Buddhism
If it were not for life in China, I would not do what I do now. China inspired me, but it took me a few years of self-reflection to recognize its exact influence upon me.
I grew up in a mid-sized city in Western Ukraine. A city where every centimeter of space mattered as everything was either limited or unavailable — canvases, materials, studios. The art represented in local museums and art shops (we did not have galleries at that time) was done using heavy oil paint. It suited the old city's aesthetics, which were a mix of European and Soviet heritage, with its massive sculptures on buildings' facades in warm colors. That surrounding influenced me and my artistic expression. While studying art in a local college, all my dreams were in heavy oil paint in warm colors.
During my first few years in China, my hometown's influence followed me, but it too slowly began to dissipate with the experience of the new city. In Beijing, the sizes of the canvases were as impressive as the size of the capital itself. The availability of it was not an issue, and the space of the artist's studio could be filled with any sort of art and still have free room left over for new experiments. The color of the contemporary buildings, Chinese ink, and hints of tradition left on Beijing's streets gave one’s imagination more room to explore new possibilities. Beijing’s different contrasts were unlike anything that I had experienced in Ukraine. The duality of my past and my new future gave me a push to try something new and explore beyond my earlier boundaries.
The first «serious» artwork directly influenced by the circumstances mentioned above was the triptych «Three Steps». Although the size of the piece was not huge, it took significant courage for me to get started on it and 4 to 5 months of working 6 hours daily to complete. I needed courage because I feared that people may not enjoy the piece that I was about to create. I was trying something new. My fear also stemmed from the fact that I did not graduate from an art school or university, where unusual ideas were accepted. Instead, my surroundings were very conservative and in keeping with the region that I lived in. It was about being «common» and ordinary. To see contemporary art in Ukraine, you needed to make a trip to the capital to the only art center available. It felt «unnatural» for me to be surrounded by something more unique and contemporary. In China, I found my old notions being subverted by these new circumstances and encounters. I met an artist here who covered a 10-meter paper with a pencil. It made me realise that art was not necessarily about being «common» or «pretty». It had the potential to be something much bigger. I had the potential to be something different than what I thought I was.
But this break from tradition also made me feel the need to protect myself. Like monks who seal themselves from harsh reality by escaping to the mountains and establishing their holy place where they can study and bring themselves closer to Buddha, I too felt that I needed a safe space, far from unsupportive, prying eyes. I was determined to make such a place of escape for myself, for my practice and my art. I created my meditation room. Or I should say «recreated» as the notion of it was always within me — a safe place where I can draw quietly. My meditation room was closed from others' eyes and worked as my spiritual place.
I recall the first experience that I had of a peaceful mind, while painting a scene from the seaside from memory, in an empty room; a memory of a trip to the sea of Japan that I took when I was five years old.
I suppose, in some sense, even now, I am trying to recreate that vision of the sea at night, using recurring lines which go to the horizon in a repetitive pattern and this practice permits me to study just like a Buddhist monk who is learning his way by repeating uncountable mantras.
During the same period as I began my journey into art, I also came to be interested in and influenced by Buddhism. In time, I became a Buddhist. I took a road trip from Beijing to Tibet, and on the way to Qinghai province, in a temple between mountains along a river, I got my second name Zaxi Wangmo. In that temple, I also learned about the three stages in Buddhism, which led to my first artwork's core concept.
The three stages in Buddhism are:
Accept Buddha. We accept the way and the existence of Buddha.
Study. Learn Buddha, yourself, and the world.
Arrive at Buddha.
I was inspired by the philosophy of these three stages that I interpreted in my own way. I wanted to express this idea in a more familiar way, which could be more accessible by us. The first stage is general acceptance when we stop ignoring things/problems around us but take them as they are. The second is study and understanding, as life is an infinite university. The third is liberation from what you have come to know. In Buddhism, Buddha is everything and nothing at the same time. Therefore, as we come to understand things, they became neutral to us.
Although I was baptized as an Orthodox Christian when I was born, I felt no guilt in abandoning this religion. I was not attached to it and I could not relate to the worshippers in churches who sincerely believed in God and God’s love but could not accept my colorful nails. Nor could I find a lot of proof of love in the Bible. However, I am still Ukrainian. And as such, I cannot wholly deny its religious holidays and traditions as they are an intrinsic and deep part of the culture. I enjoy having a Christmas celebration unique to Ukraine, even different from Russia. As long as we have these traditions as a representation of national culture and heritage, our nationality will live and grow, despite the rapid internationalization of the world and myself. That is also why when I became a Buddhist, I freed myself from the need to immediately deny my traditions and culture.
«The only thing I know is that I know nothing.»
This idea of Socrates finds expression in Buddhism and in ancient Oriental culture. It further gave me the strength to embrace this new religion and give myself the space and time to understand it at my own pace. I accepted that I had time to learn, and that sooner or later, I will learn more about it, either by direct study or through meeting people and situations in life. This notion often confuses people because when they discover that I am a Buddhist, they expect me to know all the Buddhist mantras and stories and that I pray daily. I think this judgment is false. Knowledge does not always bring you beliefs, and beliefs do not necessarily bring you knowledge.
The Buddhist philosophy of three steps resonates with my vision of being, where I accept my ignorance and accept that I am an eternal student. I do not want to learn Buddhist stories and doctrines purely for the sake of learning them. I would much rather focus on things that I feel are more crucial in my life. Now is the time to explore my own ideas and what surrounds me through psychology, science, and growth in my work.
How can we understand the world and what is beyond, without understanding something that is the closest to us, which is ourselves?
