In your solo exhibition ‘Memory, Power & Temptations’ you expressed yourself not only as an artist but also as a figure with a political and social role. How did you experience this dimension, and what impact did it have on your artistic and stylistic identity?
That exhibition was deeply personal and, at the same time, a form of political testimony. I’ve been active in protests and political movements in Georgia, so it felt natural—necessary even—to bring that urgency into the gallery space. The show dealt with key moments from Georgia’s history—from the Soviet regime to the post-war trauma we still carry today. Topics like occupation, censorship, propaganda, and repression weren’t abstract to me—they were inherited realities. Stylistically, this experience pushed me into more expressive territory: intense color clashes, chaotic line work, layered symbolism. I also began incorporating large-scale installations because sometimes a canvas isn’t enough to contain the emotion. The exhibition marked a shift toward more hybrid forms—combining painting, installation, text, and object. It was cathartic, chaotic, and strangely beautiful.
The recent passing of David Lynch prompts us to reflect on his immense artistic legacy and the influence he has had on many creatives. You had the opportunity to contribute your art as a storyboard artist for The Other Me, a film he produced. Looking at your experience, what did engaging with his visual and narrative universe leave you with? How did your artistic vision intertwine with his cinematic philosophy?
Working on The Other Me, a Lynch-produced film, was like stepping into a dream where silence speaks louder than sound. His universe is built on tension, suggestion, and psychological texture—and that had a huge impact on me. I created over 900 storyboard panels for the film, and through that, my sense of perspective, timing, and image rhythm completely changed. After that project, my paintings became more theatrical, almost like film stills. I began using more contrast—black and red took over my palette—and my compositions gained a kind of frozen, cinematic tension. I also became more comfortable with mysticism, ambiguity, and cosmic symbolism. Lynch’s legacy is not only about darkness—it’s about looking beyond the veil, and I’ve carried that into my work ever since.