Liubov Kuptsova: "I don’t paint sad faces"

Under what circumstances did you feel your first impulses toward art?

My father was an artist, but he never directly taught me. Since childhood, I just watched him create illustrations for children’s books. I would look at his work and try to draw the same way, copying to the best of my childish ability. But he pointed out the mistakes when he saw my drawings, and I often left the work unfinished. I was brought to modeling classes at the age of 5 or 6. One day, the teacher let me draw, and I chose the enormous easel and a massive piece of paper. I didn’t do it regularly, but it sowed the first seeds of my creative journey. Later, I graduated from a school focusing on decorative and applied arts, where I learned the basics of drawing and composition. I planned to enter an art university but couldn’t fulfill that dream.

Nevertheless, my passion for art didn’t fade. I worked as an artist's model, meeting different artists and watching their creative processes. Sometimes, I would pick up a pencil myself and draw. Even as a model, I needed to understand and feel what art is.

My path wasn’t easy, and much of it became possible thanks to people who inspired and supported me. 2013, I met my future husband, photographer Vladyslav Durniev, in Crimea. He is an excellent support to me. I always listen to his opinion. His sister, artist Olha Darchuk, once invited me to her studio in Kyiv and introduced me to the alla prima technique – creating a painting in one sitting, without underpaintings or layers. Olga showed me how to take a canvas, paint, and a palette knife and create something alive and emotional. Since then, I have been working only with a palette knife, creating artwork with broad, thick strokes, and this process transports me to another world. Olga inspired my first steps in painting.

Everything I do now is born intuitively. Since I didn’t study at an art university, my technique isn’t rigid – I work on canvas freely, without restrictions, even if it’s a portrait or an animal image. As for inspiration, it’s everywhere: a trip to the sea, an interesting conversation, music, the bright color of gloves in a store window – it all imprints on my consciousness. When I sit down on the canvas, I may sketch a few lines with a pencil, very simple, and then my hand leads me. The artwork begins to live its own life.

I never had a classical portrait education. I don’t know the exact proportions, so I draw based on my inner feelings. When I worked as a model, I posed for an artist who taught students from a well-known university. He once said about one of his students, “She painted better before she studied.” Students are forced to follow the rules – what color and composition are correct? But can there be anything wrong with art? I prefer to break composition and experiment with color. My portraits may have many mistakes, but art is an emotion for me. When someone looks at an artwork, they’re attracted not by the technique but by the emotion embedded in it. It either touches something inside or it doesn’t.

In Ukraine, I admire Viktoria Lapteva – her portraits take your breath away. Among world masters, I’m incredibly inspired by Ilya Repin; of course, I don’t copy him – he’s a great portrait master, and I only admire his talent. I’m also drawn to the surrealism of René Magritte; there’s something special in his work. But generally, I don’t delve too deeply into other artists’ works; I’m more inspired by the world around me with its beauty and diversity.

It’s more like they take on my mood (laughs). I don’t paint sad faces – my artworks bring joy and hope, not sorrow. Even when the war started, I avoided depicting anxiety. Recently, I held my first exhibition in Kryvyi Rih, called “Colors of Life,” where I presented 50 artworks. Visitors said they felt a burst of energy – I realized I had managed to convey what I wanted.

Since the start of the full-scale war, many artists’ lives have been threatened, but despite the constant risks, my creative work continues. My studio is in Kryvyi Rih, a city that endures shelling and nighttime drone attacks. We’re not far from the front line. Despite all the challenges and risks, I stay in my studio and keep working. Painting and creativity give me inner strength and a foundation to endure difficult times and remain faithful to my calling. 

My mission is to convey emotions and a state of the soul through paintings, to bring people joy and lightness, not burden them. In the fast pace of life, art should give moments of warmth and light, allowing people to stop and feel something bright.

Interaction varies. Sometimes, the artwork sells through galleries, and the buyer remains anonymous. But I always communicate with the client to understand their wishes if it's a commission. When the war began, my regular buyers started writing to me, offering help; some even transferred money or invited me over. I’ve made new friends. This support deeply touched me and reminded me that my work is essential and needed by people. There’s an exciting project with a family friend whom I met through another friend, Canadian Ray Boutin – he sells prints of my artworks, and we split the profit equally: part to me, and part goes to support a music camp in Canada. This is a significant and socially impactful project. There are also collectors in Austria, Katharina and Thomas Schupp, who have collected about 50 of my artworks. This fall, they plan to organize an exhibition in Salzburg. They, too, have become friends of our family. Support from buyers and friends is truly immense, especially now. Strangely enough, war doesn’t only take away but also brings new acquaintances, opportunities, and deep gratitude for these connections.

I’ve been working with Jose Art Gallery since 2018. I post my works and sell paintings on this platform. It has excellent tech support and a user-friendly interface, making it easy to upload and showcase my artwork. This site has become not only a sales platform for me but also a kind of online portfolio.