Sarah Svetlana is a Los Angeles based artist who, as a painter, explores the fragmentation of the subject in an ongoing search for home. An agency model, turned art model, Sarah Svetlana used her body as the first medium in her initial search for identity and self-expression—her upbringing in the irreconcilable cultures of Soviet Belarus and Immigrant America, has drawn and painted roadmaps between two worlds.

Her paintings do not only suggest hectic movement, but the stillness locked in each gesture of that movement. Her work is “rooted somewhere between the insanity of Kandinsky and the line-certainty of the early 20th century Futurists.” Each painting is a piece to the complex topography that defines both her identity and her work. Through the narratives created by a methodical application of color, she delivers an invocation of home— spectral and surreal, but familiar too. 

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Mangled.

March 12, 2017

The house is asleep again. I as usual unable to sleep. After being sick for two days and sleeping it all away I'm awake and paying for my sins. I ran out of pot tonight. This is no good. I went downstairs to my car in hopes for some scraps, remnants of a little leafy green I accidentally set aside for this exact moment. Nothing. There was nothing but ash. So now I'll sit on my mid century sofa and scrape this bowl for any relief, even momentarily relief is welcomed. 

 She wakes up every few hours now. Her little feet make such a loud sound when running to our room. I've convinced myself I've rubbed my depression onto her. My anxieties. How dare I reproduce and put this innocent soul through my own garbage? 

What now? One sad hit later I'm feeling more relaxed. If only I had something stronger. 

I was thinking about you lately. I can't believe you never got to your thirtieth. What a minute.. of course I can believe it. I think I just miss you. I miss us as children and who I use to be when the weight of the world was only a small carry on and there was no baggage to even worry about. You were the purest form of childhood love and how lucky we got to experience that. I never got to say goodbye. Even though I knew it was coming. I was a coward. I couldn't deal with it and for that I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I don't know what to do with your ashes. Only you'd think it's funny that some of your ashes spilled in my glove compartment. Now I'm convinced you keep me safe while I drive. This world was too much for you, at times it's too much for me. I just hope you found peace. It's funny how you've been on my mind considering in a few days it will be three years since my mom died. I wonder if you've seen each other. Passed by? I don't know how it works. It's funny that I'm even thinking of you right now. You always said you'd haunt me. 

 

 

 

 

 

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February 23, 2018

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