Dr. Swiatoslaw Podlewski is a Ukrainian artist, art critic, and historian born in 1991 in Chernihiv, Ukraine. Based in Kyiv, he studied fine arts from childhood in the studio of his father, Volodymyr Podlewski, before pursuing academic training in history. He holds a Ph.D. in history and has produced research on Ukrainian inscriptions. His visual practice explores abstraction, nature, symbolism, Buddhist thought, and post-Soviet cultural memory through contemporary Ukrainian art.
Scott Douglas Jacobsen interviews Dr. Swiatoslaw Podlewski on contemporary Ukrainian art as freedom, plurality, and resistance to rigid definitions. Podlewski reflects on debates around contemporary art, political taboos, pre-2022 exhibition scandals, Buddhist and Daoist influences, symbolic materials, and the sincerity he values in artistic practice. He discusses mixed spiritual experiences, animal remains in textured works, and his most beloved painting: a portrait of Chopsy, a dog he met in India twice there beside the ocean.
Scott Douglas Jacobsen: What defines contemporary Ukrainian art? More broadly, what defines contemporary art?
Dr. Swiatoslaw Podlewski: That is a difficult question. There is even an institution, the Institute of Problems of Contemporary Art, that studies these issues, and even there, there are no definitive answers, only ongoing debates.
The question itself is complicated. What is contemporary art? Is it simply what is being created now? Is it defined by certain approaches, conceptual art, structuralism, post-structuralism, or newer philosophical frameworks? Does it relate to gender studies or other critical perspectives? It depends on one’s point of view and what one is looking for.
What I appreciate most about contemporary art is precisely the lack of a strict definition. There are many possibilities and perspectives. It is unfortunate that people often try to impose a single interpretation, a single framework, or a single belief system, rather than allowing for plurality.
Art, to me, is a space for freedom. In a world where freedom can feel increasingly limited, art may remain one of the last domains where it persists. So why should we try to confine it within rigid definitions? Why build conceptual walls? Why insist on fixed categories?
Perhaps it is better to allow it to develop organically, letting people interpret contemporary art in their own ways. In French philosophy, think of Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, there is the idea of moving away from hierarchical, vertical structures toward horizontal ones, such as the concept of the rhizome. A rhizome spreads laterally, like roots or fungi, forming multiple connections and meanings rather than a single structured system. Contemporary art can be understood in a similar way: open, interconnected, and plural.
Jacobsen: Are there any taboos in Ukrainian art today?
Podlewski: Taboos are not always clearly defined. In Ukraine, they tend to emerge not only from legal boundaries, such as the criminal code, but also from social and political pressures.
Jacobsen: Have there been any art scandals?
Podlewski: Yes, particularly before the full-scale Russian invasion in 2022. Many controversies involved clashes between political groups. For example, some exhibitions by left-leaning or anarchist artists, such as David Chichkan, were targeted by far-right activists who attempted to disrupt or sabotage them. These incidents reflected broader social tensions rather than purely artistic disagreements.
For me, it is about transforming difficult experiences into something constructive, growing beyond them and creating something new. That is what I see in this kind of art. What I call “psychopathic art” is enormous in scale. The artist I have in mind seems almost megalomaniacal, not as an insult, but descriptively. His workshop is vast, almost like a small city, like a labyrinth where only he knows the paths.
I admire that kind of artistic intensity. Many artists today imitate madness without truly believing in it. What I appreciate is sincerity, when an artist does not even try to justify why they produce such vast quantities of work. The scale and output become almost surreal. I value that authenticity, because many artists adopt a “fake it until you make it” approach.
Jacobsen: Does an artist ever truly “make it,” or are they always on a journey?
Podlewski: I am not sure. What do you think?
Jacobsen: I would say the journey itself is the achievement. Yes, it is a kind of flow state. Your life becomes part of that flow.
Podlewski: In that sense, it aligns with ideas from Daoism, the notion of following a path rather than reaching a final endpoint. The Dao is understood as “the Way,” not a fixed destination.
Jacobsen: Do you like Chinese philosophy?
Podlewski: After engaging with Theravāda Buddhism, I became interested in Chan Buddhism, which later developed into Zen Buddhism in Japan. Chan emphasized returning to the core insights of Buddhism and reducing reliance on ritual and elaborate cosmologies.
Historically, Chan Buddhism did face periods of suppression in China, although not solely due to Confucianism; political and institutional factors were also involved. It later developed further in Japan as Zen Buddhism.
I also appreciate Daoism. A friend of mine, Andriy Nakochevskyi, produced an academic Ukrainian translation of the Dao De Jing attributed to Laozi. His edition includes the original Chinese text, translation, and scholarly commentary. As someone trained in history, I value that approach, whenever I read a claim, I want to know its source and context.
Jacobsen: That sounds like a professional habit.
Podlewski: Yes, perhaps. As a historian, you constantly ask: what is the source, and what is the background?
I have explored many belief systems. I was baptized in three Christian traditions: Eastern Orthodox Christianity, Roman Catholicism, and a Protestant tradition in Germany.
Jacobsen: Which Protestant tradition?
Podlewski: A German Protestant church, I spent some time living in Germany as a teenager. The first two baptisms happened when I was a child, so they were not my choice. The third was more of an exploratory experience.
After that, I went through different phases. I identified at different times as a pagan and as a Satanist.
Jacobsen: Theistic or non-theistic Satanism? More like the Church of Satan or The Satanic Temple?
Podlewski: Neither exactly. It was closer to an agnostic form of Satanism.
Jacobsen: I see.
Podlewski: Yes, it was based in part on ideas drawn from Gnostic texts, especially those found in the Nag Hammadi Library in Egypt. That was an interesting experience for me.
Jacobsen: Do you use any of that in your art, or is it more of personal significance?
Podlewski: At this point, it is more of a personal framework. I would describe it as a kind of broad philosophical outlook rather than a strict system. In my art, I only use symbols that feel meaningful to me. I do not try to impose complex or obscure doctrines into the work.
At first, I worked more intuitively. For example, I was drawn to a color palette of red, white, and black. Later, when I studied alchemy, I realized that these colors correspond to traditional symbolic stages in alchemical processes, often referred to as nigredo (black), albedo (white), and rubedo (red).
Jacobsen: What is the most unusual substance you have used to create color or texture?
Podlewski: The skulls of dead animals.
Jacobsen: How did you use them?
Podlewski: I ground them into powder.
Jacobsen: What effect did that have on the material?
Podlewski: It added texture. It also changed the tone, giving it a more earthy, yellowish or ochre-like quality.
Jacobsen: Does it change over time, since it is organic material?
Podlewski: Possibly. I worked with it about six years ago, so I would need to observe how it has aged.
I also developed a concept I called “Überlār.” The term is inspired by reconstructed or archaic Germanic roots associated with meanings like “beyond” or “outside boundaries,” rather than a precise historical word for “evil.” I was interested in the etymology of words and their deeper, older meanings. For me, it represented something that goes beyond established limits.
There is an example in the National Museum of the History of Ukraine where ritual objects incorporate animal remains, reflecting ancient practices. Inspired by this, I created several works using natural materials such as oak and other woods common in Eastern Europe.
In these pieces, I incorporated animal remains symbolically. Historically, some pre-Christian Slavic rituals involved animal sacrifice, often tied to agricultural or seasonal cycles. I did not harm any animals myself. Instead, I obtained remains from secondary sources, such as byproducts from slaughterhouses or bones found in fields, such as those of wolves, ravens, wild goats, or cattle.
For me, this was a way of acknowledging and, in some sense, honoring the material rather than discarding it. The intention was symbolic, not literal or ritualistic.
I incorporated those materials into the structure of three works. They became quite large, about one and a half meters by one and a half meters. Because I used structural building materials, they also became extremely heavy. Even now, I am not able to transport them from my workshop in Chernivtsi to Kyiv, because the cost of transportation is too high.
Jacobsen: Which piece of art are you most proud of, or which has the most meaning for you?
Podlewski: If I am honest, it is a portrait of a dog I met in India. I spent two separate two-month periods there, and each time I returned, she somehow found me and greeted me. She even stayed in the house where I was living. The locals called her Chopsy.
Jacobsen: What does that name mean?
Podlewski: “Noodles.”
Jacobsen: Why noodles?
Podlewski: I do not know, you would have to ask the Italian who named her. But each time she found me, so I painted her portrait against the background of the ocean. Somehow, I truly love that work. It is probably my most beloved piece. It may sound sentimental, but it means a great deal to me.
Jacobsen: Thank you very much for the opportunity and your time, Swiatoslaw.
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Scott Douglas Jacobsen is a Writer-Editor for The Good Men Project with more than 1,800 publications on the platform. He is the Founder and Publisher of In-Sight Publishing (ISBN: 978-1-0692343; 978-1-0673505) and Editor-in-Chief of In-Sight: Interviews (ISSN: 2369-6885). He writes for International Policy Digest (ISSN: 2332–9416), The Humanist (Print: ISSN, 0018-7399; Online: ISSN, 2163-3576), Basic Income Earth Network (UK Registered Charity 1177066), Humanist Perspectives (ISSN: 1719-6337), A Further Inquiry (SubStack), Vocal, Medium, The New Enlightenment Project, The Washington Outsider, rabble.ca, and other media. His bibliography index can be found via the Jacobsen Bank at In-Sight Publishing comprised of more than 10,000 articles, interviews, and republications, in more than 200 outlets. He has served in national and international leadership roles within humanist and media organizations, held several academic fellowships, and currently serves on several boards. He is a member in good standing in numerous media organizations, including the Canadian Association of Journalists, PEN Canada (CRA: 88916 2541 RR0001), and Reporters Without Borders (SIREN: 343 684 221/SIRET: 343 684 221 00041/EIN: 20-0708028), and others.
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Photo by Scott Douglas Jacobsen