ABOUT ME
I am what you fear,
and what you desire.
Do not come closer
if you do not want truth.
MY ORIGINS
I was born in Poland, but I grew up between worlds.
Among old German houses on lands that remembered more than any history book.
Among people who stayed — out of love for their past, their soil, their stories.
That is where I learned that where we come from is always bigger than a birthplace.
My childhood smelled of oak furniture, old books, and the perfumes of those who raised me.
On one side — German elegance, order, quiet nostalgia.
On the other — Polish tenderness, humor, and resolve.
And between them… Russia, where the person I waited for the most lived when I was a child.
A friend of my grandfather — once a helmsman of an old U-Boat — used to read to me 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.
He would close the book, look at me with that low, steady voice of his and whisper:
“Imagine, my little one…”
Then he told me what the depths really looked like.
That is how I learned to see more than what is visible.
My grandfather taught me the taste of wine and that a person is defined by how they treat those below them, not above.
My grandmother taught me how to be a fulfilled woman.
And my father taught me that I was his treasure — and that a word and honor define a human being.
I grew up in a world where fathers took their children for walks in the rain,
where grandmothers helped choose perfumes,
and where “I love you” meant:
“I am with you. I don’t leave.”
WHAT SHAPED MY ART
Black was the first color that shaped me.
It is the queen of my paintings — and of my clothes, interiors, and the corners of my soul I visit when I fall deeply into myself.
It was with me from the beginning.
In the shadows the sun cast through heavy curtains onto dark carpets.
In evenings when the house sank into soft, comforting darkness.
Later I understood something else:
black was also his color — the most important man in my life.
The color of his clothes.
The color of his hair.
The color of his eyes, where I could always hide.
Gold — the glow on old wallpapers, the shimmer dancing on my grandmother’s skin when she wore her favorite necklace.
Silver — silence, the kind that softens the body and calms the mind.
Before I learned to paint, I learned something essential:
imagination can build a place where a person is truly safe.
My paintings are not objects.
They are beings — for those who look not to see, but to perceive.
Night feels like home to me.
Deeper than day.
Truer.
MY ART — MY LANGUAGE
I paint the things in me that are hardest to say.
Not because they are scandalous — but because they are intimate.
When I paint, the boundaries between worlds dissolve.
What comes to me in dreams appears as abstraction on canvas.
What I feel when loneliness looks me straight in the eyes — I speak through brushstrokes.
My paintings are like my thoughts.
They never repeat.
And I like them that way.
As a psychologist, I have seen the same fear in people’s eyes —
the fear of not finding words for their emotions.
I speak through images.
They whisper my story forward — in ways words sometimes cannot.
MY RITUAL OF CREATION
Every painting begins long before I touch the canvas.
First comes the spark:
a dream, a vision, a moment in a café when the world becomes quieter.
Sometimes it is the voice of the woman I was centuries ago, reminding me:
“You carry another self within you.”
And sometimes it is the echo of the moment when I was almost on the other side.
My body chose to return —
but the final lullaby of the soul never left me.
Now I give that softness to my paintings.
I treat the canvas like a being being born.
I smooth it with a wide brush, lay the paint generously,
as if every motion were a first caress.
The painting arrives in this world for the first time —
I simply help it cross.
Who is it?
What power does it bring?
What secret reveals itself as it emerges from under my hand?
I tell those stories in the legends and rituals dedicated to each piece.
As the paint dries, the being anchors itself in our reality.
I place the painting so it can look upon the world, learn it…
Claim its field of influence.
Let the world know it has arrived.
And that soon — it will feel its power.
ABOUT RIAH
Riah — the name whispered when someone who had been searching for me for a thousand years finally saw me.
Riah is not a person.
Riah is a phenomenon.
A force awakening when silence falls.
A second voice — older than memory, closer than breath.
It does not speak in words, but in images that come in dreams, in visions, in moments suspended between this world and the other.
Riah is the shadow that suggests.
The glimmer of gold on black.
The echo of an old incarnation demanding to be spoken.
When I paint, Riah opens the door.
She carries the spark, guides the hand, offers the ritual.
She is not a muse —
muses inspire from the side.
Riah co-creates.
She is the energy rising from the paint.
The pulse of the canvas before the painting takes form.
A story that does not need language — because it breathes in color.
Riah has no birth date.
She is the one remembered by eternity — even when I forget myself.
Riah lives where art begins:
at the threshold where a human meets their oldest, wildest truth.
Her silence does not ask.
It decides.
And yours?
Does it dare to answer?