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For Anna Voda (annavoda.art), art has never been just a profession—it has always been a way of life. Growing up in a family of artists, she absorbed the atmosphere of the studio from childhood, later moving through many creative fields before returning to painting as her primary language. Today, her practice transforms the ordinary into something extraordinary: a fleeting gesture, the sound of a blender, or the light across a window blind can become the spark for a painting that resonates like a ritual.

In the following interview, conducted by .ART, Anna Voda reflects on her journey across cities and disciplines, her influences ranging from Rothko to David Lynch, and her deep fascination with color as both emotion and cultural code. She speaks about intimacy, humor, and femininity as recurring themes, and about her desire to celebrate everyday life through play, tenderness, and curiosity.

What comes through most strongly is her belief that art is not separate from life, but woven into it. Each painting becomes a scene—part story, part feeling, part myth—inviting us to pause, look again, and find beauty in what we usually overlook.

What first drew you to art, and when did you realize it would become your life’s work?

I never saw art as a career choice—it has always been a way of living.

Since childhood, I had a habit of drawing—both with oil on canvas and in my imagination. I think this came from my family: my parents are artists, and I grew up surrounded by the atmosphere of the studio. In life, I tried myself in many different fields: I have two completely different degrees—Economics, Audit and Master of Fine Arts in Printmaking. I worked in a jewelry studio, was creating large-scale decorations for events and theatre for 7 years, worked with interior design, and used to have my own sewing production. But all roads led me back to painting. Over time, it became my language—the way I understand the world and play with it.

Who or what have been the biggest influences on your artistic journey?

Artists and their use of color have influenced me most: Milton Avery, Mark Rothko, David Hockney, Alex Colville. Then come situations: the films of Leos Carax, David Lynch, and Terry Gilliam, the theater of Romeo Castellucci, the shows of Slava Polunin. And books—especially the studies of Michel Pastoureau on “The history of color”. They gave me a sense of depth and showed me that working with color is a lifelong journey. And, of course, the women around me—their physicality, humor, lightness, and flexibility. They teach me to see the world softer and freer.

How has living and working in different places shaped your perspective as an artist?

I was born in Kharkiv, lived for a long time in Moscow, then in Kyiv. I have also spent time in France and Berlin, and currently I am based in Lisbon. Each city has its own state of being: somewhere I love to work, somewhere to love, somewhere to create, and somewhere to fight. Each time it’s a discovery that shows me a different side of myself. Moving sharpened my attention to everyday life: when you arrive in a new country, even going to the grocery store feels like a performance. For me, this became a tool—to notice the small things and reveal the universal within them. Studying culture and traditions is endlessly fascinating. The etymology of words, idioms, humor—all of this opens access to the cultural code, helping me to understand how language and the everyday shape perception.

Can you describe your creative process—how do you move from an idea or feeling to a finished work?

I taught myself not to throw paint on the canvas in an emotional rush. There’s joy in that, but it feels more like therapy. At some point, I became more interested in unfolding an idea and a state with depth. My “recipe” is this: I explore a theme that resonates with me and think about what I could give back to the world to make it a little kinder or more playful. Then I imagine the scenes that could embody that feeling, spark joy, desire, or curiosity. The next stage is observation—images arrive by themselves. Often it begins with an everyday moment: the sound of a blender, light across blinds, a gesture of a hand, a fleeting pose.

I make quick sketches on a tablet, take photos, sometimes paint watercolour “gesture-sketches,” which later transform into oil works. Cinema plays an essential role: I watch it intensely, greedily, and its scenes imprint themselves into my body, only to resurface unexpectedly in my paintings. I even think of my series as little films—with dramaturgy, montage, and pauses. For me, a painting always grows out of the body—out of the memory of a touch, a gaze, a movement. At the same time, I read extensively, which helps me to build the context of each work. And, of course, music. Without it, nothing works: every painting has its own soundtrack or even a playlist.

Do you see your work more as storytelling, emotional expression, or visual exploration—or a mix of all three?

For me, it’s always a mix. A story emerges from an emotion, and an emotion emerges from a visual image. Sometimes I think of my practice as an investigation into how the everyday becomes myth—and how myth suddenly turns back into a mundane scene. I am especially interested in rituals.

Our daily habits—breakfast, cleaning, moving through the city—are in fact very close to archaic rituals. All of this lives in our subconscious, and if you add attention, color, or gesture, a simple action begins to resonate like a ceremony. There is power and poetry in that—and this is what I try to explore in painting and performance.

How do you choose your materials and colours? Is it intuitive, symbolic, or both?

Oil is perfect for my works—for storytelling. It conveys color to its fullest. But for sketches and lightness I use watercolour—it feels like rest for me. As for color, it’s more complex. Most of the time it’s automatic, an inexplicable gift: I can almost physically sense which combinations will evoke a particular state in someone. From Johannes Itten you can learn the foundations and structure, from Rothko you can literally experience color with your body. For me, it works more like melody: I immediately know if there will be harmony or not. I’m still searching for an explanation of this process—and when I find it, I’ll share it. For now, I think of color as a concept, as a carrier of associations inside cultural codes. Each shade contains memory, and I love working with that hidden energy.

What themes or emotions do you find yourself returning to again and again?

Intimacy, femininity, humor, and the strange eroticism of the everyday. I like when a painting carries a slight awkwardness—the moment when you are peeking, but that voyeurism suddenly turns into play.

“Celebrating the Mundane”: This series was born during Covid, in solitude in my Kyiv apartment, when I had to relearn how to entertain myself and find pleasure in small things. It also grew from my love of everyday objects that can suddenly become tools of play. When used intentionally, with humor and double meaning, they help create a spectacle and generate new experiences. A blender, an iron, a massager—for me, they are characters with their own personalities. I am inspired by scenes that usually go unnoticed: someone washing the floor, ironing clothes, baking a dessert in the kitchen. In these moments lies joy, comedy, and a strange beauty of life. Through color and composition, I turn these scenes into something almost festive—where routine transforms into wonder.

The “Woman” series: I paint women the way a woman looks at another woman—with tenderness, with respect, and with curiosity. It is not a gaze from the outside, but from within. That is why the works remain deeply personal and free from clichés.

The “Love Is…” series: Love in my paintings is never the same. Sometimes it is irony, sometimes passion, sometimes fragile vulnerability. I often depict more than two people, because for me love is not limited to a couple. It is a wider, fluid feeling that can connect different people and different states of being. This theme is still opening up for me—I am only beginning to explore it in depth, and I am sure there will be more works in the future. Each painting has its own intonation of love, its own rhythm, its own temperature.

Why have you decided to choose .ART domain name as your online address? What does it symbolise for you?

For me, .ART is like a statement: I live inside art. It is an address that reflects my identity. The virtual space becomes an extension of my studio, and I want it to be immediately clear—this is the territory of art.

Learn more: www.annavoda.art