Anautomija is the studio practice of an independent artist working at the intersection of material research and painting. The works offered are painted with Cyme — a proprietary liquid medium developed through ongoing artistic research. It is made from natural procedures, drawn from different knowledge bases, combined into one coherent material.
Because of what Cyme is made from, it carries an intelligence that isolated or synthetic materials do not possess. The material is the work: its organic properties, surface behaviour, and unrepeatable character are the reason these paintings exist as objects worth owning.
Each work is on paper, unique, made once — there are no editions, no reproductions. What is offered is the original. Paper was chosen because it absorbs — Cyme enters its pores, sometimes fully. The painting becomes material not only at the surface but from within.
Cyme materializes into a painted surface that is closer to a record of behaviour than a visual image. You feel it before you analyse it. The surface is flat, but the eye keeps finding more inside it — not the illusion of three-dimensional space, not perspective, colour, composition — something else. A density that suggests more layers, more events than are visible. A residue closer to a mood, or a memory.
The works are A4 — an intimate scale that is also a condition. The only control applied during the process is pressure. At this format, Cyme has no option but to materialize. The scale is not incidental. It is where the work becomes possible.
The weight of the material is present — density, pressure, accumulation. The cracks suggest sound: the specific silence after something has dried and contracted and settled. And yet something in this surface resists the usual decoding. It doesn't behave like material that was directed. It behaves like material that was allowed — and that distinction explains what is felt before it is understood.
There is something exhausted about it — in the way that something is exhausted after it has done what it was supposed to do. The material ran its course. The process completed. What remains is not the effort — the effort is gone. What remains is the result, sitting in its own concluded state, not explaining itself. It is both the finished process and the full record of its becoming: imprinted, measured, structured — coexisting in the same surface. It is a painting answering its own secret — akin to the discovery of one's life purpose after living. The act of existing both in it and outside of it.