Gregor Becker works within matter as within memory.

Watercolor paper is his field of meditation — a skin that absorbs pigment, holds light, and reveals the breath of time.

It is a fragile body that both resists and yields to transformation. Becker saturates it with color, challenges its surface, bends it to the slow rhythm of metamorphosis.

 

Each sheet, hand-painted on both sides, becomes a threshold between the visible and the invisible.

At times, he covers it with gold or silver leaf, like a contemporary icon that does not celebrate the sacred but recreates it through the vibration of natural light.

He then cuts and fragments the paper into tiles, into “pixels” of an analog grammar that resists digital uniformity.

 

On a custom-built support, Becker places each fragment with surgical precision, embedding it in a wet adhesive matrix that recalls the technique of fresco.

There is no preparatory drawing: composition emerges from rhythm, gesture, and light.

The work grows as a living organism, balancing control and surrender, calculation and intuition.

 

After weeks of drying, the surface is bent, refined, and sealed with a thin layer of resin — not to immobilize it, but to preserve its breath.

Each piece results from a process that is both ritual and exacting, where craftsmanship becomes vision, and slowness becomes intensity.

 

Through this method, Becker renews the sacrality of making: every fragment is an act of faith in the possibility that matter might think, that paper might see, that light might be touched.

The work, therefore, does not represent — it happens.

It is an event of light that breathes, absorbs, and remembers.