About

Oxana Morasch

I’m a contemporary artist based in Berlin. My work explores transitions and inner shifts—moments when experiences, feelings, or other people change the way we see ourselves, and something familiar begins to give way before the new has fully taken shape.

I studied Audiovisual Media and spent many years working with photography, moving image, and visual storytelling. That background still shapes the way I think about composition, rhythm, and emotional expression.

Artist Statement

I’m interested in the moments when we are no longer who we were, but don’t yet know who we’re becoming. My paintings grow out of personal experience without depicting it literally. Love and exhaustion, closeness and the need for freedom, loss and connection can all be true at the same time.

When my son was born, these questions became impossible to ignore. The way I saw myself, my childhood, my mother, and the ties between generations began to shift. In my current series, I approach these questions through the experience of motherhood, but for me they reach far beyond it.

I’m also interested in what sets change in motion within us. Sometimes it’s an event, sometimes a feeling, sometimes another person. We begin to see our own choices differently, question other people’s motives, and understand things years later because our own experience has changed. Not every change begins with a conscious decision. Often, only in hindsight do we realize that something in us had already shifted.

That sense of movement is present in the paintings themselves. I work with acrylic and mixed media, building up layers, covering parts and revealing them again. Lines change direction, forms circle back, traces surface and disappear. To me, this echoes the way experiences and memories keep working within us: they don’t stay the same, but they don’t simply vanish either.

Ochres and browns form the ground of my paintings: origin, memory, and everything that has already shaped us. Blue enters that ground as something new, meeting what is already there and being changed by it in turn. Where the colors meet, neither remains quite the same. The red trace stands for love: something that can preserve connection through all those shifts.

I don’t want to tell anyone what they should feel in front of a painting. I bring my own story into the work, but I don’t want the work to end there. A painting should contain enough of me to be true—and enough space for someone else’s story.

Berlin, Germany