Alan: In your opinion, what conceptually distinguishes women’s art from men’s?
Maria: The ability of the female body to carry and give birth to new life shapes the way we see the world. Maybe if milk flowed from men’s bodies, there’d be less blood around us. I mean, I just can’t imagine the Viennese Actionists being women — we simply don’t have that kind of tolerance for violence.
Alan: Can tenderness be a form of resistance?
Maria: Yes. To me, tenderness comes from solidarity and vulnerability — it’s through them that we form meaningful connections with both human and nonhuman beings. Tenderness is deeply horizontal. It’s like smiling at a stranger or choosing not to pick a flower. You can’t be truly tender from a place of hierarchy — only when you're on the same level.
Tenderness is as dysfunctional and beautiful as art. That’s why, in a rigid, algorithmic world, it’s pure gold. You can be polite and nice, you can be patronizing or self-sacrificing. Or — you can be tender. With yourself and with the world. It takes effort, but it’s worth a try.
Alan: What kind of meanings does the color pink carry for you?
Maria: For me, it’s the color of blood mixed with milk, the light right after sunset, and the sun-faded facades of St. Petersburg. I’m not into Barbie pink — I’m drawn to something more pearly, barely-there, a shade of pink that feels like it’s about to disappear.
Sometimes I paint with intense red, and then cover it with milky layers on top — slowly dissolving it, turning it into a soft pink haze. There’s something familiar and timeless in it, like being in the womb.
Alan: How is feminine strength defined?
Maria: It’s like a portal through time and space — a way to connect with your lineage, generations back (and forward too). It’s about being in tune with natural cycles, feeling part of a vast tribe, trusting your instincts, and sensing your bond with all living things.
And it’s also about not limiting yourself with outdated ideas of what a woman should be. It’s about exploring that on your own terms — looking, thinking, and living the way I want, not the way it’s shown in princess fairytales.
Alan: How do the themes of presence and emptiness relate to your practice?
Maria: Emptiness is also a form of presence — just a quieter one. Unlike loud, manifesting forms, it creates space — like a pause to exhale. I want my works to feel like an exhale.