By Ukrainian artist Оleksandra Malyshko, member of the European Union Association of Artists.
I never expected my studio to become a frontline apartment, or that my paintings would one day stand guard around my bed during nights filled with explosions, drone raids, and air-raid sirens. Yet here I am — continuing my artistic project in real time, painting exactly in the conditions life gives me.
When a winter blackout hits and the electricity disappears for hours, the apartment turns cold and silent. The darkness makes colors harder to see, the brushes stiffen, and oil paint becomes reluctant under my fingers. Still, I spread a sheet of plastic on the carpet, bring all my paints and solvents in bags, and create a small island of light from a battery lamp. This tiny circle becomes my studio — a fragile space where creativity tries to survive.
Most of my finished and unfinished paintings now live with me in the city apartment. They stand along the walls like silent companions, witnessing my process. During air-raid alarms, I pull my mattress onto the floor between them, lay down next to the easel, and wait for the night to pass. Sometimes the paintings truly feel alive — as if they are breathing with me through every tremor of the window glass.
Creating in winter is the hardest. It’s too cold to paint outdoors, and inside the room the air is sharp, the light disappears too quickly, and inspiration becomes something I must chase rather than wait for. Often, I begin a painting only to abandon it halfway because another alarm interrupts the work. These unfinished canvases accumulate — leaning against walls, stacked near the tripod, growing like a visual diary of interrupted moments.
When inspiration arrives again, I sometimes place one canvas on the easel while another lies on the floor nearby. I move between them, one stroke here, one stroke there, letting emotion guide my hand. Art becomes movement, survival, improvisation. A painting can start at the table, continue on the floor, and finish days later in a different room, depending on where I find a bit of light and silence.
This is my living project — art created at the very edge of uncertainty, without staging, without illusions. My followers can see this process in real time, because I believe creativity becomes more powerful when shared openly.
And perhaps that is why my paintings feel so alive: they are born not only from color, but from resilience, fear, hope, and the stubborn desire to stay human.
If my story resonates with you, I warmly invite you to connect with me. I am always open to friendship, conversation, and community.
You can find me on Facebook and Instagram — and if one of my artworks speaks to your heart, it would be my honor to let it travel to you.
