"A Little Gray, A Little Rain," acrylic paint, spray paint, oil stick, pigment, collage on paper.

Structure as a poetic argument. I chose this radical duality of composition: two juxtaposed panels, almost a diptych, which literally embody the title even before it is read.

Gray, restraint, silence:

The left panel is almost austerely simple: a flat, pale blue-gray, slightly textured surface, framed by a black border that contains it, freezes it. It is a little gray, not the heavy gray of a storm, but that of an uncertain morning, of a hesitant sky.

Rain, overflowing, life:

The right panel is its exact expressive counterpoint. The painting is gestural, almost violent: drips of intense blues (ultramarine, cobalt, cyan), black splashes that mimic the impact of raindrops on a surface, white streaks like gusts of wind. One reads the rain almost synesthetically, the noise, the cold, the movement.

"A little," the adverb as a key to understanding: The title doesn't say "The Gray" or "The Rain," but "a little," this restraint is fundamental. It suggests an ordinary, almost everyday, Swiss or Nordic weather pattern, that of a typical, dreary day. And yet, I think the work itself is anything but ordinary: I transform this "a little" into a dramatic tension between silence and explosion, between restrained and unleashed color. There is a gentle irony in this gap between the modesty of the title and, I hope, the pictorial intensity.

The work explores the in-between states, the boundary between the calm perception of the world and its sensory irruption, between what we retain and what we let flow.