The personality of Lviv artist Oleh Denysenko, whose one-man show was recently held at the Dzyha Gallery in Lviv, was a real discovery for his fellow countrymen. Its title was Artkhimiya (Artchemistry) and it consisted of prints, canvases, books, and plastic works. Some Lviv natives eager to put away in the coffer not only articles but also people hurried to attribute neo-Renaissance trends to his work; others attributed it to romantic surrealism. Most, however, simply wondered at not knowing anything about Oleh Denysenko before. Meanwhile the artist, who is seldom seen at traditional bohemian get- togethers and considers himself not an artist but just a painter (since there are few true artists in history), is not only the author of and participant in numerous foreign exhibits, but also the recipient of twelve international awards from the US, Slovakia, Korea, Poland, and other countries. In his native Lviv, except for the 1992 display at the Halart Gallery, which the artist does not take seriously, Oleh Denysenko displayed his works for the first time.
The Day: French painter Claude Monet said, “I paint the way birds sing.” How would you describe your creativeness?
O. D.: Not as birds sing, certainly. Perhaps it’s like turning the pages of some incunabula or manuscript or maybe going through a history museum.
The Day: Do you think that old manuscripts are relevant for contemporary people?
O. D.: Absolutely. The thing is that much of the knowledge accumulated by mankind over hundreds of years has been unjustly discarded and forgotten. Perhaps today is not the time to deal with this. Alchemists once tried to discover the philosopher’s stone to turn lead into gold or an elixir of life. Likewise artists today, the artchemists, try to transmute things baser into things superior. Modern professionals can do this. Using practically nothing except paper, paint, and such, they create works of art turning them into gold, figuratively and literally. And such works become that very elixir of life, something people had sought for so many centuries; the artist has long gone the way of all nature, yet his work is alive and continues to bestow subsequent generations with the richness and warmth of that artist’s soul.
The Day: Oleh, you are a young man living at the end of the twentieth century. Where does your obsession with the Middle Ages come from? One could describe your Artchemistry as mantras leading to that chimerical past.
O. D.: From my childhood. I am positive that the skill of every creative individual is rooted in his childhood. As a small boy, I dreamed of becoming an archaeologist when I grew up, just that. So at first I leafed through and then read books on the subject. Historical literature is richly illustrated with old woodcuts for such works are the easiest to reprint. And I was always interested in the Renaissance and gothic periods. This means artists like DЯrer, Bruegel, Cranach, and others. Their work marked my consciousness. And I saw something interesting: the aesthetics of that period gave so much food for thought, imagining, and original compositions; it prompted interesting plastic approaches, something you won’t find in modern times. However, I must point out that I do not make book illustrations relating to a certain period, and nor do I quote from the material culture of a certain epoch. I just create a link depending on the condition. For example, I imitate old print types creating a certain mood in a given work. I think this is what attracts my viewers.
The Day: The most whimsical characters in your prints have wings, those of insects rather than birds. And they often resemble not the most attractive of living things. What is it? A hint at the insect-like essence of human existence or an attempt to bring closer the alien world, induced by foreign science fiction? Or maybe just longing to take off and fly, to soar? Apart from those additional details like wings, fantastic headgear, and things, your heroes look rather like you.
O. D.: A good observation. I often paint relying on my mirror reflection. Not literally, but hinting at it. And I see nothing wrong with it. After all, it’s more to do with dreams. I still fly in my dreams. It beats description. I take a couple of steps, jump, and I am airborne, over the rooftops. It’s the greatest sensation I have ever experienced. And it’s not that I feel better and have more peace in the sky; I just perceive everything differently up there. And my art makes me feel like flying. In other words, I have thus far succeeded in combining the real and imaginary worlds.
The Day: Some of your prints are so eloquently repeated in wood. Perhaps painters regard these three colors rather skeptically, although for me these boards are an organic continuation of your prints. But perhaps this will hurt your amour-propre?
O. D. : I have long since lost interest in who says what about me. I am doing something that gladdens my heart, and I do it the way I see fit. But you are right about one thing. Professional painters may indeed feel skeptical, yet I do not claim the title of an artist. What you saw on display, things of wood and bronze, is neither painting, nor sculpture. I call it three dimensional graphics. You see, I consider the graphic arts as elite. Not everybody can really appreciate black and white or simply monochromic images built on contrast and tone gradation. And then the time comes and you want to try another material. On the one hand, I wanted to try old techniques more addressing Byzantine icon-painting than the Western European aspect, using the levkas (alabaster or chalk with glue) primer and minimal paint; on the other, I tried to create my own graphic personae. And what I thought came out best I included in the Artchemistry display.








