Identity
Although art has always been in my life, my goal was not to be an artist. Until the age of 25, I was not thinking of being an artist, in any serious way, although I was interested in creative activities. I studied and dabbled in music (piano, guitar, DJing), literature, different crafts. I did tattoos and piercing, studied art, and painted in different styles. But I could not see it as something I could do as a career, and I failed to see any visible talent in me. Therefore, I have not studied art at university. I graduated with a major in Fashion Media from the Beijing Institute of Fashion Technology.
The writer, Elizabeth Gilbert describes creative ideas as notions that rather than being created by us, find us within the universe. I like this approach, but I extend it to think of “ideas” finding us not just to bring them to life but also for us to build a life with them. When you meet an idea, you have an affair with it, date it, fall in love with it, and finally, marry it or let it go. When you start dating an idea, whether it be in style, in concept, or in medium, it becomes a relationship with its own unique highs and lows.
That is what happened to me and my artistic practices. I “dated” different styles and mediums, but I never wanted them in my life for long. It was not until a combination of abstract repetitive lines from Chinese ink and nib pen appeared on my paper that I finally fell in love with it. Creating the first series of these new works was a phase of checking myself out with this style and understanding how we got along together. I had to see if I wanted to continue, or if it was something temporary. Ultimately, I loved it more than anything else. Yet I still was not sure if I could be established in this relationship and call myself an artist. A year passed, and I created the «Three Steps» triptych. That artwork was like a marriage between me and my style of art. It was the step when I proved to myself that I could be committed. At the same time, I felt as if art too responded to my way of expression, and a mutual bond of trust and love was created.
When you can call yourself an artist, it is a sign of a personal commitment to the craft. Everyone has a different understanding of it. Even though it is nice when people from outside can confirm the «Artist» status by exhibiting your works and buying them, I never felt this definition was necessary. In my case, more than anything, I cared about my commitment, and I wanted to be proud of my work. It is like in a marriage where you are together no matter what, and even through pain and loss, you support each other.
With time, I also came to develop my relationship with art into a polyamorous relationship. Marketing and entrepreneurship came into play. These relationships add to my personal fulfilment even though they create a challenge for others in defining my profession. This analogy extends itself beyond occupations to include countries. The artworld likes to classify the quality of art by its origin. As an artist, I also need to identify my artwork's nationality to represent it well in the market. Since I have three equally important countries for my personal and artistic growth, it became a difficult task to choose one. I cannot represent Russia, as I grew up there but have not lived there for many years. I cannot represent Ukraine as an artist as I do not live, work, or develop myself there. I cannot be a Chinese artist either, because the current definition of what it means to be a Chinese artist excludes me. I am a Ukrainian passport holder, but technically, when it comes to geography, I feel as if I a grey area artist.
My identity influences the perception of my art. It is fascinating to observe people view my art without knowing who made it. They often assume that the creator is a Chinese person, who is also probably male. I frequently hear comments that my art is Asian, with notes of Daoism. People are then surprised to find that it is made by a Ukrainian female artist. In a few seconds, I sense the impression of my work change in the viewer's eyes. It is the moment when it transforms from Asian art to become Ukrainian art. Simultaneously, despite the «Asian» feeling of my art and the medium I use (Chinese Ink), my nationality limits the possibilities for my art to appear among Chinese and Asian artists who represent the Contemporary Chinese Ink Art movement.
A «grey area artist» or better put, a «multinational artist» can create new possibilities in a newly developing and the internationalizing world. The need to attach nationality to art and narrowly confine a person to only one occupation is not just a personal question, but rather a broader one of acceptance.
