I had visited Bali a few times before, and it always felt like stepping into another world. After spending several years working non-stop with ceramics and social media, I felt completely burned out. Life on the island is so different from what I was used to, and when the chance came to spend more time here, I held on to it tightly. Everyday life in Bali has such a strong impact on me—it naturally inspires me to create. And the people here are incredibly creative by nature, which makes the atmosphere even more inspiring.
At first, yes—I thought I would focus on ceramics, maybe find a coworking space or rent a studio. But once I arrived, I felt it was time to learn something new. I lived close to a street full of fabric shops, and it felt like the perfect chance to learn sewing and pattern making. That helped me understand body anatomy better and eventually led to my series of ceramic toys. I ended up spending two full years on the island without leaving (it was still post-Covid times, and my visa allowed it). Over that time, I became really rooted here—my neighbors and the whole Balinese village around me feel like family now.
Everything about Bali’s environment has influenced me and changed me from the inside. I was born and raised in Siberia, and sometimes it feels like even the sun here is different—as if we live under another sky. One of the clearest examples is my current series of ceramic whistles, inspired by the evenings when I heard people practicing gamelan in the balé banjar, the community gathering space in each village. That atmosphere of sound and togetherness pushed me to explore instruments in clay.
I actually didn’t live in Sanur itself—it always felt a bit too hectic for me. I lived about 20 minutes away, surrounded by jungle and rice fields. Sometimes life in the village felt very slow, and then I would go to Sanur to feel the faster pace and energy. That balance between quiet and lively was perfect for me.
Honestly, when I came up with the name OJO, I didn’t even know it meant “eye” (it embarrasses me to say) I actually thought it looked like a face—two big eyes and a nose shaped like the letter J. It felt right to me, this simplified way of seeing a face. I’ve always loved simple shapes, and that idea really stuck as the aesthetic of OJO.
I suspect it all goes back to Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll and the illustrations in that book. As a child I had an unhealthy obsession with it. But there were many other books too – I was a very bookish kid, even though I actually learned to read quite late. I think all of that created a kind of inner well of fantasy that I still draw from.
Every stage after the sketch is risky. Often a piece doesn’t turn out perfectly the first time I sculpt it. Then it might not dry enough and could crack or even explode in the kiln. And finally, the glaze can behave unpredictably—sometimes it runs into an important opening or changes color unexpectedly. Ceramics is very often unpredictable, and that’s part of what makes it exciting.
Right now I’m saving up for a new kiln. My current one can’t reach the high temperatures I need, and I’ve been dreaming of working with translucent porcelain. Porcelain opens up new possibilities for me, like making lamps. I’m also excited to explore new materials in general and see how different clays and glazes behave—it’s a constant learning process and a big part of what keeps my practice exciting.
They are definitely characters. Some even have their own lore, but I experience it more as a feeling – not a fixed story. For example, one of my dolls has only one eye; she lost the other in a dramatic battle she doesn’t even remember herself. It’s less about a story I tell and more about the sense that these figures have lived through a lot.
I’m not exactly sure where the inspiration comes from. It kind of just happens, and I think it’s a mix of everything I’ve ever seen or heard. Sometimes it takes me a while to realize what actually sparked a particular idea.
When it comes to my dolls, I don’t really make sketches. I usually start by shaping the body with my hands, and once it accidentally takes a certain form, I think about what kind of head would fit – maybe a little dragon or gecko. Then I figure out the color of the body, how I’ll paint and glaze it, and finally I pick fabrics from my stash.
Originally, all of them were meant to wear clothes, but sometimes the bodies turn out so well that I can’t cover them with fabric. I should also admit that my ceramics usually turn out better than my sewing!
Most of the time, it all starts with sculpting the body. But sometimes a piece of fabric catches my eye and becomes the starting point. For example, I made a fish-shaped lamp this way—I had a small scrap of sun-bleached silk, and I built the ceramic base around it.
I dream of making puppets for a shop window! Just imagine a whole display where an entire city is built out of ceramics—and the puppets are ceramic too. That would be so fun. Honestly, any brand with big window displays would be a perfect match for me.
I think it would be amazing to work with a musician. I’d love to create something together where my ceramic pieces become part of the stage design or the atmosphere of a performance. It would be so fun to see how clay could live in music in a different way.
