Gestura

Paint behaves. That is both the starting point and the ending point of Gestura. Each image stages a fiction — an illusion posturing as reality. We are presented with surfaces that declare their own artifice, yet seduce us with the weight of paint, the drag of a brush, the splatter of a gesture. The fiction is declared. It is not fraud; it is theatre. The work owes debts but never disguises them: Jenny Saville’s sweeping brushstrokes, Cy Twombly’s scrawled, illegible text, Jackson Pollock’s flung energy. There is even a trace of Tracey Emin somewhere. Each is reimagined here in synthetic form, pressed into pixels rather than oil or acrylic. Yet the result feels no less physical: paint drips, glazes dissolve, gestures cut across space. Illusion becomes almost sculptural.

Colour makes the theatre louder still. The palette is deliberately abrasive — acid greens, toxic pinks, fluorescent yellows. These are artificial tones, too alive to be natural, too synthetic to feel safe. They hum with chemical charge, at once attractive and repellent. They shout. They scream for attention. And then there is the staging. These are not just paintings but paintings already placed: framed, hung, lit, sometimes carefully vandalised. The gallery setting is not an afterthought but an extension — another layer of illusion. Here, a digitally painted surface becomes an object, an artefact, a piece of performance art. This is theatre not only of paint but also of context.

Viewed together, the eighteen images form a body greater than the sum of its parts. Gestura is performative: expressive gestures accumulating until they read as something larger — exhibitionist in their demand to be seen, voyeuristic in their reliance on an audience. Art here is not simply made; it is staged, displayed, and exposed. In the end, Gestura is less about what is painted than how painting behaves when forced to inhabit another medium. It reminds us that even the most artificial gesture can still feel real, if only because the eye insists on believing. What appears chaotic is, in truth, deliberate: constructed with precision prompt engineering. This is synthographic artwork in its truest sense — pictures painted with words instead of a brush.