The Girl with Kaleidoscope Eyes, or On the Magical World of Elena Pach

The first and most striking thing about Elena Pach’s work is its magic. It comes from childhood memories and dreams, from the surrealism of (un)familiar animation, as well as from global classics, which the artist “domesticates” in her own whimsically fairytale-like way. Her fantastical characters, storylines, and the equally imaginative titles — which frame this entire authorial pantheon of New Testament-like imagery like fine lace — come together in a true symphony of an artistic world. And yet, the titles of Elena Pach’s works, while perhaps important, matter little to the deeper concept behind them.

Take, for example, the pineapple in the painting of the same name. There seems to be little to see, and the fruit itself is barely visible in the hands of a heroine seated in a chair — with horn-like antennae resembling a bee’s, and a pink bird in front of her. Clearly, the object in her hands is not the point of the conversation, for art does not feed the nightingale. And it’s not really a nightingale either — more like a fantastical bird, as always.

Or the scene that looks almost like something out of Carroll’s Alice in the painting The White Chair. A sad Cheshire Cat, a sad White Rabbit, a sad Alice, like the Beatles’ girl with kaleidoscope eyes. Or rather, not sad, but filled with that look of doubt directed at the viewer. “Doubt and self-criticism are an inseparable part of my creative process,” the artist affirms. “They push me to confront my deepest fears and vulnerabilities. Every piece I create is a journey inward, encouraging me to seek honesty and authenticity in my work.”

And that is a very important authorial explanation — one composed, again, of intertextual (and inter-audio-visual) imagery: John Lennon descending into himself on Klaus Voormann’s illustration, or that same White Rabbit from the Jefferson Airplane repertoire...

Perhaps the apex of this “object-less” presence (or “absence of objecthood” in the animal world?) is the painting Portrait of My Mother. A cat in a ruff, magpies and a pelican. Where is the mother, for heaven’s sake? “It’s an unpredictable image of my mother’s portrait, but it makes sense to me,” the artist explains. And even without the explanation, it’s clear that what matters here are the associations, metaphors, and allusions as hints toward the intended image. Who wouldn’t want such a “varied” and fantastically beautiful mother?

The same applies to the animal world, “humanized” in Elena’s paintings to the level of characters from The Human Comedy — though not Balzac’s, but rather that of the commedia dell’arte, the progenitor of all modern artistic visions, where masked actors take the stage. In much the same way, the animal world in Elena Pach’s painting seemingly “replaces” the human world, while in reality, it interprets it in the most vivid way possible. There’s no need to remove the masks, no need to decode the poetry of these paintings. Because sometimes, it’s impossible to express with conventional language what is hidden in a seemingly “mute” landscape or a “subject-less” still life. Yes, those do exist — believe it! And it’s not about twisting definitions, because as you can see for yourself, Elena Pach’s painting is entirely figurative. And, if you’ll pardon the word, intellectual! Meaning it is born, in no small part, from the flight of cultural associations.

That’s why, in the description of one of her paintings — Green Moon, to be exact — the artist mentions Nick Cave, who said that the most delightful part of an artist’s life is the work — the process of creating something, or the finished piece itself. But, he adds, there is also a dissatisfaction with the result, as time places the work into an entirely different context.

And what are the contexts of Elena Pach’s painting? They are, dear readers, timeless. This is magical realism bordering on a metaphysical reality — untouched by time. That’s why this world of images is filled with (un)familiar symbols that are, in truth, archetypes of eternal life. And that’s why Elena Pach’s painting is immune to “contextual” aging or even death. For the fairytale bird from her paintings could revive even the dying Chinese emperor from the famous parable, when in the morning, his courtiers came to say their goodbyes, and he — in response to all our doubts about the eternity of this fantastical world — said to them:

“Good morning!”

— Ihor Bondar-Tereshchenko, Regional Editor of the magazine “Fine Arts” (Kyiv, Ukraine)

When I looked at Elena Pach’s paintings I saw professional works with a distinct artistic language, telling stories through techniques and subjects of figurative art about the inner world of their author. It is quite obvious that this is not social art, which addresses an external audience, a broad public (provoking or declaring manifestos), but about the artist herself, who for one reason or another is immersed in her own inner universe. Perhaps because the larger world scares her, or perhaps because, due to the artist’s mental and psychological nature, the external world turned out to be less interesting than the whimsical and, in my opinion, rather charming creatures that emerged from the depths of her subconscious onto her canvases.

Yes, I see this as a contrast between my cozy, leisurely, and non-human small world, or rather, not a world but a “place of power,” and the full immersion into the life of the surrounding society. I think this is a perfectly natural escapism for an artist – an escape from reality. It’s also true that such a reality fully deserves such an attitude toward it.

If we turn to the images and characters that inhabit this cozy little world, the first thing that comes to mind is that it’s a rabbit hole, into which we have fallen together with the artist.

In fact, only some of the inhabitants of Wonderland are presented here, probably those with whom the artist finds it most interesting and safe to communicate (note that other Homo sapiens are almost completely absent). There are also some non-authentic characters from Carroll’s work, like magpies. I perceived them as those who bring news from the external world to this small country of Alice or the planet of the Little Prince (on some canvases, the horizon is emphasized as semi-circular), to the artist’s conditional cage (which often appears on the canvases, sometimes locked, sometimes empty). Perhaps this cage is a chest cage.

What is also interesting is that on some canvases, the bottom of the cage seems to be missing, like a bottomless abyss. And I still don’t understand if this is a fall into a personal hell, a gate to another place, or perhaps this is the entrance into this very space of the painting?

In these bizarre creatures of Elena’s and her strange images, I see a distant influence of English literature and Ukrainian folklore, their interesting and organic mix. Of course, naive art has influenced the artist, but Elena's art is by no means art brut; it is a masterful stylization by a professional artist who, through this simplification, quite convincingly attempts to depict the world of her childhood. And as we all know, in that world, other physical laws prevail: there, cats walk on two legs in magical dresses, monkeys are larger than their owner, there is a black moon in the sky and the sky is covered with craquelure. Because it is an old sky – a sky from long ago...

I will probably stop here. In my opinion, what I’ve written is enough for a review-impression. Of course, one could also talk about the color palette of Elena’s paintings, make a compositional analysis, but those are secondary and more technical matters that only have purely utilitarian significance. I wanted, first and foremost, to convey the initial impression of an ordinary viewer, his reflection on what he saw, without regard to what the artist actually wanted to convey.

Sincerely, Vova Kupyansky
Artist