Drawings by Boyan Donev

In Boyan’s drawings there is silence. Not the hollow silence that echoes empty — but the silence of deep water, hiding its own bottom.

He draws the things that live between words. The place where memory, dream, and reality share no clear borders.

When you first look at one of his works, you see form—figure, face, object, silhouette. But if you remain a little longer, if your gaze lingers on the shadow falling along the edge of what is drawn—you understand that this is not an image, but an emotion sheltered in image.

Technically, he works with precision, with an almost calligraphic discipline, yet the feeling is never cold. Even when he uses black upon white, there is warmth between them—like a coal that still smolders from the memory of something once lived.

The figures and objects in these drawings often appear solitary, yet it is not the solitude of suffering. It is the solitude of freedom. The quiet in which thought no longer scatters, but begins to shine from within.

Every gesture is deliberate. No line is unnecessary. No ornament distracts. Everything is reduced to essence, like a person who has given up what does not matter—remaining only with what is true.

And so the viewer who stands before Boyan’s drawings does not simply look— he breathes. For a moment, the world slows. He feels the pulse of his own heart.

And he leaves with the sense of having touched something deeply personal, yet universal: a thread we all carry within us, though few dare to follow it to its end.

Boyan’s drawings do not speak. They are silent—and one who has a soul prepared to listen will hear much.

Lia