Tanya Besedina (Web Exclusive)

Medium/Technique: Ceramics/Pottery

Location: Toronto, Ontario

Website: https://www.besedina.com/

Social Media: https://www.instagram.com/besedinatanya

'Silent Conversation,' porcelain sculpture. Photo courtesy of the artist.

1. How would you describe your art and artistic practice? 

My art grows from silence — from the places between words, where emotions live unspoken. I work with porcelain because it feels alive to me: fragile yet enduring, translucent like the inner light we all carry. Each sculpture begins with a feeling I can’t explain and takes shape through memory, intuition, and touch. I see my practice as a kind of soul-mapping — tracing invisible stories of love, loss, and quiet transformation. It's not about perfection, but honesty. My hands search for the truth my voice cannot always find.

2. How did you first get into ceramics? 

I fell in love with clay during my student years while studying fashion design in Ukraine. At the time, I was deeply engaged with fabric, exploring how it wraps and reshapes the human form — until I realized that our own bodies are the most honest garments for the soul. That realization stayed with me. My hands began searching for a material that could carry the weight of feeling and speak the quiet stories I needed to tell. That path led me fully to clay.

A glimpse of the artist at work with her ceramics. Photo by Julia Merk.

I chose porcelain because of its delicate strength, but also because it lets the light through. It feels alive, almost spiritual, and connects deeply with my themes of love, memory, and inner transformation. Porcelain doesn’t just hold form; it holds emotion, and for me, it has become a way to translate the unseen into something you can touch.

3. Your work is so detailed and intricate. Where do you find inspiration? 

Inspiration finds me in quiet, intimate moments—memories, dreams, deep conversations, and the invisible threads between love and loss. Much of it comes from my personal journey: motherhood, especially raising a blind daughter who taught me how to feel beyond the visible, and my Ukrainian roots, which gave me a deep connection to layered stories, struggle, and resilience.

Canadian nature is another guide—the shape of a petal, the hush of snow, the silence between stars. I try to catch the essence of those fleeting feelings and translate them into porcelain forms that whisper rather than shout. My sculptures aren’t planned—they’re felt.

A profound source of transformation has also come through my work with plant medicines—Mushrooms, Ayahuasca, and other sacred plant teachers. Those experiences opened doors within me I didn’t know existed. They helped me heal, strip away false stories, and understand that we are all deeply connected—carrying the same ancient DNA, the same longing to grow and love.

Peru, with its beauty and deep spirit, gave me some of the most powerful moments in my life. I try to bring that light into my art.

4. Can you walk us through your creative process, from initial idea to sourcing materials to the physical act of making? 

My creative process often begins with a feeling—a dream I can’t forget, a phrase that lingers, or an emotional imprint left by someone I love. I rarely sketch in the traditional sense. Instead, I sketch with my hands, letting the clay guide me. Working with porcelain is like working with light—it’s delicate, temperamental, and incredibly honest.

To master porcelain took me years. It is one of the most complex and demanding clays to work with. I use a self-glazing porcelain that gives my sculptures a soft, silky finish, almost like skin. The cracks that appear are a natural part of the material. 

I’ve learned to see Fire as my co-creator: it reveals what cannot be fully controlled. Sometimes cracks appear in the most unexpected places, but I accept them as part of the design. They are not flaws, but quiet testimonies of the porcelain’s nature, and I honour them with deep respect.

I work intuitively, using mostly hand-building techniques, allowing imperfections to stay, because they carry emotion and truth. I often incorporate found objects—vintage suitcases, stones, and other personal relics—to deepen the narrative. The process is meditative. Sometimes joyful, sometimes painful. But always intimate. From start to finish, I see each piece not as an object, but as a quiet conversation between soul, material, and light.

'Inner Vision," ceramic sculpture by Tanya Besedina. Photo courtesy of the artist.

'Golden Seed,' porcelain sculpture by Tanya Besedina. Photo courtesy of the artist.

Left to right: 'Inner Vision,' ceramic sculpture // 'Golden Seed,' ceramic sculpture. Photos courtesy of the artist.

5. There seems to be a lot of focus on the eyes in many of your sculptures. Can you explain the significance of eyes in your work? 

For me, eyes are portals to the soul. When I sculpt eyes, I don’t try to make them realistic. I try to make them feel something. Many of them are closed or turned inward, as if caught in a meditative state—listening, sensing, dreaming. This inward gaze connects deeply to the idea of the “third eye”—a space within us that sees beyond sight. It’s the eye of intuition, of memory, of truth. The kind of vision that moves through silence and emotion, not through light.

My daughter, who was born blind, has been one of my greatest teachers. She showed me that we don’t need our eyes to see. Her presence reminds me daily that perception is a full-body experience. Hands can see. Skin can hear. The heart knows. Her way of being changed how I understand what it means to “see.”

In my sculptures, this deeper kind of seeing becomes a quiet language. A reminder that we carry an entire cosmos within us—and that the universe inside mirrors the one outside. They are not separate. What we find in the stillness of our soul is made of the same stardust that lights the skies.

Through each piece, I try to hold space for this truth: Real vision begins when we close our eyes—and open to the world within.

'Unity,' ceramic sculpture. Photo courtesy of the artist.

6. Tell us about a favourite piece or collection you’ve created and why it’s so memorable.

I don’t have a single favourite piece or collection—each one is a step along the path of my life. My sculptures are like pages from a personal journal, each capturing a moment in time, a feeling, a transformation. Some speak of grief, others of joy or deep stillness. They reflect not just who I was when I made them, but how I saw the world in that moment.

I see them not as separate works, but as one unfolding story—mine. And like memories, some are louder, some quieter, but all are equally meaningful. Each piece holds a truth I needed to express, and together, they help me make sense of the journey. 

That’s why I don’t choose favourites—because the whole path matters.

7. What have you encountered in your career so far that readers (or other artists) might find surprising or unexpected? 

What might surprise others is how much trust it takes to work with porcelain—not just in the material, but in myself. Porcelain is full of mystery. It can crack without warning, collapse after hours of work, or transform unexpectedly in the kiln. I used to resist this. Now, I listen. The fire has become my quiet collaborator.

Another unexpected truth: the deeper I go into my personal story—into vulnerability, grief, love—the more universal the response becomes. People often think that to connect, we must speak broadly. But I’ve learned that when I sculpt from the most intimate places, others recognize something of themselves in it. The more personal my work, the more it reaches.

And finally, I’ve learned that stillness is part of creation. There are periods when nothing gets made with my hands, but everything is forming inside. I’ve come to respect and even cherish those quiet times, knowing they hold their own kind of creative power.

'Flower of Life,' ceramic sculpture. Photo courtesy of the artist.

8. In what ways do you hope your own practice continues to evolve?

I hope my practice keeps unfolding like a quiet journey inward—deeper, softer, more honest. I don’t seek perfection; I seek truth. I want to explore larger installations, immersive environments that feel like stepping into a dream or memory. I want to bring together sculpture, sound, light, and space—to invite people not just to observe, but to feel.

I hope to keep listening more—to clay, to silence, to the stories that live in the unseen. I want to collaborate with nature more directly and to allow time and intuition to lead. And above all, I want to keep creating with love, staying open to surprise, transformation, and mystery.

9. Pay it forward -- tell us about something or someone our readers should know about.

I truly believe the most important thing in life is Love — especially self-love. When we learn to accept and embrace who we are, we stop fighting ourselves and others, and start living with more peace and purpose. If people truly loved themselves, I believe the world would change. There would be less war, less conflict, and so much more room for beauty. That same energy could be used to care for the planet, raise kind and conscious children, create meaningful art, and simply support each other.

Along my journey, I’ve been fortunate to learn from artists I deeply admire — like Sergei Isupov and Crystal Morey. Their generosity, imagination, and depth opened something in me, and helped me to push my own practice forward. Visiting Ferrin Contemporary Gallery was also a huge inspiration — to see powerful ceramic work up close, surrounded by voices that carry weight and spirit, reminded me why this medium matters so much.

Art can be a quiet revolution. It doesn’t shout, but it changes us. And I’m so grateful to be part of that kind of change.