From the series “Rooted in Her Own Silence”, 2026
Oil on canvas
Each 75 × 75 cm
I am 38. And to understand who I am today, I have to return to the very beginning.
To childhood.
I grew up as a girl who sensed everything. I lived through my body — feeling tension in the air, the moods of adults, dangers not yet named by words. Very early I understood: to survive, I had to be convenient. I had to anticipate it. I had to earn love.
My mother is a separate story.
I hold her with my heart, and I am grateful to her for many things. Through her, a deep empathy and emotional sensitivity grew within me. She walked her own difficult path and, even without realizing it, taught me how to feel about others.
But it was my aunt who raised me.
In my memories she remains the one who controlled my life harshly, without giving me a choice. There were moments when my boundaries did not exist. When my body no longer belonged only to me.
And so, I learned one thing — to survive.
At 18 I left home. And another chapter began.
Loud. Bold.
A reckless empress.
Parties, alcohol, forbidden substances, and dangerous connections. I searched for love and acceptance in a world that itself did not know what to do with itself. There were passion, betrayal, and violence. There were relationships where boundaries disappeared, where I tried to feel my worth through the eyes of others.
I lived at the extreme. I fell — and each time I retreated into solitude. Into pain. Into self-analysis.
And in 2012, when the world was waiting for the end of days, for me it truly happened.
A book by Osho came into my hands.
I read it — and for the first time I did not feel judged. Everything that had happened to me was not called “sin,” but an experience. Not a “fall,” but a path.
I flew to India, to Pune, to the Osho International Meditation Resort.
I immersed myself in active meditations, body therapies, and deep inner work. I relived my childhood again — this time in a safe space. I cried. I screamed. I released my aggression in a conscious and ecological way.
My sensory perception opened. I began to feel the world differently — beauty, silence, the breath of life. I stopped being afraid to live.
I remembered moments from childhood when I was truly happy.
I was happy when I was drawing.
These memories had been deeply stored in my body, and during therapy they opened again.
I began to draw.
And life began to flow in a completely different direction.
But I went deeply into the body and did not go into psychology. I learned how to feel, but not how to protect myself. And when I returned, life began to test me.
The most painful theme was relationships.
My father was almost absent from my life. Inside there was an emptiness I tried to fill with love.
I began to observe myself in relationships. I saw my patterns and my old scenarios. They appeared again and again. But now I was aware of them — and I began to change them.
At some point I formed an intention: not to change to another person, but to change myself.
That is when psychology entered my life.
I began studying Carl Gustav Jung — the nature of the shadow, archetypes, the masculine and the feminine. I understood that the path of awareness is not only the body and the heart, but also understanding how you are structured.
And I remembered Osho’s words that awareness is wholeness: body, heart, and understanding.
Today I am learning the most important thing — boundaries.
Learning to say “no.”
Learning not to lose myself in love.
And now I am standing at the exhibition “A Home with a View.”
My paintings are not simply canvases. They are my path.
Because I finally understood:
My home is not a place.
My home is not people.
My home is my body.