Breathing Space was a group exhibition by True Blue & a Little Bit of Yellow, held at The Art House, Wyong, NSW, from 1–25 May 2024. It felt good to return to the Central Coast and exhibit together once again.
The works on display moved between bold painterly gestures and refined detail, with many pieces inspired by the coastal landscapes of the Central Coast and Sydney’s Northern Beaches. The exhibition offered space for colour, reflection, and connection — a moment to pause, breathe, and engage with art grounded in place and experience.
Breathing Space was both a return and a continuation — of shared practice, shared values, and ongoing support through art.
For me, as for many of my collectors, moving to Australia has been a blessed and life-changing experience. At the same time, it doesn’t erase the feeling of missing home. Memory travels with us — through seasons, colours, familiar landscapes, and small visual details that stay deeply rooted inside. Quite often, Ukrainian collectors commission artworks that reconnect them with home. These might be flowers remembered from a childhood garden, the softness of snow, the glow of golden autumn, or the unmistakable outlines of traditional Ukrainian architecture. These subjects carry emotional weight — they speak of belonging, memory, and personal history. I find great meaning in creating these works, because I share the same feelings. Painting nostalgic themes allows me to revisit places and atmospheres that shaped me, while offering others a visual connection to what they hold dear. The artwork becomes more than an image; it becomes a bridge between past and present, between where we come from and where we are now. Through these commissions, nostalgia turns into something tangible — a way to honour memory, identity, and the enduring connection to home, even when life unfolds far from it.
In the fifth grade, I first tried watercolour painting—and it instantly became a source of immense joy. The way the pigments danced and blended on paper felt like magic. I discovered that watercolours have a mind of their own: their fluidity and unpredictability invite collaboration rather than control. Over the years, this dialogue between brush, water, and pigment has stayed with me. Every time I pick up a watercolour brush, I’m reminded of that first spark of discovery in year 5—the joy of watching colours flow freely, forming something beautiful and unexpected. My journey with art didn’t stop there. I’ve dedicated my entire life to studying and working with various materials—acrylics, oils, texture pastes, and more—each offering its own challenges and rewards. Yet watercolour remains my first love, the medium that taught me to trust the process and embrace the beauty of imperfection. Even today, that simple act of dipping the brush in water brings not only pigments to paper but also a flood of memories, a quiet sense of gratitude, and a profound satisfaction that has endured since those early school days.
