About Me

When I walk past empty windows lit only by the glow of a TV screen, or glimpse a stranger brushing their hair behind half-closed curtains, I can’t help but wonder what stories are quietly unfolding—unseen, unspoken, but deeply felt.

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These moments stay with me. They’ve made me think about how much of life exists in the margins—between gestures, glances, and silences. I’ve come to believe that painting is not just about what’s visible, but about what lingers in the periphery: memory, myth, longing.

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I was born in Moscow to a Russian mother and Nigerian father—two worlds that collided long before I could understand them. I grew up surrounded by Orthodox icons, Soviet lullabies, and my father’s distant voice curling through the phone line like smoke. That duality—of presence and distance, of being of somewhere and never quite from there—shaped my sensitivity to nuance, fragmentation, and the invisible stories people carry with them.

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That’s why I paint. My work draws from queer identity, tenderness, solitude, and the ache of displacement. I create layered compositions where the surreal leaks into the real, where shadows and flickers of light become vessels of emotion. Each canvas is a narrative fragment—a scene suspended in time—that invites the viewer to slow down and feel their way through.

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I studied at LUCA School of Arts in Brussels, where I refined my visual language and deepened my relationship with slowness, with ambiguity, with intimacy. Since then, I’ve exhibited internationally, collaborated across disciplines, and continued to explore my personal histories.

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Right now, I’m developing a new body of work around the theme of Compassion. I’m looking to connect with curators, writers, and cultural organizers who are drawn to introspective, emotionally resonant work—and who believe in the power of visual narrative.

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If that’s you, I’d love to talk.