Mariia Shevchenko

Mariia Shevchenko | Silent Swing

Your works often balance between darkness and light, pain and hope. How do you approach capturing this tension on canvas?

I do not consciously strive to create a balance between darkness and light, it occurs naturally because life itself contains both elements. I begin by using dark colors to depict profound moments, and then add brighter tones that break through the dark, creating a sense of contrast. In this way, the canvas becomes a place where these opposites interact, helping the viewer to empathize emotionally.

You describe the body as a map of memory. Could you share more about how you translate personal or collective memory into visual form?

I see the human body as something that holds all of our experiences. Every person carries their history in the way they hold their shoulders, in the lines around their eyes, and in the smallest movements of their hands, and I try to capture these subtle signs of lived experience in my paintings. Collective memory appears through these shared bodily languages: a bent shoulder that speaks of weight carried too long, the expressive position of fingers that can show vulnerability and strength at once, or eyes that remain open even when they hurt. In this way, the body becomes a visual language that is deeply personal, yet also universal.

Mariia Shevchenko | Solerentia

In your statement, you mention that you “do not depict, but testify.” What does this testimony mean to you as an artist?

When I say I don’t just depict things but testify to them, I mean I’m sharing real truths from life rather than only showing a pretty picture. This testimony is about being honest and giving a voice to experiences that might be hard to talk about. As an artist, it pushes me to pour genuine feelings into every piece, ensuring that what I create connects deeply with others by reflecting authentic parts of the human story.

Many of your works seem to emerge from dreamlike or fragmented spaces. How does memory, trauma, or dream imagery influence your choice of forms and colors?

My work looks fragmented because that’s how memory actually works – it comes to us as pieces that float up from our subconscious at unexpected moments. When I remember something important, especially something emotional or traumatic, it often comes as a flash of color, or a particular feeling, rather than as a complete scene I can describe logically. I try to paint these emotional memories as they feel to me, which means sometimes combining elements that wouldn’t normally go together, or using colors that represent feelings rather than realistic appearances. For example, I might paint skin in an unusual tone or place figures in impossible spaces because that’s how the memory exists in my mind, suspended between what actually happened and how it affected me. This approach allows me to capture something more truthful about the experience of being human than if I tried to paint everything exactly as it appears in reality.

Mariia Shevchenko | On Fire

Silence plays an important role in your art. How do you create this sense of silence in a visual medium?

Silence is a big part of what I want to convey in my art, and I build it by keeping things simple and open on the canvas. I use large areas of calm, empty space with muted colors, so the viewer’s eye isn’t overwhelmed and can rest in the quietness. This approach makes the painting feel peaceful, drawing people into a moment of stillness where they can reflect without any visual noise interrupting.

Mariia Shevchenko | Madonna Codicis | 2025

You speak of painting darkness with light. Could you explain how you use contrasts—both in subject and technique—to achieve this?

When I speak of painting darkness with light, I don’t see them as enemies in conflict, but as two parts of the same human experience, capable of existing together and even giving strength to one another. Technically, I build my paintings in layers: darker undertones first, then lighter colors added on top, but always in a way that lets the darkness show through, so the light gains depth and the canvas glows as if from within. In subject matter, I am drawn to figures and moments that carry this same duality—people who are strong yet vulnerable, painful situations that already hold the seed of healing, relationships shaped by both closeness and distance. I believe human experience rarely lives in pure states of joy or sorrow, hope or fear; instead, it dwells in mixtures, and my aim is to capture this emotional truth through the shifting interplay of light and shadow.

Mariia Shevchenko | Unsatisfied Lust

In your works, incompleteness is not a flaw but a reflection of memory. How do you decide when a painting is “finished”?

In my art, leaving things incomplete reflects the way memories are never fully whole, so it is a deliberate choice rather than a mistake. I consider a painting finished when it expresses what I intended, when the unfinished areas feel necessary and add meaning. Completion for me is not about covering every inch of canvas or defining every shape, but about whether the work conveys an emotional truth—even if that truth remains partial and open to many interpretations.