Today we’d like to introduce you to Tania Smyk.
Hi Tania, we’re thrilled to have a chance to learn your story today. So, before we get into specifics, maybe you can briefly walk us through how you got to where you are today?
I’m from a Ukrainian diaspora family, grown on a suburban midwestern backdrop. I attended public schools, eventually honing in on photographic interests at 14, and somehow was able to finagle my way into two years of independent art study with an ad-hoc curriculum. Bless my teacher– teenage rebellion came with a fine-arts twist, and caused some headaches. I often acquired unconventional things for the sake of photoshoots– I brought many snails to school, hid rats in my closet, “borrowed” shopping carts from grocery stores, and had given haircuts during class to get hair for projects. The photo sessions often took place in my bedroom with a desk lamp and a white bedsheet tacked to the wall, and I typically recruited my models from the thespian society or my filmmaking friends, as they were most willing to cross dress and lean into oddities.
Taking advantage of my unstructured surroundings at a sports-centric high school landed me a full ride to CCS. I spent five years there in the photo department, building up to a fashion photography thesis, only to throw it away 3 months before graduation. It then became “Vichna” (Ukrainian for “eternal”)– and is now a longterm project that started as a reflection on forced migration and tangible cultural heritage. It was the culmination of my years in undergrad, and the years I spent growing up in a Ukrainian activist-like environment an ocean away from the motherland. “Vichna” had started as my ending, only to actually be the beginning of the life I am living today.
If I said “Vichna” was born from a love for my heritage, I would be lying. Truthfully, it was created by a spark of anger. During undergrad, I had left for the month of March in 2022 to work as a border translator in Romania for Ukrainian refugees as they fled full-scale war. People at home pushed me to create something, write things, say things; at the time, it filled me with guilt, and I felt like doing so would paint me as a war profiter. Walking into class directly after getting off my flight from Bucharest, I felt a strong disdain for the work I had spent so much time making. My colleagues were supportive of my absence, and so kind to print my work– photos from a fashion shoot I had done in collaboration with a Detroit designer– for a group show we had while I had been in Romania. I was grateful, but I couldn’t help but cry as I felt a hatred of seeing them hung up in the gallery. In that moment, I felt absolutely guilty for pursuing the arts, especially fashion photography– it felt vain and hollow.
During my fifth and final year at CCS, I reached an emotional compromise with myself: to inconveniently and irresponsibly abandon my original fashion photography thesis, which I was using to run away from blood I felt undeserving of at the time, and intensively produce a project about Ukrainian culture in the weeks leading up to my graduation. In this beginning phase of “Vichna”, I felt even worse, like I was using something that was not mine, even though I had grown up immersed diaspora perspective.
My acceptance and genuine love for “Vichna” came with time and rumination. I’ve been incredibly lucky to spend the past four years as a dedicated volunteer for Ukraine, gradually starting to create work again after a hiatus.
It’s through the passing conversations I’ve had in Ukraine, whether a sit-down interview with a former POW, to a casual train ride chat, that I have been able to gradually extinguish the anger I had towards my practice. It took me my entire life to truly find joy in having no control in who we are born into, and even more appreciation for the ability to shape our path to fate. And gradually, through new experiences, I’ve been able to continue “Vichna”. While its shape has transformed, its mission of acting as a vessel to preserve still stands. Today, “Vichna” exists as my life’s practice. It has taken on the form of a conceptual archive that explores intimate history, visual and emotional texture, and what is occurs in seemingly empty spaces marinating in tension.
I’m absolutely ecstatic to continue it with the support of my community, and people I have met in these past four years. My next steps include what happens after preservation, and what is lost and gained as tradition is transposed into modernity. Still using photography as my main mode of communication, this will take on a more experimental approach and come back full circle to why I had fallen in love with visual arts in the first place– the act of pushing to think completely differently.
Would you say it’s been a smooth road, and if not what are some of the biggest challenges you’ve faced along the way?
Absolutely not! In my natural state, I’m not a logical person. I have a tendency to throw myself at the world and see what happens, and have had to adjust from countless acute failures in order to keep moving forward. While this allows me to live authentically and feel deeply, it does have its repercussions.
There were many times I over-exerted myself to the point of physical illness, or caused physical harm to myself. At one point in college, I was working two jobs and one volunteer position in addition to being a full-time student. I was so strung out that I couldn’t think properly, and ended up with second-degree burns on my entire face, arms, and eyes after staying up until 4am making cyanotypes in a UV exposure unit. It eventually faded into a nice tan, but I am at an exponentially higher risk for skin cancer now.
Of course, there are the invisible hinderances. My confidence in navigating the world and life as an artist was artificial for most of my life. I experienced imposter syndrome with practically everything I took on. But there really is a way to finesse the fake-it-til-you-make-it philosophy, and I found that it’s to continually take action and do something, anything, even if I don’t feel it’s in my “right” to do so. Especially if it’s terrifying. Through action and experience, I’ve been able to balance learning and teaching myself ways of being, and it’s ultimately allowed me to grow confidence by gaining understanding of my human purpose.
Thanks for sharing that. So, maybe next you can tell us a bit more about your work?
I am known for my work as a fine art photographer, and also work with ceramic and performance media. Overall, my main method of communication is through halides and pixels.
During my time at CCS, I was deeply inspired by high and historical fashion– especially the avant garde. While fashion isn’t currently the industry I’m working in, it heavily influences the way I compose images with the use of tone, color, textures, and props.
Like most artists, I do a lot of work outside of my practice. I find a lot of meaning in service and community. I was an RA in college, spent some time postgrad as an Instructor of Residence Life at Interlochen Arts Academy. I’ve been able to turn my love for hosting people into hired opportunities, and have put on curated events in Detroit, Pittsburgh, and Washington DC. I have a substantial amount of scattered jobs on my resume, the most recent one being at a pilates studio where I frequently painted walls and worked construction on their most recent buildout.
I previously had a negative outlook on my American public school education, but the ample freedom I had during critical growth and has taught me how to be a fiery self-starter. I don’t believe in waiting for opportunities to come, over creating them grassroots-style.
I thrive on collaboration. This past year, I inserted myself into two Ukrainian diaspora music groups– Divka, and Daughters of Donbas, both based in Toronto. Together we have been able to not only gather documentation of their impact on the folk music scene, but also create music videos, conceptual photoshoots, and travel overseas together. I’m incredibly grateful that they wholly trust my artistry, and have allowed me to have full creative freedom in output. It’s been such a pleasure to interact in a multimedia fashion.
I’m currently a graduate student at Moholy Nagy University of Arts and Design in Budapest, and would really like to dedicate my next two years to cultural heritage research, preservation, and experimentation. For now I’ve taken a back seat from working a structured job, aside from a few volunteer projects near to my heart. I’m hoping to come out of my master’s degree with a greater understanding of how I can make a sustainable living off of experimental practice.
What was your favorite childhood memory?
A rehearsal at Ukrainian music camp when I was twelve years old. Growing up, I had attended Kobzarska Sich Bandura and Vocal Programs, and now have the opportunity to work with them to continue the mission of preserving and prolonging Ukrainian music traditions abroad.
This camp was particularly intense, and we often sat late into the night for full ensemble rehearsals. It was August, extremely humid and sweaty– our director would conduct so intensely that sweat would jump from his face as he moved emotionally and rapidly. We were singing and playing bandura for a song that yearned for Polissia– the northern marshlands of Ukraine. I sat next to a boy, we were so young that he sang soprano with me. During this rehearsal, he leaned over and used the poetry of the lyrics to say he was in love with me.
At the time, I had no reaction. I froze and distinctly remember my hands going numb while playing bandura. I was 12, shocked, and felt embarrassed. I think it was the first time a boy had liked me, and definitely the an intensely poetic confession. But looking back– it was a very sweet and wholesome. I feel a similar sweetness now for genuine interactions, just not as strong and paralyzing. I feel a very positive nostalgia for this time.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://taniasmyk.com/home
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/vichnajournal/
- LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/tania-smyk/
- Other: https://vichnajournal.com
