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I LOVE TO EAT BACON, TOO #12
mixed media on canvas / 71 x 91 cm / signed May 2026
Ovidiu Kloska’s painting unfolds as a slow implosion of the human figure into its own emotional excess. The work no longer belongs strictly to the realm of portraiture, nor to pure abstraction; instead, it inhabits that unstable territory where identity becomes volatile matter, where the body ceases to be anatomy and transforms into fluid memory, inner noise, and emotional residue.
The central figure appears extracted from a psychological accident. The face is not represented, but consumed. Its features dissolve into layers of chromatic smoke, nervous drippings, and gestural interventions that evoke a continuous struggle between control and collapse. The painting breathes heavily, almost organically. Nothing here is decorative in the classical sense, although the entire composition possesses a violent, hypnotic seduction.
The I LOVE TO EAT BACON, TOO series continues here its ironic and brutally lucid dimension. The title — seemingly playful, almost absurd — functions as a mask for a meditation on contemporary consumption: the consumption of image, identity, emotion, and ultimately, one’s own fragility. In this work, the human being appears simultaneously as predator and victim, consumer and consumed flesh. The implicit reference to Francis Bacon is not mimetic, but conceptual: the body becomes a field of existential tension, a site of deformation and radical vulnerability.
The chromatic palette is orchestrated with an almost cinematic intelligence. Shades of petroleum black, burnt brown, and dirty violet create a dense, nearly toxic atmosphere, interrupted by eruptions of visceral red and white accents cutting across the surface like electrical discharges. These interventions serve not only a compositional role; they function as affective impulses, traces of an energy impossible to domesticate. The viewer cannot contemplate the work passively — one is absorbed into an unstable psychological space where the image seems to be simultaneously born and self-destructing.
There is also an almost theatrical dimension within the piece. The figure appears suspended between apparition and disappearance, like a presence captured in a moment of spiritual disintegration. The painterly gestures acquire performative value: splashes, scratches, and drippings are not accidents, but traces of an intense inner choreography. Chaos is carefully orchestrated, while the tension between compact areas and nearly evaporated zones produces a visual rhythm of remarkable refinement.
Constantly fascinated, this dynamism of shape opens up in a unique way, by projecting a way of mind, a mind performance with neurological circuits. This is my “magic eye.” I believe that by uniqueness begins with the very capacity of inventing universe out of things shattered by time, things that have changed into ephemerity. There are hours that I spend staring at the mud, at the wrinkles of the trees, at the rust of walls damaged by time. It is an exercise that everybody should make. It means worming the spirit, getting in touch with the sublime. I am connected to silence and endless time during the short chat between things. Sublime. Esoteric.
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Rumania
