Why this artist paint surreal figures through dark colour palettes│ Victoria Chervinska

At Arts to Hearts Project, for Arts to Hearts Magazine Issue 12: This Is Me, we found ourselves drawn to artists whose work felt emotionally honest the kind of work that doesn’t try to present a perfect version of identity, but instead allows you to witness someone questioning, feeling, evolving, and understanding themselves through the process of creating.

Victoria Chervinska’s work felt exactly like that, her paintings carry this strange, beautiful tension between dream and reality. You look at them and immediately feel like there’s something happening underneath the surface emotionally, even if you can’t fully explain it yet.

There are figures, symbols, shadows, fragments of stories, deep reds, quiet expressions, surreal spaces that feel both ancient and personal at the same time. And honestly, listening to Victoria speak about her journey made the work feel even more human.

She grew up in Ukraine surrounded by folklore, mythology, nature, and imagination, and those influences stayed with her long before she had the words to describe them. Even as a child, she was already painting strange worlds, symbolic creatures, and emotional spaces that felt bigger than ordinary reality.

Then life shifted. She moved to the United States, stepped away from art for a few years, and found herself trying to rebuild emotionally while carrying the weight of distance, identity, guilt, memory, and everything happening back home during the war.

When she eventually returned to painting, she returned through abstraction first. Not because she had a clear plan, but because abstraction became the only honest way to express emotions she couldn’t fully explain yet.

The way she described painting almost like entering a meditative state, where symbols and forms begin appearing naturally before she even fully understands them herself. Red spheres. Shadows. Faces slowly emerging from abstraction. Paintings becoming a way of discovering what was already sitting quietly inside her.

And over time, the work started evolving with her. The abstract shapes became figures. The emotional became physical. The paintings began holding mythology, psychology, symbolism, memory, identity, fear, transformation all at once.

But even with all those layers, the work never feels heavy-handed or overexplained. It still leaves room to breathe. Room for people to bring their own emotions into it too.

Now let’s get to know Victoria through our conversation with her about mythology, memory, immigration, symbolism, and creating paintings that feel less like fixed stories and more like emotional worlds you slowly enter over time.

Q1. Could you share your background and how you became drawn to psychological and symbolic storytelling in your work?

I have always been drawn to mystical themes, even as a child. Back then, a lot of my work was inspired by Ukrainian folklore, customs, and nature. As I spent more time practicing, my work started becoming more cohesive. Between the ages of 13 and 18, I was already immersed in worlds of forest creatures, surreal spaces, and humans coexisting within them. At the same time, I was navigating academic representation at art school, balancing imagination with structure.

After years of creating, I stepped away from art for about three years while figuring out life as a young adult. In 2022, I returned to painting, but in a completely different way — through abstraction. It was new to me, and I quickly realized that beyond emotional release, my intuitive paintings carried recurring elements: certain colors, shapes like red spheres. Each painting felt like time didn’t exist —just the flow of paint on canvas. I also started reconnecting deeply with my Ukrainian heritage through symbols.

That pushed me to question myself and the world more seriously. I began studying psychology, symbolism, and how similar images appear across different cultures and centuries. I was fascinated by how someone can use symbols subconsciously without fully understanding them. As I kept learning and reflecting, my abstract work slowly transformed back into figuration. In a way, I returned to where I started, but with a completely different awareness, carrying knowledge, questions, and a stronger desire to connect with something larger through my work. It’s interesting how what feels like an ending often becomes a starting point for something you never expected.

Q2. As a Ukrainian artist now based in the United States, how has that transition shaped you personally and creatively?

Being an immigrant is tough, but it is also what pushed me to become a stronger version of myself. In the beginning, every day felt like a battle — adjusting, rebuilding, and trying to find my place in a completely new environment. At the same time, I carried a deep sense of guilt. While my country was going through war, I was in a safe space, mourning the peaceful version of home I had lost.

There was a feeling of being out of place, almost like I was a side character in someone else’s world, with no right to complain. After a long break from art, I realized I needed to reconnect with myself and the world around me, and abstraction became that bridge. It allowed me to express what I couldn’t put into words and begin understanding my experience through my own visual language.

Q3. Your recent works are predominantly oil on canvas what drew you to oil as your primary medium?

I wouldn’t say that oil necessarily allows me to do something other mediums can’t. If I only had one pencil left, I would still find a way to communicate my world on paper. Before oil, I worked with acrylics, and before that with gouache, colored pencils, and watercolor.

Oil has been my primary medium for the past three years. I initially approached it out of curiosity, but over time I found myself deeply connected to its physicality. What I enjoy most is its mass and flexibility, the way it allows me to shape forms slowly and intentionally. I love working in layers, and I especially love that the painting stays alive over time.

I can come back the next day and continue blending, adding, adjusting, so it almost feels like time expands within the process.

Q4. Your palette and emotional tone shift with the world around you how have global events influenced your work visually and emotionally?

I wouldn’t say it’s a single event, but rather a line of concurrent events unfolding over the years. We are living in a very individualistic era, but at the same time, I see a shift where people are starting to seek more real, human connection. That shift shows up visually in my work. Earlier, my paintings were more abstract, fluid, and less structured reflecting uncertainty and a lack of clarity.

The forms were softer, more open, almost dissolving into each other. As the world became more intense and complex, my work started taking on more defined forms. Figures appeared, faces became clearer, compositions more intentional. The palette also deepened, I started incorporating stronger reds, darker tones, more contrast. It felt like the emotions I was processing needed a body, not just a feeling. Now, my paintings often show a single figure in a specific moment.

They carry a certain weight, almost like they are holding both personal and collective experience. The dreamlike, sometimes fever-dream quality comes from the tension between the inner world and everything happening outside. So the change isn’t just conceptual, it’s visible. What was once abstract became embodied. What was once feeling became form.

Q5. How do you translate emotional or psychological states into visual form?

I don’t overthink it. I stop thinking too much, take my brush, and start working. Even if I have no “inspiration,” I make a pact with myself to paint for at least 20 minutes. Usually, those 20 minutes turn into hours. At some point, I enter a more meditative state where I’m not controlling everything so consciously. That’s when emotions begin to translate naturally into visual form through color, movement, and shape. So I don’t try to force meaning and it shows up on its own.

Q6. Do you work on canvas panels differently than stretched canvases? What does each surface bring to a piece?

No, I approach them pretty much the same. For me, it’s more a matter of practicality and economy than a conceptual difference. That said, each surface does bring a slightly different feeling. Canvas panels work well for studies or more intimate pieces. Stretched canvases feel more open, especially when I’m building layers and working on larger compositions. But overall, my process stays consistent regardless of the surface.

Q7. You’ve said your work is guided by mythology and memory where does a painting usually begin for you?

It’s hard to clearly define where a painting begins or ends. An idea forms while I’m being intentional with my time and doing what I enjoy: walking outside, watching a movie, listening to music, reading, or sometimes doing nothing at all. Other times, it can even appear when I’m doing something very mundane. It can start as a strange thought, a feeling, or an image, something visual or even an internal monologue.

Often, it’s easy to dismiss these moments by labeling them as “weird” or “unfit.” That’s why I keep my iPad near me to quickly sketch whatever comes up, even if it feels like something that should never be brought to life.

I still have doubts about my ideas, but I’ve learned that there are no real rules in art. Putting these visions down becomes a way of acknowledging them, almost like proof of my own existence.

Q8. What was the idea behind Lost and Found, and what were you exploring through that sense of rediscovery and identity?

Lost and Found is painted on a canvas This painting is a reminder of a transformational moment in my art journey where I was able to rediscover myself again as an artist. Lost and Found reminds me how fragile our identity, our beliefs, and consciousness can be. It represents all of us and all the the knowledge and the essence that shapes who we are. This canvas is a reminder that there is a fine line between birth and death, external and internal influence, within and beyond.

Q9. Looking across your body of work from 2020 to 2025, what is the single biggest shift you notice in subject, in feeling, in approach?

In short, it’s been an adventure, and a wild one. I went from abstraction in 2021 to more figurative work in 2025. What I was expressing through flexible, fluid forms slowly began to take on more solid structure.At first, those forms became shadows, then entities, then masks. Over time, they transitioned into more defined human presence: faces, bodies, clothing, and the environments they exist in. It feels like what was once intuitive and undefined has gradually revealed itself into something more recognizable, while still carrying the same underlying ideas.

Q10. There’s an ongoing conversation around AI and art, where do you stand on it as an artist?

I believe art is one of the most real forms of human expression.It is our language and not just something we make, but something we are. To create is to be human. Long before systems, industries, or technology, we painted, we drew, we danced and sang, we expressed ourselves, and not because we had to but because we needed to. Art is how we make sense of ourselves and how we recognize each other. Without it, I don’t think we disappear physically, but we lose the ability to feel ourselves existing.

So for me, this is not a question of whether AI will replace art. Art is not just a medium, it’s a human impulse. But I do believe we are living through a technological revolution, and it will change the art world as we know it. That part is inevitable. And I’ve always been someone who believes in evolution and in using the tools we create, not fearing them. I want to focus on the positives for a second:

What if this moment becomes a turning point? What if we begin to reject passive consumption and reclaim authorship of our own stories, tools, and worlds? I believe that as long as humans exist, there will always be art created purely by humans. But I also think that the work made by us, people, might become even more intentional, even more valued, even more felt, especially when we begin to push back against what feels automated or empty. Maybe, this is not the end of something, but the beginning of a new kind of renaissance that will empower fresh ideas.

Maybe, it’s a time where we continue to create, not because we need to prove anything, but because it is the truest way we know how to exist. I am not against technological progress and not blindly for it.

Q11. What has your journey taught you that you would share with artists who are still discovering their direction?

While I’m still seeking advice from other artists myself, one thing I can say is: start by being true to yourself and tuning into what actually feeds your soul. If no one was watching and you had to do one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be? If art is the answer, then follow it. Are you scared? Good – show it in your work. Do you think your work isn’t good? Keep going anyway.

Growth doesn’t come from comfort. You will experience stagnation, pauses, and breakthroughs. Allow yourself to move through these stages and just don’t stay stuck in them for too long.

As our conversation with Victoria came to a close, we kept thinking about how rare it is to see an artist allow herself to evolve so openly through her work.

Nothing about her journey feels fixed. The paintings change as she changes. What once existed as abstract emotion slowly became figures, faces, symbols, entire psychological worlds. And instead of resisting that transformation, she seems to follow it honestly wherever it leads.

We really loved that about her work. Especially because so much of it comes from questioning rather than certainty. Victoria isn’t trying to hand viewers neat answers about identity, memory, or human experience. She’s exploring those things in real time through paint, symbolism, colour, and instinct.

And honestly, you can feel that sincerity in the work. The paintings feel emotional in a very human way. Not overly polished. Not emotionally distant. They carry fear, transformation, loneliness, curiosity, mythology, softness, confusion all the complicated things people usually try to hide while figuring themselves out.

Maybe that’s why the work connects so deeply. Even when the imagery becomes surreal or symbolic, the emotions underneath it still feels recognizable. You see a figure, a gesture, a colour, a shadow, and somehow it reminds you of something personal you can’t fully explain either.

For collectors and art lovers who are drawn toward work with emotional depth, Victoria’s paintings feel like the kind of pieces that stay alive long after the first viewing. They don’t just sit beautifully in a spac they slowly become part of it. The symbolism, the dreamlike figures, the tension between vulnerability and transformation all begin revealing themselves differently over time, depending on what the viewer brings to work emotionally.

That kind of connection stays with people. And artists who can turn uncertainty, memory, and personal transformation into something this visually alive are always worth following.

To follow Victoria’s journey and see more of her work, find her through the links below.