This artist reframes airport views into fine art ┃ Iuliia Shapoval

At Arts to Hearts Project, Art and Woman Edition 3 is full of women whose creative paths did not follow a straight line. Women who arrived at art through detours and career changes and years of doing something else entirely before they finally gave themselves permission to do the thing they actually needed to do.

We have always believed that those journeys are not wasted time. They are the foundation. And some of the most compelling work in this edition comes from women who brought every lesson from those other lives into their practice.

Iuliia Shapoval is one of our selected artists for this edition. Based in California, Iuliia spent years working as a UX designer at a level most people would consider a career peak. Leading design systems, running accessibility initiatives for international companies, solving complex problems for real users. It was skilled, respected, meaningful work and she was genuinely good at it.

But over time the role kept drifting toward logic and systems and process management and further from the visual, expressive side of design that had drawn her to the field in the first place. And painting, something she had been deeply connected to when she was young and had quietly set aside because it did not seem like a viable path, started pulling her back in a way she could no longer rationalise away.

The decision to leave a career that was working and return to something she had abandoned years earlier because it did not fit into a practical life plan is the kind of leap that looks clean from the outside but is messy and frightening up close. How Iuliia actually made that transition and what it cost her and what it gave her back is something she talks about during the interview with a directness that we really respect.

California shows up in her work in the most organic way. The softness of the light, the warmth in her tones, the openness of her compositions, none of it feels like a reference or a mood board. It feels like the natural visual language of someone who wakes up inside that light every morning and paints from within it rather than toward it.

Her paintings hold this quality that is hard to pin down. They feel dreamlike but never disconnected from reality. Like fragments of a larger story, places that exist somewhere between a memory and a place you have not visited yet. How she builds those atmospheres through layered texture, soft transitions, and very considered colour choices is what makes her work so easy to enter and so difficult to leave.

And her design training has not disappeared. It is right there in the structure of every painting. The compositional intelligence, the visual hierarchy, the precision of how your eye moves through the frame.

What has changed is that all of those skills are now serving her own creative vision rather than a client brief. That shift from external requirements to internal necessity gave her work a freedom and a warmth that you can feel immediately.

Let’s get to know Iuliia through our conversation with her about leaving a career that worked to pursue one that felt necessary, how California shaped her visual world, and what she would tell anyone still standing at the edge of the same leap.

Q1. Julia, can you share a bit about your background and what eventually led you from UX design into a full-time art practice?

I genuinely enjoyed my work as a UX designer, it gave me strong experience and the chance to collaborate with talented people. But over time, I realized that my role was becoming more about logic, systems, and problem-solving than visual expression. I wanted to move closer to the visual side of design, which led me to study graphic design.

During that process, I returned to drawing, something I hadn’t connected with since I was younger and unexpectedly, it became a central part of my practice. What started as a shift within design turned into a deeper commitment to painting. Now, art is not just an interest, but a daily practice, something I look forward to and continue to develop through exhibitions and ongoing work.

Q2. Your work feels dreamlike yet emotionally grounded how do you balance imagination with reality?

I usually start from something real: a place or a photograph, and then adjust the image as I paint, focusing on what feels right visually. I’m less concerned with accuracy and more with how the colours and atmosphere work together.

Colour plays a big role in my process, so I often shift it intentionally to better express the mood of the moment. I want the painting to feel engaging, to draw the viewer in and encourage them to slow down and spend time with it, noticing small details and finding something personal in the image.

Q3. A piece like View of Fuji suggests a connection to Japan, has Japanese culture or aesthetics influenced your work?

Japan has always felt like a distant point of fascination for me, a place I hope to experience in person one day. I’m drawn to the way it holds both technological progress and a deep respect for tradition and nature at the same time. That contrast is something I tried to reflect in “View of Fuji”.

While the airplane is the main subject, Mount Fuji becomes an important counterpoint, a symbol of stability, nature, and cultural continuity. I’m interested in that quiet coexistence: movement and stillness, modern structures and natural forms. In that sense, the influence isn’t direct, but more about the way Japanese aesthetics often balance simplicity, atmosphere, and respect for the surrounding environment.

Q4. Your paintings feature soft transitions & layered textures, how has your approach to materials and technique evolved over time?

I like to experiment with different materials and techniques, but over time I’ve become especially drawn to layering and soft transitions. They help me build a sense of depth and create an atmosphere that feels light and almost aerial. At the same time, I don’t want to limit myself to one approach.

I also work with materials like texture paste when it feels right for the piece. For me, the idea always comes first, it suggests the technique rather than the other way around. I see materials as a way to support the mood of the work. Whether it’s smooth gradients or more tactile surfaces, each choice helps shape how the space is felt, not just how it looks.

Q5. The titles of your works feel wonderfully poetic do they arrive before the painting begins, or only once the piece reveals itself?

I usually come to the title after the painting is finished. During the process, the work can shift quite a lot from the initial idea, so an early title often no longer fits. For me, the title is an important part of the piece. I’ve often experienced how a title can change the way a work is perceived, adding meaning or opening it up in a new way.

I try to approach my own titles in the same way. They’re not just descriptive, but a way to guide the viewer toward the mood or idea behind the painting, without fully explaining it.

Q6. Walk us through the process of creating one of your pieces from beginning to end. Where does it actually start for you?

It usually starts with an idea, something I want to express or explore visually, even if the image isn’t fully clear at first. I spend some time researching and gathering references that can guide the mood or composition. From there, I make a few sketches to test whether the composition works.

Once I feel confident in the direction, I choose the size and format of the canvas, which I see as an important part of the piece. I often prepare the surface with layers of gesso, sanding it to create a softer, matte quality. Then I tone the canvas and block in the main light and dark areas before building up layers of color.

As I work, the painting often shifts. Because I use acrylic, I can respond quickly, adjusting and repainting without losing momentum. The process is structured at the beginning, but becomes more intuitive as the work develops.

Q7. Your background in design centres on composition, colour, and structure do those skills still shape the way you approach painting today?

Yes, definitely. My background in design gave me a strong foundation in composition, color, and visual structure. In many ways, the visual language is similar; both rely on balance, contrast, and clarity. At the same time, working in painting feels very different. In design, you’re constantly navigating constraints, technical limitations, user needs, and stakeholder decisions. It’s a process built around compromises.

In my art practice, I feel a much greater sense of freedom. I’m still using those same foundational skills, but I’m no longer restricted by external requirements. Instead, I can focus on expressing my own ideas, experiences, and ways of seeing. That shift allows the work to become more intuitive and personal, while still being grounded in structure.

Q8. Does living in California influence your work in tangible ways the quality of light, proximity to the ocean, the landscape, the culture?

Yes, California has influenced my work in very tangible ways. The light here is different; softer, warmer and it naturally shapes how I see color and atmosphere in my paintings. I’m also inspired by the environment itself. Living close to the ocean gives me a sense of openness and calm that often carries into my work.

The landscape, especially in spring, with its intense and unexpected colors, has been very influential. At the same time, California has a very active and open art culture, which makes it easier to stay engaged and motivated. Interestingly, my series with airplanes started here as well. In Orange County, where I live, planes are constantly taking off and landing. That everyday presence of movement became a visual and conceptual starting point for my work.

Q9. At its deepest level, what does making art give you that a creative career in UX design never could?

I’ve been painting since I was very young. For a long time, though, it didn’t feel like a realistic path. When it came time to choose a profession, stability became the priority, and I moved toward design as something that still felt close to creativity. My work in UX was valuable, but over time it became more technical than expressive.

I realized I was missing something more direct and personal, a visual language that wasn’t shaped by constraints or expectations. Returning to art didn’t feel like starting something new, but more like coming back to something I had set aside.

It’s a different kind of engagement less about solving problems and more about exploring perception, atmosphere, and inner experience. At a deeper level, making art feels necessary. It’s not just what I do, but something that feels fundamentally part of who I am.

Q10. Your paintings often feel like fragments of larger stories, when creating, are you guided more by narrative or by atmosphere and emotion?

I like that you describe my work this way. I do think about narrative, but not as a fixed story. It’s more important for me to create a space where a story can exist. I want the viewer to feel like there is something beyond what is immediately visible, something that happened before or might happen after.

I often experience that myself when looking at art, trying to imagine what’s behind the image or what it’s trying to say. In my work, everything contributes to the composition, the materials, even the title. They all support the same idea: not to tell a complete story, but to invite the viewer to create their own.

Q11.If you could speak to yourself just before leaving UX to pursue art full-time, what would you say?

I would tell myself not to hesitate, just do it. It’s okay to change direction, and it’s okay for one chapter of your life to end so another can begin. We’re not meant to follow a single path forever. Priorities shift, and so do we.

What matters is not ignoring that feeling when something no longer fits. For me, the bigger risk wasn’t failure, but regret. I didn’t want to look back and wonder what would have happened if I had tried. So I would simply say: trust yourself, take the step, and don’t be afraid of starting over.

Q12. As your career has evolved, how have you stayed true to your own voice and visual language?

I don’t feel that I struggle with expressing myself honestly. My work usually begins from a need to say something, even if it’s not fully defined at the start. For me, emotional honesty comes from staying open rather than trying to maintain a fixed style. I don’t feel obligated to repeat the same visual language if it no longer feels true. Instead, I allow my work to evolve through experimentation and new ideas. As long as those ideas feel aligned with my inner sensation, the work remains honest. It’s less about consistency in appearance and more about consistency in intention.

Q13. When someone stands in front of one of your pieces whether it’s “Evening Settles In” or “Whispers of the Sea” what do you hope they feel?

I hope the viewer feels a sense of connection when they stand in front of my work. I often think about my paintings as spaces where a story can exist, but not necessarily one fixed story. What matters to me is that each person can find something personal in the image, something that connects to their own memories or experiences. It doesn’t have to match what I had in mind while painting. In that way, I see my work as a kind of bridge. A quiet space where different people can bring their own meanings and still feel something shared.

Q14. What advice would you give artists who want their work to feel emotionally authentic, not just visually polished?

I think it’s important to understand that technique matters just as much as the idea. Without a certain level of skill, it can be difficult to express what you truly want to say. Learning your tools gives you more freedom and precision in your work. At the same time, emotional honesty requires courage. Many people hesitate to express themselves, thinking their thoughts or feelings aren’t important or won’t resonate with others. But in reality, a lot of people share similar experiences. For me, being an artist is about allowing yourself to express those ideas openly. It’s that combination of skill and honesty that makes the work feel real, not just visually polished.

As our conversation with Iuliia came to a close, we kept thinking about hesitation. And how much it costs.

Iuliia spent years in a career that was good and stable and respected. And the whole time there was something inside her pulling toward a different kind of creative life that she kept putting to the side because it did not seem practical. Painting was something from her childhood. Something she had set aside. Something that did not fit into the path she had already committed to. And then one day she stopped hesitating and followed it.

We think about how many people are carrying that exact same tension right now. A career that works fine but does not quite fit anymore. A creative practice that keeps knocking on the door but never gets let in because the timing is not right or the finances are not right or the fear of starting over is louder than the desire to try.

Iuliia walked through that fear and what she found on the other side was not just a new career. It was herself. The part of herself she had put away when she was young because stability seemed more important than expression.

And the thing is, she did not throw away everything she learned in design. She brought it with her. The compositional thinking, the colour theory, the structural clarity. All of that lives in her paintings. The difference is that now those skills are serving her own vision instead of someone else’s requirements. The constraints are gone. The freedom is real. And the work is more personal and more alive because of it.

That is something we want every artist reading this to hear. Especially the ones who came to art late. Especially the ones who feel like they wasted time doing something else first. You did not waste anything.

Every skill you built, every discipline you learned, every year you spent doing something that was not quite right, all of it is inside you now and it is making your art better than it would have been if you had started with a blank slate. Iuliia’s design career did not delay her art. It prepared her for it. And her paintings are proof.

For anyone thinking about collecting Iuliia’s work, her paintings bring a specific kind of atmosphere into a space. Calm but not empty. Warm but not heavy. Layered in a way that keeps revealing new things the longer you look. The California light in her palette gives the work a softness that settles a room without flattening it. And because every painting holds more story than it shows, you will find yourself reading them differently at different times, noticing details you missed, feeling things you did not feel the first time. That is the mark of work that is worth living with long term.

Follow Iuliia Shapoval through the links below and see what happens when someone stops hesitating and finally lets themselves make the work they were always supposed to make.