Juliet Faldin

Year of birth: 1997
Where do you live: London
Your education: Bachelor Degree: Plekhanov Russian University of Economics,
Postgrad courses: Craft of a Director at UCLA, Creative Direction at UAL
Describe your art in three words: Expressive, sharp, ambiguous
Your discipline: Visual arts
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How has your background in design and art direction influenced your transition into fine arts and cinematography?

Transitioning from design to fine arts or cinematography feels natural because many foundational principles overlap. For example, working with color involves similar considerations—whether aiming for contrast or complementarity, the goal is to achieve balance. Similarly, an understanding of composition and visual hierarchy applies seamlessly, whether you’re designing a UI, creating a painting, or setting up a scene during filming.
This background gives you a strong starting point, making it easier to pick up new mediums. It’s like having a set of tools you already know how to use, so you can dive right into sharpening your skills and exploring creative ideas in fine arts or cinematography without feeling lost.

Many of your works explore themes like feminism, politics, and human relationships. What personal experiences or observations inspire these themes?

I feel it would be easier to talk about each theme separately. Let’s start with feminism.

Honestly, as a woman, the older I get, the more I notice how unfair the world is to us. It’s everywhere. Women’s health doesn’t get studied enough, and even the painkillers we’re prescribed are mostly tested on men. There’s barely enough data to rely on for conditions that only affect women.
Then there’s the constant fear—walking home at night, checking if someone’s following you, dealing with catcalling like it’s just a normal part of life.
And the statistics are heartbreaking. Most women who are killed lose their lives in their own homes, at the hands of someone they trust. In places like Afghanistan, women aren’t even allowed to sing, but birds can. Imagine that—a bird has more freedom than a woman.
It makes me so angry, and I don’t always know what to do with that anger. So I paint. It’s how I process it, how I let it out, and how I try to make people feel something about it too.
Moving to politics. I’m originally from Ukraine, so politics and war are deeply personal for me. A lot of my work—sometimes intentionally, sometimes subconsciously—reflects that. War has shaped my life in ways I never wanted it to. My homeland is invaded, my home city has been bombed, my loved ones are in danger, and I live with the fear of what might happen next every single day.
I read horrifying stories about what people from one country have done to people from another, and it’s hard to process. Living in London adds another layer of complexity. For many people here, the war in Ukraine is just another headline, something they hear in passing while they have their morning coffee. I don’t blame them—it’s hard to feel connected to something you’ve never experienced. But that disconnect can feel isolating.
That’s why I created a piece called Grow an Eye. It’s about actively seeking out global news, being curious about what’s happening beyond your own safe corner of the world. Living in a first-world country, it’s so easy to assume everything everywhere is fine. I remember when I first moved to London, I was struck by how calm everyone was. And then it hit me—they haven’t experienced the kind of corruption and instability I’ve lived through. They don’t know what it’s like to wake up one day and find your home under attack or your government working against you.
I’m not saying that’s their fault. But I do think it’s important for all of us to educate ourselves about the world—not just about Ukraine, but everywhere. There’s so much we don’t know, and understanding it makes us more human.
Finishing with Human Relationships. This one’s a bit simpler. I think the emotions we share with others—love, hate, friendship, isolation—are universal. We’ve all been through some version of them. We’ve all loved someone deeply, been hurt, felt lonely, or regretted not appreciating our parents enough while they were still around. We discover ourselves through the people around us, and those connections shape who we are.
One thing I love to do at exhibitions is to ask people what they see in my abstract paintings before I tell them what inspired me. Their interpretations are often so personal yet somehow resonate with what I originally intended. It’s not because I’ve done something special—it’s just how abstract art works. Viewers bring their own emotions and experiences into the piece.
I think the reason their interpretations often align with mine is that, at our core, we’re all so similar. Abstract art has this amazing ability to connect us—to communicate shared feelings without showing anything literal. Just through colors, strokes, and textures, it speaks to something universal in all of us. That’s what makes it so powerful.

Juliet Faldin, Grow an Eye, 2024

What attracts you to abstract and expressive styles, and how do these approaches help convey your message?

What I love about abstract art is that there are no rules. You can do whatever wild idea pops into your head, start with no plan at all, just improvise, and still end up with something meaningful. That freedom is amazing. And what’s even better is how open it is—everyone sees something different in it, something that feels personal to them.

My favorite thing, though, is when people say, “My cat could do that” or “I could do this—why is it in a museum?” It always makes me laugh because, honestly, artists like Mark Rothko get so much hate for the same reason. I always tell them, “Okay, then do it. Grab a blank canvas, get some paint, and go for it.” But most never actually try. And that’s the thing—abstract art might look simple, but once you give it a shot, you realize there’s so much more to it than meets the eye.

Juliet Faldin, Point here, 2024

Could you walk us through your creative process? Do you have any specific rituals or practices that guide you when creating art?

Most of the time, the idea or vision comes to me at night. I’m usually too lazy to get up and sketch it, so I just try to remember it. I have this belief that if the idea is strong enough, it’ll stick with me—I won’t be able to stop thinking about it until I bring it to life. Sometimes I’ll do a quick sketch with oil pastels to figure out the colors or composition, but since I use dripping techniques, it’s not something I can fully plan out on paper.
Before I start painting, though, I like to be really clear about what tools I’ll need. Will it be brushes or knives? Regular acrylics or pouring ones? That part is pretty deliberate.
Once I start, I have two “rules” I always follow:
1. There are no mistakes. I know not everyone would agree with this, but for me, if the painting doesn’t go as planned or I don’t like how it looks, that’s just an opportunity to discover something new. I always find a way to make it work—even if it’s not what I originally imagined.
2. The phone test. This might sound silly, but when I’m close to finishing, I take a picture of the painting and look at it on my phone. Since I work on big canvases, seeing it small helps me step back and figure out if the composition feels right or if it needs more color in certain areas.
There are probably a lot of little things I do without even thinking about them, but these are the two that stand out the most when I think about my process.

Juliet Faldin, MULISM, 2024