Mosaic has always fascinated me for its quiet complexity. There is something magical in planning to deconstruct a design into small pieces, only to assemble it again into a new whole. Each fragment carries its own presence, yet only truly comes alive in relationship to the others.
Our eye moves naturally along the lines between the pieces, enjoying the rhythm of separation as much as the image they form together. We see the individual elements, the design they create collectively, and the spaces in between — all at once. That simultaneous experience is what makes mosaic so compelling to me: multifaceted, layered, and endlessly engaging.
Beyond its visual richness, mosaic surfaces are also wonderfully practical. They are not afraid of a hot cup, a wet glass, a scratch, or a spill. This combination of beauty and durability is what makes mosaic especially appealing to me — art that can be lived with, touched, and used every day.
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.
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.
