Courtesy of
Dorothy Circus Gallery
and the artist
Andrey, Your art with its harmonious blend of realism and symbolism, is absolutely fascinating. Looking at your magical works, one wonders if there is a hidden message to discover within them. What inspired you to embark on the path of painting and how did your interest in the Russian iconographic tradition arise?
I grew up in an atheist society and my discovery of the spiritual world of Orthodoxy came quite late. It coincided with my studies at an art institute. Accordingly, I also discovered iconography. I studied at the department of monumental painting, and the techniques of Old Russian art were very close to my worldview at that moment, when I began to go to church and discovered these mysteries of the spiritual world. Work with egg tempera, which I discovered during this period, corresponded to my temperament at that moment. Now I work with other temperas, but at that moment it was a revelation for me, and I was happy to plunge into these new experiences. For me, the iconographic language is a carrier of absolute, perfect aesthetic form with no emotional message. This is one of the main laws of religious art. And by taking such techniques into account, you can already convey to the viewer in a certain way the special moods of your works. I use it. Studying Old Russian iconography, I discovered for myself an absolutely inexhaustible source of utterly amazing techniques, which to this day are extraordinary, very unusual. And this is a whole encyclopaedia of means of expression for the modern artist and for the modern viewer, too.
To what extent have your birthplace, Yakhroma, the natural and social environment in which you grew up, and the contact with traditions and popular stories influenced your artistic vision?
Childhood is a time when everything is new, and what you see has a special power. If it takes place in a special place, an artist can use it for the rest of his life. Yakhroma is a unique place that influenced the choice of my path. As a child, I was fascinated by the romanticism of the horizon line, I imagined mysteries, cities, and countries behind the hills. Later on, associations with art emerged. As a pre-schooler, I looked at the miniatures of the Limbourg brothers, created in Burgundy in the 15th century, and saw in them the landscapes of my native land. The second discovery was Bruegel’s paintings set to the music of Bach in the cinema or on TV. The view from my window seemed very similar to them. Family played an important role: my doctor parents and creative brothers and sister encouraged my art studio classes. My parents loved books, and I loved to climb into the bookcase and leaf through them. From the first books – ‘Tretyakov Gallery’ with my favourite painting – ‘Sleeping Boy’ by Venetsianov. Later, teaching composition to students, I realised that all this shaped my attitude to what is worth painting. The main task of an artist is to ‘attract the love of space’, as Pasternak said, i.e., to depict space as a source of influence on the viewer. The details are not so important. You, inspired by the real world, have your own world that you tell about.
Your style is very distinctive, with an incredibly meticulous technique and a deep connection with Russian culture. How would you describe your artistic evolution and how does the influence of tradition blend with your personal visions?
The creative path is a constant learning process consisting of two parts. The first is the development of visual sensitivity, the ability to notice unique and paradoxical moments in ordinary life. The second is the development of ‘visual sensitivity’, the study of the works of great artists, which forms a reference point for the painter. After all, an artist is a researcher of space and psychological situations occurring in it. As a result, works are born that are unexpected even for the author himself and interesting to the viewer. This process is not endless, so it is necessary to intellectually comprehend the experience of other artists. I realised early on that I was interested in techniques that influence the plastic experience of form and space. I am sure that this is what an artist should strive for. I have always loved and felt Russian art in all its manifestations: constructivism, Byzantine and Mir Iskusstva traditions. The creative result is always a surprise. The ‘like/dislike’ formula is the engine. You pass everything through yourself, through your heart, and something new is born. This is the law of the birth of meanings. It’s one thing to learn a craft, but it’s another to make the work make sense in the eyes of the viewer. This is the marvellous moment that every artist strives for. Some intuitively, and some logically, through intellect. The main goal of visual arts education is to develop creative intuition. Stravinsky said that it is infallible. Art at every historical stage is perfect, it does not evolve, as it always tells about the unchanging world and eternal problems.
In your paintings, the boundary between reality and imagination is often blurred. What role does imagination play in your creative process? Are you seeking something in the realm of imagination that cannot be fully expressed in reality?
All my paintings are inspired by reality, by the world around me, or by a dialogue with artists of the past or the works of old Russian artists. And imagination starts to work thanks to this interaction; that is to say, it is secondary.
The women portrayed in your works exude a sense of allure and mystery. Who do they represent, what roles do they play, and what messages do they convey?
The main thing in a painting is the plastic idea, and when I work on it, it is necessary to embody this idea, to fill it with some details. So, these details are born, invented in the process of working on a large form. As a result, new meanings are born unexpectedly for me. Somehow it just so happened that the main heroes of my paintings are women. Women’s images for me are the personification of some ideal pure state of mind that I would like to talk about through my paintings.
Your color palette is very refined, moving from rich reds and blues to the warmer colours of gold and green. Is the use of gold primarily decorative, or does it also hold symbolic and spiritual significance?
I often depict golden fabrics, golden draperies in my paintings. I associate them with a kind of energy in which the human body is clothed. But in different situations it has different meanings. In some cases, it is heavenly light, heavenly energies, and in other cases it is a very heavy burden in which the human body is enclosed.
The plant or animal elements that you incorporate into your works appear magical and oneiric. What do they symbolise and how do they integrate into the message you wish to convey?
All the details in the paintings I come up with are directly related to or born out of a search for meanings. However, they are necessarily connected to the form. They lie on that form and, because of that, they have that power to influence the viewer. Therefore, it is hard for me to talk about specific symbolic meanings, as these details are created or chosen as if subconsciously, in correspondence with the greater artform and feeling I try to convey. So, these details cannot be perceived or have meaning in isolation from the general plastic idea.
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Courtesy of
Dorothy Circus Gallery
and the artist
Marion, it’s a real pleasure to be able to ask you a few questions and give our readers the opportunity to get to know your art better. For us at LYF, who love surreal art, the unexpected, provocative, and oneiric elements, your works are a source of delight. Where does this special magic that you infuse into your works come from, and how does the desire or need to bring your stories to canvas arise?
I think the only way to bring magic into art is by knowing that magic is real. Of course, ‘magic’ means many different things to many different people, but for me, being able to recognize and honor magic whenever and wherever it makes an appearance is supremely important. Recognizing magic feels close to experiencing beauty. Like beauty, it causes that sudden intake of breath also known as ‘inspiration’, but magic contains a tinge of the uncanny, a whiff of other dimensions. Bringing a hint of magic to others via my art is what I live for. It is my hope it will sustain them, the way it does me.
How does your creative process work? Do you start with a blank canvas and build up gradually, or do you already have an idea of what you will tell?
My idea or inspiration often feels quite specific, but at first I pin it down only with the loosest of pencil sketches. These sketches often contain a subtle essence of the initial inspiration, which is so important to hang onto as the work is developed more fully, so I refer back to them frequently. I start painting directly on a blank panel with loose, thin washes of paint. I build these up gradually as shape, form and color slowly coagulate and solidify. Then I continue to work and work until the painting ‘releases me’, which sometimes it will not do for a very, very long time. I have no choice but to keep working on a painting until I am totally satisfied with it. There’s no way to speed up the process or rush it, though it is often maddeningly slow. It just takes what it takes.
Looking at your paintings, I am reminded of the writings of Breton, particularly ‘Poison Soluble’, the creative automatism of the surrealists, and their need to record images that from time to time emerge from the unconscious, with references to fairy tales, legends, and bestiaries. Does this comparison have any substance, or is it merely a coincidence?
Absolutely I feel a great kinship and admiration for the surrealists of the early twentieth century. Like them, I am fascinated by the unconscious. I love the peculiar beauty of images and language pulled from its depths. I am fascinated by the ingenious techniques developed by the surrealists, like automatic writing and games like ‘exquisite corpse’. The collective unconscious produces the images, fashions, characters, myths, and fairy tales of a society, just as individual minds produce dreams. I find them all to be fascinating. My unconscious is ‘the source’ that is absolutely necessary for me to connect with in order to feel inspiration and make art.
How important has the influence of other artists, both from the present and the past, been to you?
For a very long time, the only other artists I liked had all been dead for hundreds of years. As a young artist I felt a strong connection and kinship with Giotto and other painters of the early Renaissance. I’ve always loved looking at all kinds of old paintings, but, aside from Lucian Freud and a few others, I felt pretty unmoved by most contemporary art until the late 90’s, when I first came across the work of my future husband, Mark Ryden, which absolutely blew my mind. Now there’s so much contemporary art that I like. I admire the work of John Currin, Neo Rauch, Nara, Dana Schultz, and so many others. The art landscape has changed completely. It will be interesting to see what happens next, with all this AI business. It’s so easy to get overwhelmed by so much, too much happening. For me, the nice thing about painting is I can always shut my studio door and do my own thing. But it took me a long while to get to this point. I think it would be hard to be a young artist trying to find their voice now.
What has shaped your artistic approach the most?
A belief in the power of archetypes, of love, beauty, timelessness, sincerity.
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Courtesy of
Dorothy Circus Gallery
and the artist
Fatima, can you tell us a little about your story? When did you realise that painting and art would become an integral part of your life?
I was born in the Philippines and emigrated as a child to the United States in 1987 where my family settled in San Antonio, Texas. A summer mural painting program for area high school students sponsored by the San Antonio Museum of Art introduced me to the art of the Mexican muralists like Diego Rivera and the museum’s art collection. It gave me a solid foundation into the art of composing pictures, of having a rigorous painting workday and the lifelong practice of studying art history. I saw the possibility of creating a life dedicated to art making.
How has your background influenced your creative journey, and in what ways?
I spent my early childhood in a lovely but small provincial town, and thus could only see great paintings in books and magazines. The Philippines is a mostly Catholic country, and the religious iconography of saints, martyrs and reliquary is rooted in my consciousness. I still paint the faces of saints. When young, one’s imagination tends to make up the details and I desired to make the traditions of western art, religious iconography, folklore, and myth my own.
Which artists, movements, or artistic currents have had a decisive impact on your work, or have otherwise helped shape your artistic direction?
I love the richness of Renaissance imagery and the playfulness of the Rococo period. A constant has been Antoine Watteau. There is something so wistful and sad within all the imagery of love and music. In another flavor, I also really love John James Audubon, because I am a nature lover and a casual birdwatcher. I admire the early naturalists, especially Maria Sibylla Merian who married her scientific observations with her artistic sensibilities.
What is the genesis of your works? What primarily inspires you when creating?
When I see or hear or read something I like, I engage with it fully and consider it a gift. I believe that a work of art requires a conversation between creator and audience. When I find myself captivated as the audience of a painting, poem or music, I find myself composing pictures and images as a response. It is a bit like a treasure hunt, or a puzzle, discovering and fitting together disparate bits of art and nature into something entirely my own.
In your work, eyes seem to represent more than just portraits – they appear to be symbols of emotional connection and intimacy. Is this a reflection on the power and vulnerability they convey?
I am most interested in the ambivalent gaze. A gaze without a fixed emotion is one that can transfix viewers and lead them to imbue their own feelings to the persona represented. Such a gaze can also be one that is caught in the vulnerable space between emotional states. Eyes hold secrets.
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