Iryna Litvinova

My heart belongs to the desert

When I paint, it feels like stepping into another world. There’s the scent of ferns and morning dew, the soft light filtering through the leaves, and my thoughts quietly drifting back to what I hold most dear. That’s where my art begins — in memory, in feeling, in the way I see the world differently.

My heart belongs to the desert. Its endless horizons, its stillness, its hidden stories — they speak to me in a language I understand. And yet, I carry the green meadows in me too, the soft spaces of home, the places that remind me of where I come from. I live between these worlds, and they both live in my work.

Saudi Arabia has given me an extraordinary gift: the chance to truly know the Arab horses. I study their psychology deeply and communicate with them through the language of the body. It’s a conversation without words, guided by respect, instinct, and the natural laws that have guided humans and horses for centuries. One of the most remarkable things I’ve discovered is how much Ukrainian and Saudi culture unexpectedly echo each other — a story I’ll share in more detail another time. But what amazed me most is that the ancient methods of working with horses are almost identical, rooted in nature itself. I was lucky enough to exchange this wisdom with a member of an ancient Saudi tribe — an experience that touched me profoundly, reshaping how I understand both horses and life.

I study the great masters — Leonardo, Vermeer, Michelangelo, Caravaggio — not to copy them, but to feel the depth of their vision, the way they saw the world. And I am equally captivated by the spirit of Arabia, the Nabataean legacy, and the desert landscapes I walk through today.

This is me. My paintings, my soul with the horses, my heart in the desert, the memory of green meadows, my eyes open to everything around and within. I live between worlds — and that’s where everything I do comes alive.