My work grows out of emotion, intuition, and the need to transform inner experiences into images. I paint to understand myself, to stay connected to the world, and to give shape to feelings that are often too complex or fragile for words. My visual language moves between naïve surrealism, folklore, and quiet psychological storytelling — always anchored in honesty and sensitivity.

The figures and creatures in my paintings live somewhere between reality and a dream. They carry both humor and pain, lightness and discomfort. Animals, spirits, hybrid characters, vulnerable people — they are all mirrors of emotional states, protectors, or witnesses. Through bright colours, simple forms, and a touch of the grotesque, I explore anxiety, tenderness, loneliness, hope, and the human longing for connection and healing.

My process is deeply intuitive. I rarely plan a painting — it grows from a feeling, a bodily impulse, a moment of clarity or confusion. I let emotions guide the composition, allowing the image to reveal itself gradually. This is how my works become personal documents: not of events, but of internal landscapes. And yet, each piece is also an invitation for the viewer to meet their own emotions through mine.

Since the beginning of the full-scale war, my practice has taken on a new layer. In the series “Tales of War,” I focus on the invisible wounds — fear, displacement, maternal anxiety, resilience, and the quiet forms of hope that keep us alive. For me, painting during wartime is both a way of witnessing and a way of surviving.

I build my own mythology through painting, drawing, and mixed techniques — a world where humans, animals, and spirits coexist, where reality can shift into magic, and where emotion becomes a language of its own. My aim is not to explain, but to offer a space of recognition: a place where the viewer can feel seen, touched, or gently unsettled.

Art, for me, is a way back to myself and a way to stay open to others.