'Stories on Circles' revisited

When we first unveiled Stories on Circles by omentejovem at Silk Road Chapter 02 in Bali, it felt like we were all stepping into an orbit together. The collection – consisting of ten works and a prelude – was presented in Sun Contemporary Gallery and radiates both intimate and expansive thoughts, all rooted in the artist's personal diary but immediately open to collective interpretation [just as omentejovem wants]. Now, a few months later, I find myself returning to the works, compelled to look again and to zoom in on the details that might have slipped past me during the energy of its debut.

At its core, Stories on Circles is a reflection on how limitations can become a source of liberation. Omentejovem gave himself a fixed boundary – the circle – and asked what could happen within it. That edge becomes both a barrier and a place of freedom. In Bali, this idea was also enacted live: attendees were invited to draw a circle-like shape on a small piece of paper in black, and omentejovem would respond by drawing around it with different color markers. An initial line or a contour, a first mark always changes the blank page and helps you move forward. As someone who has stared at a blinking cursor many times, I know how much weight an initial gesture can carry. In this regard then, for omentejovem the circles were spaces from which to begin.

What unfolds within each circle is deeply personal for the artist. Yet, like any good diary, these stories don't just belong to the author – they find resonance in the reader, or in this case, the viewer. Once you start looking closely, the little moments emerge: symbols, rhythms, tiny tales playing out across the surface.

Two Voices, One Circle

Take Two Voices, One Circle. This work feels like you're not only looking, but also listening with your whole body. "One voice speaks, the other feels," the description says – and the tension between these imaginary people creates a hum that sort of vibrates through the image. For me, the thick purple-blue-ish curve looks to have sound waves within, the recognizable, ometejovem's signature half-moon shapes and dots giving an idea of pulsating.

I see a pick-up, a half empty bottle of wine and I wonder: what music are they listening to? Did they lie on their backs, both one side of the earphones on, staring at the ceiling? Or were they slowly dancing around his room, letting the melodies of music and speech overlap? Or was the artist all alone, and the one 'speaking' the singer coming through his speakers, with him feeling the weight of the music? In any case, the piece seems to hold an intimate conversation between sound and the bodily experience.

Playing Chess with Love

In Playing Chess with Love, there's a sharp metaphor tangible for me. Omentejovem gives us an outline: "I held my heart like a king behind fragile pawns, each move a negotiation between caution and surrender. Love, like the game, offered no promises of victory."

For me, the artwork asks whether love is a game we play or one that plays us, with equal parts strategy and surrender. The checkered 'board' takes up most of the space, but there is a fair amount of openness in the work as well, in the white-gray part that seems to show a path (a way out?). Is life itself a maze, and if so, can we ever find the true center? The piece pulls me into that question without offering resolution, which is perhaps the most honest way to treat it. However, if I can see the exit from afar – can I also reach it?

I feel another tension here: does the artist enjoy the play, or is he weary of being played? I'm reminded of how love – like other big things in life – often demands both calculation and recklessness, how every decision carries weight when the outcome is uncertain. Looking at this work, I don't see a winner or a loser. I see a state of continuous uncertainty – fragile pieces arranged, moved, toppled, and reset. The question lingers: is the goal to win, or simply to stay in the game? I guess by now we all know life's answer.

Sitting at the Edge

I'm constantly drawn back to this work because it gives me the least figurative perceivings (note: with I Had Dreams About You being just as abstract for me). The circle is crowded with marks that resist recognition: glowing orbs, curved strokes, washed 'sprays', all within intense bursts of yellow, orange and purple – with stark black to contrast.

However, I can't help but notice the idea of eyes (looking at me). Some seem clear and deliberate, while others only suggest the form – concentric rings, dots, or shapes that might be watching. They give the piece a restless energy: are we the observer, or are we being observed?

The orange oval at the center seems almost alive, pulsing through the soft edges like a portal. Around it swarms of color that are frenetic and almost overwhelming, creating a sensation of being on the verge of something, or being surrounded. You're not fully immersed though, and I think that's where the title lands for me: Sitting at the Edge. I guess it's not about being inside the chaos, but right at its border, close enough to feel pulled in, yet also in safe distance not to lose yourself.

I also think about how the purple arc curves like a night sky, with the white dot (moon?) hovering inside. Against the riot of yellows, it feels like a counterbalance – a reminder that even at the edge of turbulence, there is still a quiet presence watching over. The work therefore holds yet again a tension, in this instance of being in-between: between light and dark, calm and storm, the seen and the unseen. And maybe that's what makes it so magnetic: it doesn't let you settle. Instead, it asks me to dwell in that liminal space where there's no given clarity.

A constellation of tension

Together, the ten works, plus prelude, form a constellation of sorts – not closed loops but open invitations. Circles that contain many thoughts and memories, generating novel thinking and re-evaluation in the minds of the observer. Looking back, I realize that's what makes Stories on Circles so enduring: each time I return to it, the works feel slightly different, as if shifting in response to where I am now.

The young mind

For those discovering omentejovem for the first time, he is a self-taught digital artist from Brazil whose practice oscillates between abstraction and figuration, always anchored in lived experience. His recurring symbols – like a moon and a dot – mark out a visual language that is both deeply personal and universally resonant. You can read more about the artist here.

And for anyone wishing to see the full collection overview, or to inquire about some of the limited edition prints of Stories on Circles that are still available, you can find it here.