What I love most about jewellery is its potential to bring together the body, the soul, and the mind. It can make you think while still being physically connected to the body and, at the same time, affect you on the level of the soul. In a way, it is wearable art. Because it can move beyond exhibition spaces and homes, it has a wider space in which to exist, move, and be experienced.

For me, this is more of an open-ended experiment, without necessarily searching for a definitive answer. I’m interested in where the aura of jewellery lies and what actually makes an object a piece of jewellery. Does it need to be immediately recognizable as jewellery, or can a new form that does not initially appear to be jewellery become connected to the body through an idea or gesture, and therefore become jewellery? I like exploring this boundary while deliberately leaving the question open.

I generally try to present what I see and perceive without passing judgment on it. Gold, for example, holds a particular significance for me. During the war, family jewelry was extremely important to my grandparents because they could exchange it for food when necessary. That experience shaped my parents’ relationship with gold, and through them, it was passed on to me. This is one reason I like to use gold, antique jewelry, and pearls in my work.

At the same time, I consciously avoid creating a hierarchy between materials. Anything can appear in my work, from the simplest plastic to gold, because I am interested in breaking down the value systems traditionally associated with different materials. I don’t choose a material because of how valuable or precious it is, but rather because of how precisely it can relate to a particular idea, meaning, or context.

The use of pearls and antique jewelry also holds important meaning for me. These objects already carry a story, a past, and certain meanings that have become attached to them over time. By placing them in a new context, I want to carry those meanings forward while giving the objects the possibility to move beyond their previous associations and become part of something new.

For me, this also serves as a symbol of human growth and transformation. Just as these objects can change and acquire new meanings, we too are capable of moving beyond our former selves, continuing to grow, and redefining who we are.

I was interested in the roots of hoarding behavior and in the changing intentions or underlying motivations behind it. I was also thinking about how destruction is traditionally associated with weapons and masculine roles, while the ancient symbol of gathering, the basket, is more closely linked to feminine roles. Yet collecting and accumulating can be just as exploitative and environmentally damaging, even if that destruction is less visually apparent.

My intention, however, is not to judge. I am part of consumer society myself, and I see judgment as another potentially destructive energy. Instead, I want to create an honest, three-dimensional imprint of our time, observing and reflecting the world we live in without passing judgment on it.

My objects are not intended as criticism. Rather, I seek to present, without judgement, what we are, or what we can also be like. I’ve noticed that people are often encouraged to change through fear, guilt, or shame. I believe in a freer approach: showing what I perceive without judgment, then asking whether there might be another way. For me, real change comes more naturally through awareness, curiosity, and free choice.

I'm not familiar enough with the beauty industry to have a strong opinion about it. I’m more interested in the absurdities of human behavior, and I like to approach them with humor. When I notice myself taking something too seriously, or placing too much importance on how we should look or who we should be in order to feel accepted, I like to laugh at it. For me, humor is a way of loosening these fixed ideas and perspectives. And when I laugh, I’m primarily laughing at myself, not at others.

I’m not particularly attached to giving my works titles, although I’m often asked to. Most of the time, a title comes naturally with the work, but sometimes it doesn’t. In those cases, I feel that adding one could make the piece too didactic or define its meaning too narrowly. But when a title can add another layer or introduce an unexpected twist, I’m very happy to give the work one.

Most of my text-based works begin with an observation. Through my work with clients, I become aware of recurring problems, emotions, or patterns of thought, while also paying attention to the deeper tensions and concerns present in the world today. I then look for a kind of counterbalance, allowing a sentence to emerge in response to these experiences and offer a different perspective or a greater sense of balance. With text, I mainly pay attention to whether it feels healing, uplifting, and empowering enough. This is also the fundamental intention behind my work: to uplift, strengthen, and nourish.

For me, possibility is a choice that has not yet been realized or fertilized.

For me, fertility is not exclusively connected to motherhood, but more broadly to the idea of creation. I also see my artworks as my own creations. This is why I am deeply interested in the process itself: how we shape our lives through consciousness, and how consciousness, our lived reality, and our biology are interconnected. In my work, I explore this relationship between consciousness and biology, and how we can change our vibration and our energy. I’m also interested in how I can consciously choose and influence the energy of my work, because energy matters.

I’m interested in how people work, especially the subconscious mind and the automatic patterns and emotions that guide us without us realizing it. I’m also curious about how our thoughts, emotions, and collective consciousness might affect the world we live in. And I want to explore how I can contribute to positive change through my art.

In traditional exhibition settings, I sometimes feel there is too much distance between the viewer and the artwork. In those moments, I become interested in how the visitor might enter into a closer, even physical, relationship with the work. This is not a primary goal of my practice, but with certain pieces it becomes important.

The idea for the bed, for example, came to me during a meditation. Since I also work with healing, I began thinking about how nourishing it could be for the physical body to rest on natural materials such as straw and clay. This is why I chose these materials and introduced a kind of healing bed into the exhibition. I wanted visitors to be able to lie down and rest, and, in this relaxed state, continue the exhibition within themselves through their own thoughts and images, creating space for whatever the experience had set in motion.

Reproduced Paradise is one of my favorite projects I’ve been involved in, for many reasons. First of all, I had the chance to work with an incredible group of people, and together we created something quite unique: an exhibition where contemporary art and contemporary jewellery came together within a paradise of our own making.

The project began when two dear friends approached us with the idea of creating something for Ékszerek Éjszakája, a contemporary jewellery event in Budapest. As we started brainstorming, we allowed ourselves to dream big, and that’s when the possibility of staging the exhibition in the former Váncza Villa came up.

The villa itself added an incredible layer to the project. It was an abandoned domestic space with its own history and atmosphere, and placing contemporary artworks and jewellery within it created an interesting dialogue between the objects, the architecture, and the idea of an imagined or reconstructed paradise. For me, that tension between the real and the constructed was a big part of what made the project so special.

What matters to us is the emotional quality of the works we exhibit and how they can contribute to uplifting emotional experiences. It is equally important for us to support the artists we work with not only professionally, but also on a personal and emotional level. A serious artistic career requires significant inner work, and this is something we consciously pay attention to.

Alongside my artistic practice, I also work as a mental health professional and organizational development consultant, so we integrate this perspective into the way the gallery operates. We aim to broaden the idea of success so that it is defined not only by visible professional achievements, but also by joyful and fulfilling inner experiences. We want artists to be able to flourish as individuals and to create an environment where how a person feels and exists in the world is just as important as what they achieve.

My new thoughts.

I've just taken a deep breath.