Blog by Bep's Art Studio

I have been asked why I prefer using nail polishes.

The use of enamel in my work is a deliberate choice, born from the desire to make no compromises with the medium. For me, enamel is a pure language that admits no shades or half-measures. Every brushstroke I apply is a definitive statement, an assertion of presence and intensity. There is no room for hesitation; enamel does not allow for retracing steps, and every gesture becomes final. In this sense, it is ideal for creations that demand an inner tension, which I strive to convey without mediation.
When I paint, I do so with a passion that transcends technical execution. Each piece is born from a profound impulse, often a call to the philosophical and esoteric reflection that pervades my being. For me, painting is not merely an aesthetic act but an inner journey, a quest for meaning. Every colour, every shape, every line drawn by my hand is a response to larger questions, echoing through the universe as the reverberation of a mystery I seek to capture and express.
Above all, I believe that my way of painting is not just a technique but a philosophy of life. Each creation is the result of a silent dialogue with myself, with the energy that surrounds me, and with the invisible world that connects us all. Esotericism and philosophy form the foundation that gives depth to the surface of the canvas.

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From the little book "Confusion" by Pulcinoelefante

Loneliness, for me, is an intrinsic condition of human existence, an inner space that can be frightening but, if embraced, becomes a precious ally. It is not the absence of people that makes me feel lonely but rather the quality of the relationships around me. I often think of Nietzsche and that passage from Zarathustra where he says: "My solitude does not depend on the presence or absence of people; on the contrary, I hate those who steal my solitude without, in return, offering me true companionship." That’s exactly how it feels: superficial connections, which the world is full of, only distract me from my essence. Silence, on the other hand, helps me rediscover it.
Being alone is an art, a skill that takes time and patience to cultivate. When I allow myself the privilege of solitude, I immerse myself in a deep dialogue with myself. I admit that I often talk to myself out loud. It’s not madness, but a way to give shape to my thoughts and make them clearer. In those moments of reflection, I explore my aspirations, my fears, and my contradictions. It is there, far from the gaze of others and the weight of expectations, that I discover who I really am. Solitude thus becomes an inner laboratory, a place where my being is forged.
Yet I don’t see solitude as a permanent state. Its beauty lies in its transience, like a pause that adds value to the notes of a melody. If it lasts too long, it risks turning into isolation, and I know well how that can erode the soul and feed a sense of emptiness. That’s why I try to distinguish between chosen solitude, which enriches me, and imposed solitude, which impoverishes me. 
Another aspect that makes me reflect is the meaning of companionship. True companionship doesn’t simply fill a void but creates a bridge between two solitudes. It’s something that arises from mutual understanding, from the ability to be present without invading, to give without demanding. I deeply dislike those who steal my solitude without offering me a genuine connection. They are thieves of time and energy. Conversely, true companionship is a gift that enriches both sides, a sincere exchange that values each individual’s uniqueness.
And so, I ask myself: how good is it for me to be alone? The answer, I admit, isn’t always clear. For me, solitude is often a refuge, a place where I can be free, but I also know it cannot be a permanent retreat. Balance is the key: knowing how to be alone to understand and grow, but also carefully choosing whom I want by my side along my path.
Ultimately, solitude is a mirror that reflects who I am and who I want to be. When I accept it as an ally, it ceases to be a threat and transforms into a path towards inner freedom. Only then do I choose to open up to others—not out of necessity but out of an authentic desire to share my humanity.

Repair, Don’t Discard: An Ode to the Value of Things.

We live in an age where consumerism dominates our choices, urging us to replace anything broken with something new. This endless cycle not only weakens our connection to objects but also fuels unsustainable waste that threatens our balance with nature.
An object is not just material; it is memory. That chipped vase or wobbly chair is not merely a broken thing—they are witnesses of our time, fragments of life we have lived. Repairing them does more than restore their function; it honours the value they have held in our journey. Discarding them means discarding a piece of ourselves.
This culture of “repair and preserve” stands in opposition to the logic of consumerism, which traps us in an endless loop of production, purchase, and disposal. It is a system that transforms precious resources into waste at a pace nature cannot sustain. Humanity, however, is not a closed circuit harmoniously integrated with the planet. Unlike nature, we do not recycle ourselves but behave as outsiders who exploit and abandon.
Every repaired object is a small act of defiance against waste—a gesture of awareness that emphasises the importance of slowing down, appreciating what we have, and reconnecting with a more sustainable way of life. Repairing not only preserves things but also cultivates gratitude for their existence and their contribution to our daily lives.
The path to a better future lies in seemingly small choices: repair, preserve, protect. Only by doing so can we hope to restore balance with the Earth and with ourselves.