Svetlana Kornilova paints with the soul of a storyteller, blending oil and acrylic to capture the fragile pulse of human existence. From her London studio, she crafts art that invites viewers to weave their own narratives into her vivid canvases. In this heartfelt interview, she reveals the spark of childhood joy, the depth of personal reflection, and the universal truths that shape her work. Let’s dive into her story—ready for the interview? Now, let’s dive into the conversation!
Could you introduce yourself as an artist and tell us what first inspired you to pick up the brush?
My name is Kornilova Svetlana, I’m a London-based artist working primarily with traditional materials—oil on canvas, and sometimes a touch of acrylic. I have an academic art background, and in my paintings, I explore what it means to exist as a human being in today’s circumstances.
I’ve been painting since childhood—it was pure joy for me back then. Ironically, that’s also why I stopped for a while: when it came time to choose a profession, I couldn’t quite believe that the thing which gave me so much pleasure could be taken seriously as a career. Now I see it differently. Painting is still a joy, but it also holds all the layers and responsibilities that come with making art—it’s become a serious and deliberate practice for me.
How do you decide which emotions or stories you want to reveal through your artwork, and what drives the choice of colors and shapes in those moments?
When I think about a painting, I don’t start by asking who will appear on the canvas, but rather what story I want to tell through it. The narrative has to feel relevant and alive to me first—if it captivates me and I manage to tell it well, then the viewer will inevitably hear it too.
As for visual imagery and color, those choices come directly from the story itself and the emotions it evokes. There’s no fixed algorithm or formula—I let the idea guide me toward the shapes and palette it needs.
How do you translate fleeting emotions into lasting visual forms in your paintings?
For me, painting is a more intellectual process than an emotional one. Each of my works is a long-term project that evolves gradually; it’s not about slowly applying paint to canvas, but about giving shape to an idea that takes time to fully emerge. The emotions I experience while thinking through the narrative of a painting go through several stages of reflection and transformation before they crystallize into a defined visual form.
That said, there are moments when I feel the weight of these extended projects. At times like that, I turn to quick sketches and studies as a way to release accumulated thoughts and energy. Those smaller works are much more immediate and raw—they lay my emotions bare, like an open palm.
What is a painting you’ve created that shifted your perspective on your own artistic journey, and what made that experience so significant for you?
One of the key moments in my artistic journey was when I began thinking about how to connect my academic background with the contemporary art world. At the time, I was surrounded by abstraction, expressive gestures, raw responses to political events—and here I was, still deeply in love with the “old school.” For me, not only the idea but also its execution needed to be on a high level.
I asked myself: “What is happening in my own life right now that feels truly relevant to me?” At that moment, my children were very young, and I realized that documenting their world was both deeply personal and universally resonant. After all, we are all shaped by childhood—it’s where we all come from. It is rather contemporary despite of the situation, isnt it?
This reflection led me to create one of my first works in this direction, “The Knight.” That painting went on to participate in many exhibitions and even won awards. It gave me the confidence to continue exploring this path for some time.
How do you engage the viewer’s imagination, allowing them to complete the narrative beyond the canvas?
For me, the viewer is not a passive observer—they are a co-creator. I never try to provide all the answers within the painting itself. Instead, I create a space where the story feels open enough for the viewer to step in with their own experiences, memories, and associations.
I think this happens naturally when you focus not just on depicting a scene but on capturing the essence of a moment or emotion. A certain gesture, a detail, or even the way light falls can invite the viewer to ask: “What happened before? What comes next?” In that way, the narrative extends beyond the edges of the canvas and becomes something personal for each person who encounters the work.
When do you feel a painting is finished? Is there a moment when you know it has said everything it needs to?
That’s always a tricky question—because the process is never the same. Very rarely, I’ll have a clear image in my mind, and after some time, the painting emerges exactly as I imagined it. But most often it’s a much more complex journey, because things almost never go exactly as planned.
There are small works I’ve repainted over and over again because the idea just wouldn’t settle the way I envisioned it. Sometimes I even have to step away for a week or two, because fatigue sets in and I stop seeing the piece clearly. Then, with fresh eyes, I can often tell what needs to be done—or realize that it’s already finished and just needed that pause to reveal itself.
In short, there’s no strict formula. Each painting tells me in its own way when it’s said everything it needed to.
What challenges have you faced while expressing complex social or personal themes through your art?
In my work, I don’t often take on big social themes directly; for me, it’s more about exploring deeply personal and intimate narratives. And that in itself can be a challenge—because when you’re dealing with themes that are so close to you, it’s hard to separate yourself from the work and see it objectively.
I don’t often tackle overtly complex social themes, but my work is deeply personal. And that brings its own challenges—because everyone’s boundaries around personal expression are different. For some, even a portrait can feel like a taboo, while others openly share their emotional experiences with the world.
Since my language with the viewer is metaphorical rather than direct, I never state things explicitly. Each person will see and understand only as much as they are ready to receive. Finding that delicate balance between revealing and concealing, between personal honesty and universal openness, is something I continually navigate in my practice.
How do you balance between spontaneity and control in your artistic technique?
My painting process is quite long and deliberate. It starts with the idea, then detailed sketches and studies, and finally transferring the image onto the canvas. Because of this extended process, fleeting emotions naturally fall away, leaving only the core concept and feeling to guide the work. So, while spontaneity might appear in quick sketches or studies, the final painting is more about control and thoughtful development. This balance allows the work to be both intentional and alive.
Do you feel that being alone helps you tap into your creativity, or do you find more inspiration from interacting with the world around you?
That’s such a wonderful question. For a long time, I thought that everyday life and its demands only distracted me from painting. It always felt like there wasn’t enough time for both social interactions and studio work. But then came the lockdown. I was so happy at first — I finished all the ideas I had started, worked through the sketches I’d kept on hold… and then suddenly there was silence. That’s when I realized art doesn’t grow out of a vacuum. I need the “external noise” to stir something inside me. It’s really a symbiosis between the outer world and my inner world. So yes, I do value silence — but only when it alternates with noise. Otherwise, it just doesn’t work.
As we wrap up, is there a thought or philosophy you’d like to leave with aspiring artists, or a piece of advice that’s been crucial in your journey?
As we wrap up, I’d probably go with something classic: success is not about how many times you fall, but how many times you stand back up. Don’t lie to yourself, keep doing what you truly believe in, and don’t try to meet anyone else’s expectations.
Oh, and there’s a thought I recently heard that really stuck with me: true, monumental success for an artist — not just a show in a library (though that’s lovely too!) — is statistically the “survivorship bias.” It’s that 1% we all talk about, and even counting it feels odd. But still… We’ll make it work somehow.
Connect with Svetlana Kornilova:
Instagram: @svetakorn
Website: Svetlana Kornilova
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