Nassim
Nasr

I paint thresholds. Each arch is the moment before a decision, the door you cannot see beyond, the crossing you make anyway. Something chosen, something given.

The arch is not a subject. It's a condition. It repeats across every canvas in grids and waves, each one a different colour, each asking the same question. I don't paint places or people or moments. I paint the space just before a decision, the point where one thing opens into another.

Colour, for me, isn't decoration. It carries the whole charge of the thing, loud, certain, impossible to walk past. That isn't an aesthetic choice, it comes from somewhere older. I'm Lebanese. I grew up understanding that beauty isn't the absence of difficulty but something you insist on regardless, and that insistence is in every painting.

I work in oil stick and oil pastel, pressed straight into the canvas, so the surface keeps the record of its own making. Never smooth. Layered, physical, alive. The work is ongoing. There's no final piece planned and no conclusion, only the same form, refusing to be exhausted.

The arch is always open. You only have to step through.