The painting of Cuty moves us not only for its visceral honesty but also for its candid humanity. A profound connoisseur of art history, he eschews aesthetic posturing and academic pretense. Nor does he preach false moralisms. Even in certain paintings, which some timid observers might label as politically "incorrect" — where a Lenin reveals himself while urinating or glances sideways under a pop emblem of the sickle and hammer, next to a sensual young woman — we can't help but see a tribute to Lenin the man, a creature of flesh and bone, rather than the embalmed corpse in a mausoleum or the one-dimensional figure of Stalinist manuals.

Far from seeking to shock or disturb with his work, Cuty aims to enrich our existence, challenge our perceptions, and make us accomplices in his clarity and joy of living. Admirably persistent, he continues to reveal the most human aspects of people and things, be it internal pain and physical discomfort, or the primal pleasure, barely-contained delight, and genuine delectation. The warmth and dark splendor of Cuty's paintings make him feel very close and endearing. By this, I mean that, although they may never admit it, many would like to possess some of these (per) (mas) turbing images to sublimate or exorcise intimate erotic fantasies. I, who have a Cuty cardboard hanging in my room, confess I would have no issue filling an entire wall with several of his works.