Paintings made in a single surge of movement — colour thrown, dragged, and left where it lands. Each one happens once, and never again.
One unbroken gesture: a wandering knight, a loyal companion, and the distant windmill that became a symbol of impossible dreams. Literature reduced to pure visual poetry.
Ivaylo Peytchev paints in motion. Each canvas is a single, committed gesture — colour flung and pulled across the surface, then allowed to find its own order. Nothing is planned twice. Nothing is corrected. What looks like chaos is a decision made in one breath and never taken back.
The work moves between explosive colour and severe restraint — a festival on one wall, two colours of silence on the next. Built by hand in the studio, layered and instinctive. No editions. No reproductions. Only the original moment.
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