Untitled 

Curator: Well, look at this: an untitled piece by Ion Bitzan. The abstract rendering presents what seems to be a cityscape dominated by maritime elements rendered in oil with an impasto technique. Stark, isn’t it? It feels very grey, very raw. Editor: It does! The density of the impasto speaks volumes about the artist's process—a visible layering of effort and materiality right there on the canvas. I am immediately drawn to how that very physical manipulation becomes part of the content. It evokes the laborious tasks of waterfront industries themselves. Curator: Yes, there's a real tangible quality here. I almost smell the salt and metal, don't you? Beyond the materiality though, Bitzan, at least for me, is conjuring that almost unbearable weight of progress itself… a bittersweet melancholy. Editor: That emotional heft is undeniable, and the subdued monochrome adds to that! Notice how the limited color palette makes each dab and stroke highly performative—they aren’t just representing, they are *doing* something. Also, look closely: are those boats or buildings being dismantled? Is this the labor of building or demolishing? The open-endedness invites us to speculate on the very conditions of its creation. Curator: Hmm… building, demolishing...perhaps both. Like looking at a photograph in reverse: the creation and destruction happening simultaneously! But isn't that what abstraction does best? Suggest rather than dictate, hinting at multiple narratives swirling within its strokes? And that vibrant red amid the gloom… almost violently defiant. Editor: Defiant perhaps, or simply drawing our attention to how color—even a single stroke—becomes a crucial element in structuring the narrative of labor and materiality here. Bitzan offers us a chance to see the political in the poetic; how industrial forms shape—and are shaped by—our lived experiences. Curator: A vital dance between maker, materials and milieu then. This piece, despite its apparent desolation, ends up singing with an unsung rhythm, doesn't it? Editor: Yes, absolutely. By reducing the representation, he highlights the making—a potent way to remind us of all that goes into producing the world around us.