When we were born, we stripped ourselves of the strings joining us to pure life in our mother’s womb. That was the start of loneliness. To feel the pain of separation and remaining separate from others, to grasp and accept abandonment, to become conscious of a self attached to itself and detached from others constitutes the meaning of loneliness, an inevitability shaping the structure of the world, destroying speech where it resonates, leaving us speechless as we reach the edge between our loneliness and the others’ relation to our loneliness, an abyss where the ability to speak and to listen does not exist and language becomes incapable of conveying the whole pain that one feels to the other. The interwoven bulks of “Deprivation” are born in this chasm. I reproduce my own existence at different times and in diverse mental conditions throughout my works, nestled in myself, hanged from the wall or ceiling or attempting to stop or to move which leads to a leisurely crawling. I transform myself to another version of myself in a repetitive cycle and, in an incessant exploration hoping to discover or perceive, I writhe inside. Yet, when I come out, everything is the same as before. Only my internal tensions and struggles have led to wrinkles and changes in shapes. In this cycle, each day is not a new beginning but a miserable, protracted continuity of an ancient loneliness as old as man itself, from the dawn of history to the day when a man able to count and recall is still alive.