I first touched beads at the age of nine, and from that moment, working with material became a way of sensing the world.

For more than thirty years, I have worked with beads — researching, inventing, creating, and studying the history of the material. Over time, this work grew into something much deeper than craft or decoration. I worked with beads as structure, as weight, as tension, as repetition, and as presence.

The works were highly detailed and labour-intensive, carrying images, narratives, and recognisable forms. I created objects that depicted trees, landscapes, cities, and architecture — entire environments built bead by bead.

But even then, I was not only interested in how the work looked. I was trying to transmit something through it: calm, silence, harmony, and a certain inner stillness.

These were not only ideas behind the work. They were the states I was trying to bring into the material. They appeared in the compositions, in the structure, and even in the titles. At different moments, I also worked with painting, and later combined painting with beads, trying to carry this transmission further.

Yet regardless of the medium, the question remained the same:

How can something internal become real in the work?

Over time, I began to notice a fundamental limitation.

No matter how precise or complex the work was, it was still received as an image. A tree was seen as a tree, a landscape as a landscape, a city as a place. The viewer could interpret, associate, and translate. The work was understood through what it depicted.

And in that process, what I was trying to transmit could become lost. The calm I worked toward became an idea of calm. The silence became a symbol. The harmony became a visual composition. Everything risked being reduced to meaning.

This created a growing tension in my artistic direction. What I experienced in the act did not reach the viewer in the same way. There was a gap between action and perception that I could no longer ignore.

It became clear that the limitation was not in the material, but in the dependence on image.

An image can suggest a state, but it cannot preserve the act through which that state entered the work. Even when working entirely with matter, as long as the work depends on depiction, it remains within interpretation — and interpretation belongs to the viewer, not to the act.

What I was searching for could not pass only through what was seen.

It required a different entry point.

What was missing was not another form, but the moment in which the act itself could become materially present.

Not as illustration.
Not as symbol.
Not as effect.
But as something that had actually occurred.

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A DIFFERENT QUESTION

Art is often approached through meaning.

What does it show?
What does it express?
What does it represent?

But my question shifted.

Not what the work means, but how it comes into being.

From that realisation, a shift began to take place.

I did not change material. I changed the condition under which the work existed. I began to move away from image — not as a stylistic decision, but as a necessity. I stopped building compositions that needed to be read. I stopped depending on representation as the vehicle of meaning.

Gradually, the work became simpler on the surface, but more precise in its action.

What remained was the Carrier, the bead, and the act.

At a certain moment, I fixed a single bead to the Carrier — not as decoration, and not as part of an image, but as a direct action.

It was not a symbol. It was not an illustration of expression. It was not something to be interpreted. It was an act.

This was not a story added afterwards. It was experience gained through action.

A moment in which the act entered matter through the bead — and with it, something became visible.

Before the act, the bead was not there. After the act, it was. The Carrier had changed. Something had occurred that did not exist before.

The work no longer referred to anything outside itself. It did not describe, and it did not represent. It existed through what had happened.

This was the turning point.

From there, the work no longer depended on completion as a final image. A Unit may begin with a single bead and may also be complete with that single act if further action is no longer necessary. Or it may continue, expand, pause, or remain as it is until the action for which it was created has been fulfilled.

Each act became sufficient in itself, yet open to continuation.

Time no longer led only toward a finished result. It became part of the work itself. The process was no longer separate from the outcome.

The act was the work.

From this, Bead Impact Art emerged.

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BEFORE BEAD IMPACT ART

The works below belong to the period before Bead Impact Art emerged.

They are not presented here as a separate artistic direction, but as evidence of the path — of material knowledge, formal intensity, and the long movement toward a different understanding of how a work can act.

They show the attempt to reach impact through image.

And they also reveal its limit.

The work does not create light.

It reveals it.