Come see us in Saint-Paul-de-Vence!
Opening 28.03, 17:00
@space.stpaul
An exhibition where personal narratives unfold through the body, memory, and lived experience. Painting and installation come together as a polyphony of voices, where the intimate becomes political and art becomes an act of presence.
with works by amazing artists: @chernova.ya@maria.gvard@rydlevskaya_a@jeremykleinberg@puzina.art@miquaseo.art
Fragments, colors, and routes — we collected quotes from @chernova.ya interview for BLAU MAP.
Explore Vilnius as she sees and paints it (link in bio).
Supported by @platformb_art
Photo by @sharko.ph and from the artist’s personal archive.
Wet asphalt, peach skies: mapping Vilnius with Yana Chernova
We visited the studio/home of Yana Chernova in Vilnius — an artist who frames vulnerability and force in color.
Through her creative practice, we explored both the quiet and restless sides of the city — the dawn light, small cafés, and long walks meant for long, warm coats.
In our conversation, Yana shares her personal Vilnius map: places to get grounded, paths to wander, and corners where the city reveals its softest touch.
Read the full conversation on BLAU MAP
link in @blaustudio.art bio.
Supported by PlatformB @platformb.art
Photo by Anna Sharko @sharko.ph
#blaustudio #artist #vilnius
RED
2024
Oil on canvas
This painting holds so much of me, yet it has given back even more. At academy, we were constantly told: “If you don’t draw every day, your skill will turn to dust.” They’d share cautionary tales about people who, after graduating, dropped their brushes and became someone else entirely. Colleagues echoed these stories, adding how academy drained them so much that some couldn’t bear to face a canvas again. Back then, I thought it was just a joke. I never imagined it could happen to me. It didn’t. Instead, war began.
My mind wasn’t occupied with brushes or canvases—it was consumed by thoughts of my family, the lives lost, the relentless repression in Belarus, panic attacks, and the need to stay focused on remote work so I could support my loved ones. And I managed. But after relocating, I couldn’t bring myself to sit in front of a canvas again. I can only paint when I’m responding to the world around me, and this time, it was too overwhelming. I tried again and again to work on one painting that captured everything I was feeling, but each time, I stopped. It hurt too much. So, I turned completely to a work that is quite far from painting.
For two years, I kept trying to come back to my art. I’d sit down, but the breaks between sessions stretched longer and longer. Then, finally, I did it. I sat down properly at my easel, and a new battle began—this time with the voice in my head whispering, “If you don’t paint every day, you’re not a real artist.” The portrait wouldn’t flow. I kept thinking about how easily I had once painted the portrait in the blue mask. But now every session was a balancing act between wanting to give up and pushing forward. I searched for tiny embers of self-belief and turned them into small sparks of hope to keep going.
If you swipe through the images, you’ll see I’m not exaggerating when I say it wasn’t working. It was bad. Every new attempt—every slight turn of the head, every adjustment to the position of the left eye—felt like a struggle. But I couldn’t accept that years of hard, sometimes obsessive work had left me empty. The hardest part was realizing the gaze wasn’t right.
*MORE IN COMMENTS*
It’s hard to believe that just a couple of weeks ago, this exhibition opened, and people could finally see my work in person. The journey to get here wasn’t easy—it was full of challenges. Some things felt almost out of my control, like the search for the right lacquer for my round frames. Even finding those frames was an adventure, taking me across different cities and countries.
The day before we arrived in Bologna, we were in Florence. After settling into our Airbnb, we went out for a dinner and happened to pass a small shop filled with paints and art supplies. On a whim, we walked in, hoping they might have what I needed. As luck would have it, the owner was a master craftsman whose family had been working with lacquers for generations. He patiently mixed colors for me, and on the fourth try, he created the exact shade I had in mind. It felt like magic.
The exhibition is being held in the stunning Palazzo d’Accursio in Bologna, a place that carries so much history and character. Walking into the opening night, I was completely unprepared for what awaited me. The sheer number of people who came to see my work left me overwhelmed—in the best way. I was so so surprised, I didn’t know what to say or do. It was both humbling and surreal to see so many people engaging with what I had poured my heart into.
I’m deeply grateful to the organizers, fellow artists, and everyone who made this exhibition possible. If you haven’t seen it yet, it’ll be open until November 17. After that, a part of it is moving to Florence—I’ll share more details soon. This whole experience has been a mix of hard work and lucky moments, and I’m excited for what’s next.
Photos by amazing @alexanderkotzaitsau
330 murdered children
4731 murdered civilians
They are murdered, and will never wake up again.
The world, where there are no more peaceful dreams.
The world is painted red.
I finished this painting in May but as of then I still have no right words to describe it. I didn’t wake up from the sounds of sirens on February 24th. I woke up from my friend’s call, who asked me if I knew what had happened. Everything after that is an unbearable fear, pain, and questions. How is my family? How will they move out of Kyiv? How’s my sister’s baby, who was due to be born on February 22nd? How will they get on the road? Where will the baby be born? Where will they go? Where will they live? What should I do? How can I help?
I was supposed to get my diploma this August. For seven years I studied and dreamed about how I would finish and start living. But I left almost immediately. It wasn’t something that I had to decide - I just knew what I needed to do and did it. I had only one goal - to reunite with my family. And three months later it happened.
Right now I have no home and no job. I have my decision, though. And I want to help and support families and children of Ukraine.
For me it become completely difficult to show my paintings. Especially those ones that I made about current events. But I promise now (to myself) that I will do soon!
This one is an unfinished I started in January
I made this painting last year but only now I understand how to express it fully.
In this looking glass of present the only thing left remain is this child inside each of us. This soul, this starting point. Time imposing with new corridors and refractions, with new events and mirrors, slowly making the original irreversible. But this basic is with us till the end.
If I could just meet mine in person I would hug her tight and cover with all of my warmth.
Many of the paintings I started last year were crushed by my thoughts like “why to make them if I can’t exhibit them somewhere soon.” Now I have nowhere to work and nowhere to live, but I have already painted several paintings and the question has disappeared. I will share with you all soon!
