People often ask, “What does this abstract piece mean?” — as if there should be a single answer. But for me, abstract art doesn’t offer meaning in the way a sentence does. It vibrates with feeling, suggestion, and resonance. It speaks in symbols and textures, in moods and pulses. It invites you not to understand it, but to feel it.
When I create abstract works like Synchronic Vibration or Birth Mark, I’m not trying to illustrate a concept. I’m channeling something internal — something somatic, emotional, ancestral even. These pieces aren’t products of logic; they’re closer to sensations or spiritual murmurs that need space to breathe.
Let’s talk about abstract art not as “a style,” but as a way of relating to the world — and to ourselves.
Emotion Beyond Form
To me, abstract art begins where language ends. It’s the shape of a feeling, the trace of a memory that doesn’t have a narrative. It allows contradiction: something can be both calming and electric, delicate and overwhelming.
In Synchronic Vibration, for instance, the soft gradients and echoing patterns aren’t “about” anything specific — but they hold a kind of resonance. Viewers often tell me it feels like breath, like movement, like something alive. Maybe it reminds them of cells dividing, energy pulsing, or floral spirals seen behind closed eyes.
These aren’t coincidences. Our brains are wired to seek meaning, but abstract art doesn’t dictate what to find. Instead, it holds a mirror to whatever’s moving inside you — tension, harmony, grief, awe. It doesn’t give you answers; it opens questions.
The Body and the Subconscious
Birth Mark feels like the visual echo of something rooted in the body — perhaps the literal imprint of origin, or a symbolic trace of repetition and lineage. The mirrored pattern invites symmetry, but it’s not sterile; it breathes with gesture. There’s something sensual and almost biological about it. It feels both sacred and organic — a memory held in tissue.
Abstract art gives space to all the things we don’t know how to say. Sometimes trauma. Sometimes love. Sometimes the in-between states: trance, numbness, desire without object.
When I paint or digitally build these forms, I’m often in a meditative state. I don’t always know what I’m expressing until long after the work is complete — if at all. It’s not about decoding; it’s about attuning.
Why We’re Drawn to the Abstract
We don’t just view abstract art — we project ourselves into it. It becomes a safe space for personal emotion. A painting might feel “melancholic” to one person and “hopeful” to another. The same shapes can hold nostalgia, chaos, sensuality, silence — depending on who’s looking.
That’s the power of ambiguity: it allows for emotional privacy.
This is why people often choose abstract art for bedrooms, studios, quiet corners. It holds emotion without spelling it out. It doesn’t perform for the viewer — it invites a relationship.
And that relationship evolves. A piece you buy during a period of loss may later come to symbolize healing. Or something that once felt overwhelming might later feel grounding. Abstract art ages with you.
The Spiritual Language of Pattern
Much of my work pulls from folk motifs, sacred geometry, and organic movement. I see patterns as language — something that predates text. The spirals, branches, and symmetry you see in Synchronic Vibration or Birth Mark are like the body remembering something ancient. Something intuitive.
There’s a rhythm to these pieces, like breath or mantra. I want them to feel like quiet repetition — not static, but alive in their stillness.
When I layer texture or repeat motifs, I’m trying to create a space where the eye can wander — where you don’t land on a single “point,” but experience the entire surface like a meditation. This is what makes abstract art so timeless: it’s not locked into a single emotion or reference. It’s a container.
Abstract as Intimate, Not Impersonal
Some people say abstract art is impersonal because it doesn’t depict the world literally. I’d argue the opposite.
To me, abstract work is deeply personal — because it’s not about what I see, but what I feel. And because it’s unfinished without the viewer. The moment someone brings their own emotion, history, or curiosity to the piece, it becomes complete.
So if you’re drawn to abstraction, don’t feel pressured to “get it.” Let it get you.
Let it reflect your interior space. Let it change with you. Let it breathe beside you.
That’s what it was made for.
Explore collection of my abstract wall art prints & posters.
