Not gestures to assert, but silences to hold.
The contemporary world is marked by disintegration, violence, systemic dishonesty, and the erosion of shared ethical ground. In such a landscape, the question of action becomes unavoidable. For the artist, however, the issue is not simply how to act, but how to act without reproducing the very fragmentation that characterizes the world one seeks to question.
What would constitute a just and accurate action? Is it possible to conceive an action that is whole, unfragmented, and attentive to the limits of thought itself?
Human activity—political, social, economic, moral, and even religious—is largely structured by thought. Thought operates as memory, as accumulated experience, as a movement unfolding in time. Yet this very movement, when left unquestioned, generates a world that mirrors its own fragmentation. Thought produces structures, images, and systems that remain bound to the logic of division and utility.
The problem is not thought as such, but the absence of awareness of its limits. When thought is mistaken for totality, when its provisional constructions are taken as reality itself, perception collapses into habit and repetition.
Artistic practice, in this sense, does not propose solutions in the form of messages or narratives. Its task is more radical and more restrained: to restore each element of experience to its proper place, to recognize where thought is necessary and where it must recede.
In this perspective, art is not a form of expression but a form of precision. It is the careful construction of conditions in which perception can be released from automatism, even if only for an instant.
Practices of attention traditionally described as meditation point to a similar threshold. Not as techniques of control, but as states in which the mind becomes capable of discerning when to operate and when to remain silent. Such silence is not absence, but the suspension of compulsive interpretation.
From this suspension emerges a different quality of presence. The artwork, when conceived as a symbolic space rather than as an object of consumption, can momentarily interrupt the continuum of conditioned perception. It does not transmit meanings; it opens intervals.
Ultimately, the ethical dimension of artistic practice resides here: not in the production of statements, but in the creation of situations in which attention, duration, and form are allowed to converge without being immediately absorbed into the economy of use and interpretation.