The artistic vision of Ellaya Yefymova is a direct philosophical inquiry. Her work consciously reframes the historical concept of Memento Mori (“remember death”) as a more urgent, present-tense mandate: Memento Vivere (“remember to live”). This is not a subtle semantic shift; it is a call to awareness, a central theme that runs through her precise and haunting paintings.

Speaking from Portugal, where she relocated from Ukraine in 2022, Yefymova explains her work as a fusion of anatomical precision, existential honesty, and a direct processing of trauma. In the past years, this vision has been shared with a growing international audience through participation in exhibitions from Mexico City to London.

The Skull as a Vessel

Her work features in two iterations of the ‘Tzompantli’ exhibition, held in Mexico City and Aveiro, Portugal (2025). For this, she created two paintings connecting the ancient Mesoamerican skull wall with her ongoing ‘Memento Vivere’ series.

“All our paintings in this project create a wall of skulls,” she explains, “as a metaphor for a modern reflection on death not as horror, but as a reminder to live with awareness.”

One painting depicts a skull holding a coin that says “1 life,” with a slot in its forehead. It is, she states, “a symbol that the true price of life is life itself. It is our most precious offering.” The second shows a skull with a missing puzzle piece, reflecting that “personal growth is a lifelong process of building ourselves piece by piece, ending only with death, when the puzzle is complete.”

Engaging with the project required research into a tradition she was not previously familiar with. She discovered a natural connection. The historical tzompantli, she notes, served as a reminder of the “power and the authority of leaders.” Her art, by contrast, repurposes the symbol to remind “us of our own mortality and how precious our life is.” As a “small tribute to the original concept,” her paintings include holes in each skull, echoing the way the originals were fixed to the structure.

The term “dark art” is often applied to her work, which was recently included in the ‘PENUMBRA/ 10 Year Anniversary/ DARK ART SHOW,’ where she exhibited three works from her ‘Memento Vivere’ series: ‘Overthinking,’ ‘Silent Visitor,’ and ‘Life’s Sweets.’ She defines the genre in her own terms.

“For me, dark art is not only about darkness itself, but about honesty,” Yefymova says. “It allows us to look at the sides of life that people usually try to avoid: pain, fear, loss, and transformation through them. I see it as a way to face what is real.”

An Apotheosis in London

Perhaps the most significant work of her career to date, ‘The Apotheosis of invisible struggle,’ carries a story of its own. It was sold at the London Art Biennale in 2023, but its journey began at the very start of her artistic path in 2020. The idea was prompted by an open call from the Kyiv gallery Portal 11 for an Art Prize themed ‘A Wonderful New World?’.

Her concept fit it perfectly. “I wanted to show how humanity is slowly sinking into consumerism and loneliness,” she recalls. Her vision was a “mountain of modern waste.” At the bottom lay “objects from our childhood,” such as toys, a Dendy console, or an old rocket-shaped vacuum cleaner. Higher up were newer technologies like robot vacuums and Segways. “On the top,” she continues, “lay the remains of a human being who had died without even noticing it, still wearing VR glasses, surrounded by plastic and gadgets that would last longer than his body.”

She discovered the open call late and had just over three weeks to complete the painting. To manage the tight deadline, she created a quick photobash from internet references and personal photos, and used acrylics for the background to save drying time. “I painted every day as much as possible to meet the deadline,” she says, working on her balcony “without a proper studio or professional light.”

When the painting was accepted for the Art Prize, it felt transformative, especially as it was only the third painting she had created since identifying as an artist. “Getting into the nominees with almost no portfolio and an empty CV… felt like a sign from the Universe: ‘everything is possible, just do it’,” she says. “So this work became very symbolic for me — my first step into the art world.”

Although she did not win the prize, she notes that she gained something more valuable: “the feeling that I was moving in the right direction.”

The painting was later shown at the ArtGemini Prize in 2021 and was left in London due to the expense of shipping it back to Ukraine. This decision proved fateful. After the war began in 2022, she was able to secure a new opportunity for the piece from Portugal. Its selection for the London Art Biennale led to its sale.

“And that was the most beautiful moment for me as an artist!” she states. “The moment when your painting finds its collector, someone who connects with it so deeply that they cannot let it go.”

The Anatomy of Seeing

Her striking realism is informed by an unconventional background. Yefymova’s biography indicates a dual education in general medicine and design, and she dedicated significant time to studying anatomy. She admits that learning anatomy from a “medical point of view is a bit different from the artist’s perspective,” but concedes those “hundreds of hours spent on anatomy books and atlases definitely helped.”

This knowledge is crucial for her figurative work, which often focuses on skulls. She notes that finding a good reference is difficult because “there are simply no two identical skulls.” Since she “cannot really hire a model to pose for a skull image,” she relies on her medical background to fill the gaps. Understanding the complex structures, for which she still recalls the Latin names—“foramen, fissura, sulcus, crista, hiatus, processus”—allows her to “more or less accurately create a realistic image” from a composite of references.

When asked about the technical stages of a recent painting, such as ‘No Matter What’ (2023), she laughs, observing that she has already painted 37 more works since its completion. “My process always depends on many things,” she says, “the format, the idea, the chosen materials, and even my own emotional state.”

She typically buys pre-stretched Belgian linen (such as Claessens) for large pieces. However, she notes that in Portugal, “the choice of art supplies is not that big, unfortunately.” For smaller, more spontaneous formats, she often opts for cotton canvas or wooden panels, by using “the best materials I can buy immediately.”

If using oils, she usually adds an extra layer of gesso, or skips that step if using an acrylic background. For ‘No Matter What,’ she used an airbrush with acrylic paint “to create a kind of technological glow.” Generally, when working with oils, she works in several layers, “starting with general forms and then adding details.” Lately, she has begun working from an “imprimatura instead of sketching,” which helps set the composition and values early.

Another 2023 painting, ‘You Reap What You Sow,’ directly addresses the “environmental aftermath of war.” The imagery did not come from specific visual research, but was an “introspective reflection on the horrors of war” created after her relocation.

“I kept witnessing its impact for a long time through photos, videos, local chats, and the news,” she says. The painting, which features a sunflower, a potent symbol for a nation that is the world’s largest exporter of sunflower oil, represents fertile land now “in flames and under occupation.” It illustrates that “war harms not only people, but also nature and the environment.”

The title, she explains, refers not only to the cycle of human conflict—reaping anger and hate when one sows it—but also to “the damage our generation does to the planet, which future generations will inherit.”

In 2023, she also undertook a mentorship with artist Henrik Uldalen. She clarifies that her purpose in joining was not “to learn specific technical skills” but rather for “inspiration.” She wanted to see how another successful artist without a formal academic background had developed his voice.

“The most important lesson I took away was: you do not need formal education; what you need is practice and having fun in the process, without focusing too much on the result.” This new mindset proved liberating. “I finally started painting what I always wanted — my ‘Memento Vivere’ series — without worrying about what other people might think,” she says.

The experience remains a source of gratitude. “We actually met recently at an Andrew Cadima workshop,” she adds, “and it felt like a whole new level for me. Seeing Henrik again was like meeting a close friend — with hugs and joy in our eyes.”

An Awakening Experience

Yefymova’s professional artistic career began in 2020, a period prompted by the global lockdown and maternity leave. She started with a series titled Paramedical Reflections, which she describes as a “kind of soft transition from medicine to art,” born from a desire to express things she “could no longer communicate as a doctor.” She admits she was not entirely focused at first because she “wanted to say so much.”

In the second half of 2021, she explored an audiovisual project with her husband, a composer. Inspired by the pandemic and global digitalisation, he created soundtracks for her triptychs based on parameters she set. She characterizes 2020-2021 as “experimental and transitional years,” noting that while her technique has grown, she values those early works because “ideas remain more important than technique.” Even then, the idea for ‘Memento Vivere’ existed, but she was afraid of “what people would think” and “who would even care.”

The war became the “turning point.” Her forced relocation to Portugal in 2022 “changed my artistic practice profoundly,” she states. “It was an ‘awakening experience’ for me.” After processing her initial emotions of fear, anger, and sadness, she felt the need to share them through art, “to remind others what truly matters in life.”

This also altered her creative process. “I also started working more from feelings than from the mind,” she explains. “The first painting I made after the war began was purely emotional for me. I did not think about technique, beauty, or the final result. I lived it, I cried while painting, I was angry and frustrated.”

The resulting piece, ‘Ukraine 2022,’ was powerful and sold almost immediately at a charity exhibition. “That experience taught me an important lesson: emotions in art are essential.” She has adhered to this principle ever since. “I never create purely from the rational side of myself,” she insists. “I always include emotions in every painting.”

Her first exhibitions in Portugal were entirely for charity, with “100% of the proceeds going to various Ukrainian humanitarian foundations.” Subsequent exhibitions, such as ‘Ukrainian Wave’ in 2023, were “aimed more at supporting Ukrainian artists themselves, helping us integrate into the Portuguese art scene.” She viewed her participation as part of a collective effort. Her paintings shared personal experiences of displacement and fear, hoping to “communicate emotions, build empathy, and create meaningful connections across communities.”

As she participates in more international fairs and biennales, she says she has never thought of her practice in national terms. “For me art is an international language,” she insists. “The themes I work with are universal and relevant to people everywhere.” She sees the move to international venues not as “internationalisation,” noting that she has “always thought beyond geographic borders.” The most significant professional challenge remains “finding ways to show my work to as many people as possible,” including getting the attention of galleries, reaching an audience on social media, and building professional connections.

Fromm, Yalom, and Humans 2.0

The philosophical core of her ‘Memento Vivere’ series is a direct response to what she sees as the incompleteness of Memento Mori. “I wanted to shift the focus from fear and finality to awareness and appreciation of life,” she says. She shares the idea of writer Irvin D. Yalom, whom she cites, that “the thought of death may save us.”

“When we stop ignoring our mortality and truly face it, knowing that death can come at any moment,” she elaborates, “it places full responsibility for our choices on us, but also gives incredible strength and motivation to live consciously.” She aims to remind viewers that the fear of death can be transformed into a powerful desire to live with “eyes wide open.”

“It encourages us to stop wasting time as if we had plenty of it, to prioritise what truly matters, and to enjoy life now instead of waiting for some vague ‘later’,” she adds.

She reconciles her seemingly contradictory backgrounds in science and surrealism with ease. “It may seem that science and surrealism contradict each other, but for me they coexist naturally,” she says, noting that “medicine itself is not an exact science.” She appreciates that it offers “structure without rigid limits,” as it is constantly evolving with new discoveries.

Her medical training provides a foundation in observation and critical thinking, allowing her to balance “anatomical accuracy and emotional intuition.” “The scientific side gives me understanding, while the surrealist side gives me freedom,” she says. “Together, they help me explore the invisible aspects of human experience: the fears and emotions that lie beneath the surface of what we can measure, but resonating on a deeper, psychological level.”

She also articulates a concept she calls “humans 2.0,” an idea that grew from her reflections on “how humanity keeps repeating the same destructive patterns — wars, cruelty, and ignorance — instead of evolving in consciousness.” She finds it hard to believe that “in the twentieth-first century we still rely on such barbaric ways of interacting with one another.”

However, she acknowledges that “humanity is still very young” and that “true evolution takes centuries.” It requires, she notes, “several generations to raise people with emotional awareness, fewer psychological traumas, and a genuine appreciation of life.” While she admits this vision is “a kind of utopia,” she believes small steps toward a “more conscious version of humanity that learns from its past rather than being trapped by it” are vital.

Her worldview is “strongly influenced by existential philosophy and by thinkers such as Erich Fromm and Irvin D. Yalom.” She notes that influences are “multifactorial” and similar to complex diseases, “where one, many or even none of the risk‑factors may lead to the manifestation.” She is shaped by every person she meets, “a glance, world politics, a song or a heavy rain.”

But she does list several concrete influences on her recent work: “war in my native country; working with a psychologist; reading books on complex PTSD and psychology; the book ‘Staring at the Sun (Overcoming the Terror of Death)’ by Irvin D. Yalom; Erich Fromm’s ‘Escape from Freedom’; the TV series ‘Black Mirror’; and scientific research into trauma and visual processing.”

Yefymova does not view her use of vanitas imagery as a limitation, but rather as a tool for awakening. “Facing our fear of death, instead of repressing it, can help us reconnect with the essence of being alive,” she explains. She observes that the human mind tends to “slip back into autopilot,” necessitating mindfulness practices. Her paintings function similarly: they are reminders “to live consciously, with open eyes and an awakened heart.”

The Inner Dialogue

Engaging with such difficult subject matter in her studio is a managed process. Yefymova explains that she has processed many of her own traumatic experiences to a degree that allows her to “recall and observe” emotions rather than “falling into” them. Consequently, her paintings share “the result of that inner work, not the process of living through it.” The one exception was her painting ‘Ukraine 2022,’ which was created “right in the middle of the emotional storm.”

She prefers to be alone when painting, to “fully immerse” herself in the work, noting that she often feels she temporarily becomes “part of the painting.” Because of this deep connection, she cannot work on several pieces at once; switching causes her to lose that link.

After finishing a painting, she enters a “refractory period” that can last from days to a week, during which she focuses on practical tasks like buying materials, preparing submissions, or managing social media. To recharge, she returns to simple, grounding activities: “I spend time with my family, do fly yoga, cook, crochet/knit and walk outdoors.”

Though she has participated in Ukrainian group shows, she admits, “I cannot really say I have ever been part of the Ukrainian art community. I have always lived and created rather independently.” Today, her connection is primarily through international projects that unite Ukrainian artists abroad, such as Echoes of Unity, which brought together nine Ukrainian artists. Her perspective on her identity has evolved. “Even though my art does not use traditional symbols,” she says, “I feel I represent Ukraine through inner strength, resilience, and honesty.”

To her, being a Ukrainian artist today means “showing the world who we truly are: people who have faced pain and loss, yet never lost our ability to create, feel, and inspire.”

When a collector acquires one of her deeply personal pieces, she hopes it “speaks to them on a deeper, emotional level.” She does not expect viewers to see exactly what she felt. “I want them to find their own meaning in it, to recognise their emotions, fears, or reflections.” The ideal, she states, is for the art to “start an inner dialogue, to make people slow down for a moment and ask themselves: Am I really living the way I want? Am I aware of how precious my time is?” Yet, she also offers a more grounded perspective. “If someone buys a painting just because they like how it looks, that is perfectly fine too,” she adds. “Art can simply be enjoyed visually, and that is enough.”

As for the future, she embraces uncertainty. “When I had a strict plan for my life, it felt boring,” she reflects. “Now, not knowing what comes next feels wonderful. There is beauty in uncertainty, as anything is possible.” She does not plan to change her materials, as oil painting is a “lifelong love.” Her themes, she concludes, will evolve as she does. “Since I work from myself… my art will grow and evolve organically along with me.”