In Russian, instead of &quot;painting&quot; a picture, artists often call it &quot;writing&quot; a picture, because for them, writing is taking away a part of themselves to give a part of value. That way of speaking must have influenced Ivan, so his journey to art was as long as the journey of self-study, diligently searching for his own originality.

Ivan Shenevsky was born in 1986 in St Petersburg, Russia and lived in Ho Chi Minh City for more than eight years. The more we talked, the more I realized he had lived many lives &mdash; it was difficult to summarize his academic and professional journey. Ivan studied many majors, from the music academy or Physics in Russia to his days studying chemistry and drawing in Los Angeles, USA. His career path is also very diverse, ranging from music composition to stock market, production director, etc.
But there is a unifying axis in his journey - he is always looking for himself, always ready to retire from work when he vaguely realizes that his ego will melt away in some strict and stuffy space. In 2018, shortly after he settled in Vietnam, COVID-19 struck. The long months of social isolation have given Ivan some space in his mind - he paints. Five years have passed, Ivan had his first solo exhibition to display to the Vietnamese public his abstract expressionist works.

Music and painting go hand in hand

Many people discuss the musicality of your visual works. The liberal and chaotic brush strokes and sprinkles of colour seem to be colliding with each other and emitting sounds. Do you think your musical soul is always there, inside you?
Certainly, I have lived with music for nearly 27 years. Music was my first encounter with art. I admit this is a bit funny, but when I was 11 years old, I saved up some money to buy the first cassette tape in my life, which was CD &nbsp; Baby Girl &nbsp; with the familiar "I'm a Baby Girl" tune. I suddenly liked and pursued music from that moment on.
As a child, I was diagnosed with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), which means my mind hovers between two extremes &mdash; either extremely focused, or extremely distracted. Only music always creeps into my mind and captures my attention. From here, I studied classical music at an academy in Russia. I also explored other genres such as rock, rap metal and participated in the main composition of a music group. I miss the days of making music and loving every piece I made.

Many people place classical music and rock music in very different stylistic categories. As someone who has channeled both genres, how do you feel?
Don't polarize art. To me, classical music is a strangely delicate body, like a profound world outlined by melodies. I switched to Rock and Rap because I found more suitable spaces there to release my strong inner energy, but I still always look to classical music as an endless source of inspiration. Or maybe every time I listen to Jazz, I always learn something new.
Could your passion for music be the stepping stone that brought you to abstract art to depict non-figurative emotions?
Partly that's it. But for the rest, I also have a deep and direct passion for painting. When I was 14 years old, while visiting a Russian museum, I was deeply moved when standing in front of the painting &nbsp; Waterloo Bridge &nbsp; (1903) by Claude Monet. I couldn't take my eyes off the painting, as if a part of me had been sucked deep into it, a feeling I had never experienced again. That was the first impression that painting made in my heart. Even later when creating, I still desire to evoke this feeling in the hearts of viewers.

However, it was not until I settled in Vietnam that I had more time to draw. Initially, I was inclined to draw portraits and realistic depictions. Many years as a director have equipped me with a &quot;complete&quot; vision of Beauty. I know in what situations Beauty happens, with what rules and how it should be present. But the more I drew according to the formula, the more I lost myself in that world. “Beauty” that should originally be appreciated visually has now become a hidden form of law in the brain — I understand, but I no longer have feelings for it. This has motivated me to search for the beauty hidden behind random, imperfect things. During the COVID-19 epidemic, I painted abstract paintings as a way of accepting myself as chaotic and chaotic. When painting, I place the canvas on the floor and allow myself to move freely in an open space. Every wave of the hand and brush is spontaneous and random, but they are as exciting as if we were walking in the neighborhood, randomly tossing a coin to take unexpected turns. There is no right and wrong, only originality and uniqueness. I accept myself.

&quot; There is no right and wrong, only originality and uniqueness. I accept myself.&quot;

And is listening to music still your &quot;ritual&quot; when painting? Indeed. Before drawing, I often ask myself what emotion is strongly dominating my heart and then choose a music playlist that matches that emotion. This may take up to an hour or two, but come on, the music pushes me into a state of consciousness. I know there are people who concentrate on work and let the music drift in their ears. On the contrary, I listen to music in a proactive state of mind. Each note and sound will give way to new experiments, cultivating original ideas. That&#39;s how I finished the painting. I heard you mention ADHD, and suddenly I felt like this could be something positive if we saw this disease as a sign for your mind to harmonize with music and art? I don&#39;t look at ADHD through a negative or positive lens — it&#39;s a piece of me, that&#39;s all. But I still occasionally mention it with the hope that future generations can learn something. I hope parents of children diagnosed with ADHD will be more gentle, patient and respectful of their children&#39;s interests, because only in that world can the child be completely focused and truly immersed.

Receiving art also requires privacy

What is your favorite work in this exhibition? Monument of Sorrow &nbsp; (Temporarily translated: Monument of fear). If you look at the work from top to bottom, you will see a clear shift from a slightly street-oriented Graffiti Art style to an increasingly abstract trend as you lower your eye level. This blend makes me interested. I also like the layer of cement I put under the acrylic paint. I was fascinated by the feeling of heavy cement in my palms — it radiated a cold, negative energy. On the other hand, there is an interesting story that happened to the painting. To be exact, the cyan streaks in the bottom half of the work — just a moment after painting this green color, I realized it was deviating from the planned trajectory. But instead of blaming myself, I tried to use other colors to compensate for the shortcomings. There is no such thing as perfect.

Your work ranges from feelings of fear to loneliness, all of which are ambiguous from the beginning. Is naming an abstract work difficult?
Randomly, sometimes I think of a few keywords, but sometimes I'm speechless. Like when drawing &nbsp; Seaside , I don't really have a beach in mind. But the song &nbsp; Seaside &nbsp; (The Kooks) suddenly rang out right at the moment I finished the work. So I chose it as the name.
But the names are actually just suggestions, not necessarily a specific beach. A couple walking on the beach together and the sounds of waves echoing in their minds, that is &nbsp; Seaside &nbsp; mine &mdash; a sad love story. The same goes for the spectators. &nbsp; Seaside &nbsp; belongs to their own piece of memory.

Recently, there are gradually more financial and material burdens appearing in your work. Is your work gradually shifting to socio-political themes?
I do not intentionally force my work into any socio-political landscape. To me, true art does not take political sides, nor does it necessarily contain lofty ideas. Instead, I draw what I observe. Realizing that people are increasingly obsessed with material life, I made the work &nbsp; Printing the money &nbsp; (Temporarily translated: Printing money) as a subject that stimulates reflection.
To make the work, I first treated the canvas layer with black and interwoven small details. Then I cut out the word &ldquo;Money&rdquo; on stencils, painted the piece white, and imprinted it onto the canvas. This operation is repeated many times, implying the mass "money printing" of contemporary society. What's interesting is that the word "Money" has attracted the attention of many people - they no longer see the small details I added on the black canvas. Can I see this as a metaphor for a contemporary situation?

Our emotions and observations will constantly change and rotate. So what do you imagine your art will look like in the coming years? Maybe it&#39;s still abstract, but I want to explore more materials and creative means to find my painting language. I&#39;m thinking of combining epoxy paint and oil paint to paint. Not sure where things will go, but I&#39;m not afraid to make mistakes. We just need to start doing something. In Russian, instead of “drawing” /нарисовать/, we often say “writing” (a picture) /написать/. For us, &quot;writing&quot; means drawing something from ourselves, bringing depth and personal feelings to put into the work. Every style I experiment with is personal and original to me.

Artist Ivan Shenevsky: “In Russia, we ‘write’ a picture”

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