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By now, you’ll have noticed that I have a clear preference for depicting women. Blame it on the online courses I took to practice figure drawing—there was no shortage of female models, and many of those poses struck a chord with me. But at some point, I felt the need to balance the collection. I needed a man in one of my paintings again. The more physical, the better. And ideally larger than anything I’d painted so far.

So when I came across a 50×50 cm linen canvas, I took it as a sign. A new size, new surface, new subject. I decided to try all of it at once.

I chose the figure of a fighter—one of the most dominant symbols I could think of—and set out to create a composition that would subvert that dominance. I didn’t want a triumphant pose or an action scene. I wanted collapse, stillness, the moment after. A crumpled letter in his hand—perhaps not immediately noticed—became the focal point of the story, hinting at a blow not delivered in the ring, but in life.

The square format of the canvas I had found felt perfect for emphasizing the emotional claustrophobia I wanted to convey. There is no escape to be found in the frame. The composition resists drama: the lighting is restrained, the palette subdued. Everything folds inward. The pose breaks from traditional depictions of power, grounding strength in vulnerability.
In the distance, a solitary spectator watches—removed, unreachable. Their presence enhances the quiet tension: a reminder of how alone we often are in our most private reckonings, even when someone is right there.

As I said, this painting came from a need for contrast—not just in subject, but in tone. There are moments when you win a match but lose the game. When triumph clings to your skin, even as the ground shifts beneath you. That quiet instant—when the noise dies, the world tilts, and everyone else becomes a blur. You’ve given everything. The body still holds power, but something invisible has broken.

This work inhabits that space of contradiction: strength met with surrender, dominance pierced by vulnerability, all under the silent gaze of someone who cannot step in.