Master of two elements: how Viktoriia Dromaretska combines ceramics and painting

Welcome to an interview with Viktoriia Dromaretska, a talented artist whose work is a unique combination of painting and ceramics. In this conversation, Victoria talks about her journey from academic school to her own style, how not to give up after criticism, and how to find a balance between different types of art. She shares unexpected stories that shaped her destiny and gives valuable advice to young artists.

Viktoriia, how did you decide to work with both ceramics and painting, and how are these two areas interconnected in your art?

At first, I only did academic painting and drawing; I didn’t even think about ceramics. Lviv changed everything drastically. When I realized I needed to find a happy medium between the Kyiv and Lviv schools of drawing, I understood that both ceramics and painting would be part of my work. It’s simply impossible to separate them—it would lack important elements in the process. I wanted to combine the formation of shapes with the color palette of my worldview.

In an article about you, you mentioned that your style of drawing wasn't immediately accepted in Lviv. How did you adapt to this, and how did it influence your development as an artist?

My drawing style was in line with the Kyiv school, which involves light, transparent drawing with hard pencils, creating a sense of volume in space. For example, if the drawing is of a human figure, it should appear to be enveloped in air. This is a painterly approach to drawing. At the Lviv Academy, the drawing style corresponds to a sculptural way of thinking, where the work focuses on the contour and internal volume, so I had to change myself.

What do you think makes ceramics a unique material for expressing artistic ideas?

Ceramics is truly a unique form of art. For starters, it’s a very ancient art form; it has come down to us from prehistoric times, and examples of ancient ceramics are awe-inspiring. When you’re working on a ceramic piece, you combine shaping the form, graphic textures on the surface, and then add color spots and glazes and enamels. It turns into an entire orchestra!

Tell us about your teaching experience. How do you inspire your students and help them discover their talents?

I believe that teaching should be individual. Even if you work with a group, you try to find your own approach for each person because the task is more than just learning a subject. The main goal in teaching art is to uncover students’ creative abilities, and everyone’s are different. Sometimes talent overflows, but that’s not always a sign of a future artist—it’s just on the surface and runs out quickly. There were cases with no signs of talent whatsoever, and while the talented students were done and gone, we were sitting in the studio with the outsiders, struggling. Then unexpectedly, in the quiet and calm, something begins to sprout, and you look and can’t believe your eyes that such beauty could exist in this seemingly unpromising student. The question is: how do you get to these “diamonds”? Sometimes there’s both talent and a calling, it’s very rare, but it happens—nature is full of surprises.

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What themes and subjects appear most often in your work, and why are you drawn to them?

Ceramics, for me, is the art of symbols, so it’s more about movement. The movement of water, sunbeams—that’s from my latest work. I also have a series of phones in ceramics. In painting, there are more specific images: semi-abstract landscapes united by the theme “Suburb” and portraits, also done in a decorative style. I try to convey an emotional state through color spots and the rhythms of geometric elements.

Do you have any special techniques or methods that you use in your work?

In ceramics, the basis of form-making is the potter’s wheel, a magical process. In painting, it’s a combination of painterly spots and graphic lines with a brush.

How do you find a balance between ceramics and painting in your work, and how do they enrich each other?

Ceramics is the art of fire. You work, you sculpt, you add details, then you dry and send it to be fired—that’s it! The work is finished. There’s a second firing with glazes and enamels, but overall, the piece is fixed. Painting is creativity without limits; you can follow a set course or trust your intuition, but the hardest thing is to stop. Painting is like sailing on a ship: you wait until you can reach land, and then you start dreaming of the sea again. If you look at the situation as a whole, the balance is somewhere in the middle; each material has its beautiful facets and the ability to express itself.

What artists or cultural traditions have influenced your work?

From the English, the marine painters, William Turner and others. One of my favorites today is the American artist Andrew Wyeth; he is so complete in his work, with no compromises. From the Europeans, my favorite is Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, a maestro of the moment, an unattainable peak.

How has your style changed over the years? Were there moments of radical creative transformations?

I was changed by a meeting with an art historian and an employee of the Kyiv Picture Gallery museum. He helped me organize exhibitions. The first, the second, and then for the third, he said, “Enough, either you paint something abstract and large, or we won’t exhibit it.” That is, nothing mystical, just modern art and large formats to fill the wall.

What challenges do you face in your artistic activity?

I have serious challenges: on one hand, I try to be an artist who steps into the unknown and does something new and extraordinary, and on the other hand, I work as a teacher, so I have to know everything, make smart, correct, and thoughtful decisions, and operate with standards. It’s a real balancing act.

Do you have a favorite piece that holds a special meaning in your career?

My favorite piece is the one I haven’t painted yet. If I had a favorite, I wouldn’t do anything else. Usually, what an artist likes differs from what the public likes. Once I had an exhibition at a museum. When it was over, I offered to donate a piece to them. There were, in my opinion, some beautiful large works, but they chose a small and rather random one that I had made quickly at the end. But they’re art historians. As artists say: an art historian knows everything and can’t do anything, while an artist can do everything and knows nothing.

Every artist has stories that have helped define their path in art. Have there been similar stories in your life?

When I was little, I couldn’t draw at all, and when I tried, nothing came out, except for broken pencils. I pressed down so hard out of great tension, and the pencil would break, but even with such extremes, nothing worked. My older brother, on the other hand, was great; he easily redrew pictures and even drew his own things. I suffered from envy, but it didn’t affect my abilities.

Time went by, and in middle school, my parents and I went on a road trip, and not far from our destination, the car flipped over. I was thrown onto the road and had a severe concussion; I don’t remember anything. I came to my senses in the hospital. The first week, I couldn’t even look up because my head hurt so much. By the second week, I was better, and when I looked at the ceiling (because I was lying on my back), I saw mysterious drawings—light gray on the white background of the plaster. For the next two weeks, I tried to understand what was drawn there: animals, ornaments, faces. Later, it turned out to be a one-story provincial hospital, and the roof above my bed was leaking, and when it finally rained, all the magic disappeared. But after that, I became different and started drawing. The summary: my older brother became an engineer, as my parents expected, and I became an artist, which they didn’t expect at all.

Another story: at the end of high school, when kids get older and their preferences become clear, my parents finally realized that I was drawing and not moving toward choosing an engineering profession, which was traditional in our family. Then my dad, who had connections, found an art historian through acquaintances and probably made a deal with him (I realized this later) that he would talk me out of art and I would finally choose the right profession. But back then, everything was unclear; I thought he was trying to support me and help me on my way to art, so I gathered my drawings and, full of hope, went with my dad to the art historian’s house that evening. So, imagine: an old, quiet part of the city, an old house, an apartment with high ceilings, some antique furniture, and in all this splendor sat not some frail old man, but a handsome, slim, young man with long hair and a beard—that’s when I got scared. He took my drawings, looked through them with a slight smile, and then told me that the drawings were awful and the only right thing I could do was to stop drawing, forever! This wasn’t for me! We left, I was completely depressed, Dad was happy — everything went according to plan. But I couldn’t compromise my choice for the sake of some unknown uncle, so I continue to do this to this day.

In your opinion, how does modern art influence society, and what role do ceramics and abstract painting play in this?

I think that art is about the future through the past, an attempt to create an image of tomorrow, a lifestyle, fashion, preferences, and tastes.

What advice would you give to young artists who are just starting their journey?

Love what you do, be in harmony with yourself, and go all the way. Sometimes you want to cut it up and throw it away—that’s the priceless moment for creating something beautiful, because you’ve stopped complimenting yourself and have started an honest conversation.

Once I was painting a small piece, something like a Spanish motif. It just wasn’t working out; I painted and repainted it, then I put it out on the balcony to let it rest a bit. After all my struggles, the primer crumbled, and with it, of course, the paint, so I had to take a drastic step: fold it in half and shove it down the garbage chute. It was a difficult operation; the canvas resisted and didn’t want to go, but there was no turning back, that’s how much this story got to me. About three or four days passed, and I was walking home, tired, when I looked up—oh my God!—on the door of the janitor Pasha’s shed, where he collected garbage, hung my painting! It had been straightened out and neatly hung! A funny story, and truly, art is eternal.

Viktoriia Dromaretska's story is an inspiring example for anyone looking for their path. Her experience confirms that it is important not only to master the technique, but also to have the courage to experiment and change, to defend your vision despite criticism, and to always believe in yourself. This is the true magic of creativity — the ability to turn challenges into opportunities and doubts into masterpieces. On behalf of the Global Talent Confederation, we sincerely thank Victoria Anatolyevna for her candid conversation and the invaluable experience she shared with us.