populate your subconscious. Usually you don't look back at them unless you come across them in the middle of more serious and mostly boring papers that you produced consciously at a certain time in a certain meeting. And usually you don't pay them much attention, dommage, they carry real inspiration.

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The calligraphy of feminine forms. On the catwalk. It is surprising how many fashion models moonlight as escorts. The story of the virtuous catwalk girl who starved to death.

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They know the Ideas but they won't tell me

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What is to spread light, must endure burning. NOOR, my next solo show, coming soon

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Keep warm winter is coming

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The wine tasters

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When I get lonely I doodle crowds of people, the noise keeps me company.

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Imaginary friends

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Imaginary girlfriends

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Imaginary girlfriends

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Brain storming

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Seven Samurai.

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Man created machines and for a time it was good. All that remains of six years of engineering education and a failed love affair. There is a lot of drawing in engineering, three courses to be exact dedicated to engineering drawing, and most courses after that had as an integral part a lot of diagrams that one was supposed to reproduce faithfully from memory. Engineering and art were part of the same discipline traditionally, look at the notebooks of Da Vinci. When did the separation occur. Had I realized this at the time I was studying engineering, I would’ve probably suffered much less.

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Doodles of their own accord, don’t insist on a story, don’t search for a meaning, don’t judge, don’t intend, take as it comes, the good the bad the ugly all with the same amused indifference … If one could apply the same to the act of living, what else is Tao .

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Memories of the square we lost for obscure reasons.