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.
My Master of Design (Hon.) at COFA, UNSW focused on one question: How can we improve children’s engagement with printed materials to support better learning outcomes? My research shows that the more areas of the brain engaged in processing information, the stronger the memorisation and recall. I explored how to activate as many of these pathways as possible — story for narrative memory, colour for emotional response, sound and action for sensory cues, spatial awareness for orientation, and visual coding for recognition. In short: designing visuals that teach, entertain, and stay in a child’s memory. But my journey with children’s design began long before my Master’s. Over the years, I’ve illustrated several children’s books and created my own comic book about the adventures of a Ukrainian boy in Australia — writing 20 stories and drawing all of the comic illustrations myself. These projects shaped my understanding of how we see, learn, and connect with visual narratives — a foundation that continues to guide my work today.
Knowing your tools deeply — how they behave, how they age, how they respond to light and heat — changes the way you work and the confidence with which you make decisions. During my time at Azur Studio in Kyiv, we took part in a number of art trips across Europe, visiting paint and medium manufacturers directly. These experiences were invaluable. Being able to ask questions about materials from the people who created them — the chemists, designers, and technicians behind the products — gave us insights no manual or catalogue ever could. Who could know the materials better than those who developed them? Along the way, we also participated in workshops with local designers who introduced us to the full potential of different gels and pastes, transparent and opaque paints, and specialised products for textile decoration and pseudo stained glass. We explored techniques for creating patina, working with gilding, and layering surfaces in ways that expanded both technical knowledge and creative possibility. I often find myself missing those times — being surrounded by like-minded professionals, travelling, learning, experimenting, and talking endlessly about what we loved most: paint, surface, and decoration. Those journeys shaped not only my technical approach, but also my respect for materials as active partners in the creative process.
