Veronika Synenka/Tie2.lt

The Ambrozia Project — a Ukrainian multidisciplinary art duo that has been working together for over ten years, combining painting, sculpture, installations, performance, and music. Rita and Igor create art in which the personal intertwines with the public, and reality merges with mystical symbolism. During the full-scale war, their work became a way of survival, reflection, and documenting historical times. Distance did not break their shared artistic language; on the contrary, it opened new forms of interaction and media.

Your art duo has existed for more than ten years. How has your shared artistic language transformed over this time, especially during the full-scale war?

Rita: Our conscious collaboration as a duo began with the photorealistic painting series First Face Perspectives, where we depicted everyday life using a “first-person” composition. Our debut joint exhibition, Personal Cosmos, took place in 2013 at Karas Gallery, with which we continued to collaborate for six years. We developed a shared taste in art across many aspects, often painting a single canvas from both sides, meeting in the middle with an identical style. Alongside the paintings, we exhibited readymades connected to the themes of the paintings, which we initially treated more as decoration. Over time, these evolved into fully independent installations in the “transitional” project Album Exorcism in 2017. Then we split, each working on our part — I created a series of sculptures, and Igor developed a surreal installation and paintings inspired by it. I was afraid Igor had gone mad because, for a year, he assembled a huge anthropomorphic composition from everything in the studio, in a strangely enchanted state. I thought we were losing the creative connection that greatly helped support our personal lives. Eventually, the surreal techniques we discovered then became rooted in our work, and our art gradually shifted from documentary to mystical symbolism.

Igor: There have been several major transmedia shifts in our work, always tied to upheavals. For example, the transition to room installations occurred after a major relationship crisis we barely survived. We sublimated all the accumulated stress into the creation of the installation How I Spent the Summer, which depicted a painful summer spent in conflict amid the aggravation of Rita’s illness. This work achieved maximum openness in showing intimate experiences, and from this project, our exploration of space and immersiveness began. Music came afterward. I stopped working on visual art for a year and wrote songs, building a music studio by dividing the workshop in half. That’s how Ambrozia and the “romantic electro-naïve” style emerged. Concert activity began, which led to performance art. Soon, music, performance, and visual art merged. The question of choice disappeared — everything was connected to the story of our personal relationship, and each medium highlighted different nuances of this theme.

Rita: With the start of the large-scale war, our art leaned even more toward mystical Gothic symbolism, while retaining documentary elements and the theme of relationships. When Kyiv faced the threat of occupation, Igor, fearing for my life, forced me to leave the country. From then on, we began working remotely. As a student at Beaux-Arts de Paris, I began a series of paintings Atelier of Changes. I depict my familiar interiors where Igor and I are. Our shelters are saturated with images — news, memories, dreams, humor. I call these works “compressed diaries.” We began referring to all our joint practices as The Ambrozia Project. The next transmedia step was a documentary video project spanning the duration of the war.

Which themes and images have become key for you in recent years?

Igor: The leitmotif of our work remains the theme of our relationship. The style, socio-historical context, and media evolve, and individual works appear in different media, later merging into interdisciplinary exhibitions or combined works, like music videos or concert-performances. In recent years, the context of war and separation dominates. Images “jump” from one medium to another, enriching our escapist universe with characters and synthesizing everything we create. In paintings, our sculptures come to life, and in sculptures, frozen images from songs appear.

For example, all characters in our paintings always cry. This originated from the song I Cry from the album Curfew Night. The image of ambrosia — the food of the gods that grants eternal youth but is also a toxic wild herb — is, in our understanding, a metaphor for the relationship between a man and a woman. The image of a candle mounted on a syringe needle is a tragic symbol of life quickly melting and of disease and inevitable death. It emerged when Rita suffered a severe ulcer exacerbation and nearly died. At home, we had many used syringes, and the TV tower outside the window also resembled a syringe — this enhanced the magical quality of the situation and later became the prototype for a candlestick sculpture that eventually evolved into a series of interactive art objects.

Romantic sphinx-clouds, anthropomorphic trees, houses with window-eyes, a blanket-explosion under which we hide in the dark in each other’s arms. An extreme idea — the word “Ambrozia” must be present in every painting, either explicitly or hidden. Something like that.

In your works, there is no clear division between private and public. Is this a conceptual choice or a reaction to circumstances?

Rita: We focus on personal stories. It has evolved organically. The private becomes public through the lens or microscope, as if under zoom. Our artistic focus is on a couple in specific circumstances. Circumstances change. I do not see a clearly defined boundary between private and public — the focus narrows and widens.

I have always had a tendency to meticulously and honestly capture psychological and other nuances of our lives. I intuitively feel it is important. Initially, questions of appropriateness arose about sharing this with a wide audience — especially for Igor. But we eventually understood that otherwise, this theme loses meaning and the charm of frankness. And it doesn’t have to be literally documentary.

Any images and metaphors I “scan” before implementing them in my works to see if they reflect feelings as they are — without embellishment. Then this “tenderly sensitive” content is introduced into the “cynically complex” public space. This method is a choice between honesty and comfort, favoring honesty.

You work as an art duo but remain individual artists. How do you maintain balance between shared identity and individuality?

Igor: A project always becomes more complex, interesting, and high-quality when several artists participate. Each group member is unique, with their own strengths and weaknesses, complementing each other. We are a group, and the situation is the same. Only the person in the leading role changes.

For example, in the immersive installation projects of 2018–2019, when we had our exhibition space Kombinat Artist Space, Rita took the lead, as the works were based on her experiences and memories. I created based on her ideas. In music-related projects, I automatically become the lead author.

Margarita is a talented colorist and photographer with a great sense of composition and style, while I am a “creator-artist,” poet, and musician, well-versed in classical graphic techniques. She loves filming, and I love performing. We, like two crutches, guide and support each other. Plus, years of collaboration create synchronization — everyone knows their work.

I have learned to trust Rita even when an idea seems foreign or unclear, because I know I will figure it out during the process, and the result will exceed expectations and amaze. And it always turns out wonderfully. I don’t think we could work separately — it would be like solo careers of famous band members: individually, each is dull, one-sided, and incomplete.

Rita, in the film Curfew Night, you depict a very personal situation. Is the camera an attempt to capture reality or to protect yourself from it?

Rita: At first, the camera became a method of moderating our communication. During our meeting, after several months apart, there was considerable tension. The need to record reality felt even stronger, as our personal drama unfolded against the backdrop of a historical catastrophe.

Collaboration was difficult because communication was strained, and minor misunderstandings became awful. During one typical conflict, I realized I could step back, hide behind the camera, and it would help preserve our relationship. I said:
“Go ahead! Say what you want. The camera is filming.”

Igor was irritated but got used to it, and so did I. I often set up the camera and become a character in my own film. Engaging in any creative activity helps cope with harsh circumstances. Circumstances become material, and the material transforms into a diamond. Transforming negativity into positivity through creativity. Yes, it offers protection: thoughts have something to cling to, and you see some sense in this absurdity.

I didn’t consider this an archive; it was a method of maintaining my relationship with my husband. Now I see the gigabytes I filmed will carry historical value.

Igor, how do you feel when you become not only an artist but also a subject in your wife’s works?

Igor: From the start, I became a character in Rita’s works, and she in mine. We painted and photographed each other; all my poems and songs are dedicated to Rita, directly or indirectly, and some were written from her perspective. But video is a separate story.

Initially, it annoyed me: it felt like my wife was collecting compromising material amid deteriorating relations, bringing to light things I didn’t want public. I just hated the camera, often hidden in a corner — I always looked for the red light. But what could I do? It was her new passion — filming, her new ambition. I didn’t want to break my friend, so I had to accept it.

Over time, I got used to the camera and how I appear on screen. I tried to accept my appearance and behavior, the way I speak, just as I once accepted and loved my recorded voice. In the end, it became a way to self-improve: correct myself, work on mistakes. And besides — who really needs me besides her? Today I feel immense gratitude for the attention I receive.

Fragment of «Poor Pigeon» exhibition in Karas Gallery, Kyiv

Did you have doubts about publicly showing such intimate material? How do you decide what can be shown to the audience and what cannot?
Rita: I was nervous, as always, showing a new work — even more so this time. Besides showing Igor and me on screen in all our vulnerability, it was my directorial debut. When it came to the premiere, I realized it was a huge responsibility, and I did what had to be done — and now it became a film. I worried most that my film wouldn’t adequately show the horrors of war.

I tested it with acquaintances: I played the film and observed their faces. Viewers were attentive, laughed, reflected, and some had tears in their eyes. People (mostly French) empathized with the story, and I saw genuine compassion and understanding for the main character:
“Oh, he’s like us — thinks about art, dreams, and the war ruined his plans.”

With each screening, I became more confident that Curfew Night could reach a wide audience. I realized such a personal story has great power, as it helps people who haven’t experienced war imagine its impact on everyday life. It’s hard for them to relate to a soldier on the battlefield, but the image of a poet, “ashamed to be happy because of the war,” touched them…

During the period of long separation, how did your collaboration change? Did distance affect the process, rhythm, or themes?
Igor: Yes, distance affected it. Overall, it’s inconvenient and complicated since we’re used to doing everything together. The main theme, as always, is relationships, but now remotely and in the context of war. Despite distance, we discuss every step, every detail over the phone, giving daily advice.

Unable to physically intervene in each other’s work, we try to synchronize our actions. Exhibitions, concerts, and other joint activities happen when Rita comes to Kyiv.

You openly state that you remain outsiders in the professional field to some extent. Is this a chosen position or a consequence of conflict with the institutional system?
Rita: We had no conflicts with the institutional system. The theme we work with is not in demand in our art space. Our art is escapist, enjoying the poetry of everyday life. It does not assert a civic stance, and without that, it is impossible to exist in the system. It doesn’t know what to do with us.
Igor: We seem not to intersect with it at all, for some reason. Perhaps we do something inappropriate.

Despite the war, you continue creating art, organizing exhibitions, and screenings. Is this about resilience, routine, therapy, or something else?
Rita: Immersion in art helps maintain relative emotional stability. Without this support, one could easily “lose it.” There’s a feeling that we live in a historic time, and while we are alive, we must record the archive of these times by all available means.
Igor: As a conscription-age man, I could be called to the front and die at any moment, as has happened to many of my artist acquaintances. So I try to accelerate creative activity to leave as large an artistic legacy as possible.

What are you working on now? What will be the next part of the video project?
Rita: We are organizing a group exhibition On Friendship. The theme seems simple, but the exhibition must be extraordinary. I am drafting texts for my memoir for my Beaux-Arts diploma; the topic will relate to the perception of time during the war. There’s also the idea of stepping out of my “house” and turning attention to the art community. But I am not trying to amuse anyone with my creative plans.
Igor: I am finishing a new album, titled the same as Rita’s latest film, Poor Pigeon. I am also pursuing a PhD at the National Academy of Fine Arts and Architecture, preparing a creative project related to escapism in art.

Do you feel the need to document the entire period of the war, or is there a point to stop?
Rita: I am still documenting — already the fourth year. I call it a “project as long as the war.” Periodically, I have doubts about the purpose. I don’t know if this work will have value years from now, but it seems it will. For me, this archive is valuable. I will review it, trying to recover lost time. Every time I run into the corridor during attacks, I first grab my camera, and secondly, think: “God forbid my hard drives at home burn now.”

Do you see your practice as an archive? What would you like viewers to understand from your works in 20–30 years?
Rita: It is a reflection on reality, which eventually becomes an archive. I hope future viewers can see witnesses of the war without filters, with their weaknesses and charisma, and imagine themselves in our place. I am curious how I will perceive it myself in 20–30 years. That will probably be a very sentimental moment…