Solitary Man 

Curator: Tania Rivilis presents us with an arresting image. It’s called "Solitary Man," an oil painting bursting with texture. The impasto is so thick, it feels almost sculptural. What jumps out at you, initially? Editor: An unease, definitely. It's that vivid green backdrop paired with the melancholic posture of the figure, hands covering his face, but not quite. He's both shielding himself and offering himself to the viewer, which creates this strange tension. Curator: Yes, that bold green – an unsettling choice, isn't it? It's almost acidic, amplifying the raw emotionality. The subject's face, obscured yet present, conveys so much vulnerability. Editor: Structurally, the hand placement is crucial. The reddish hue draws immediate attention, acting as a barrier. The negative space created frames the side of the face. The tension makes it dynamic, not just a simple portrait. Curator: Rivilis really uses that impasto to build both form and feeling, doesn't she? Those thick strokes capture every nuance of shadow, every line of worry or weariness around the eyes, which, even though lowered, seem to bore into me. It gives it this raw, palpable presence that tugs at something deep. It whispers stories of resilience, perhaps? Editor: Precisely! It uses expressive brushstrokes that don’t necessarily describe the real form but invoke an emotional form—something bordering neo-expressionist figuration, in which subjectivity itself is foregrounded by a seemingly simple arrangement of colors. It could be resilience; it could be quiet desperation, but its power is in not fixing those signs into a narrative whole. Curator: The tension in this is incredible. I like the ambiguity—is it pain or pensiveness we witness here? Rivilis leaves room for our own stories to seep into the image. The beauty and mystery lie in that dance between artist and viewer, wouldn’t you agree? Editor: Without a doubt.