Olya Markovich

I grew up in a family of artist-restorers. My parents met in Saint Petersburg while laying mosaic tiles in the Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood, restoring it from historic drawings. I came of age in the bohemian Petersburg of the post-Iron Curtain years — our home was always full of painters, performers, fashion designers, and filmmakers.
My brother and I drew constantly, but I never wanted to be an artist. My parents' friends who had devoted themselves to art seemed to me forever hungry, drunk, and alone. My mother made tea for everyone who came through our door — generous, yes, but I always craved solitude. I found it in drawing.
I studied at a design school throughout childhood and trained as a fashion designer, but never called myself an artist. Drawing was always a means to an end — a way to express an idea, never the point itself. Even when I sold my first painting at twelve, I kept not being an artist.
Now I live in Serbia, in emigration. When my daughter began preparing for design college here, I started drawing with her to help. Something shifted. I remembered that I am an artist of the third generation. For the first time, identifying myself through drawing felt not like a burden but like coming home. I draw the way ...

Degree: Bachelor of Arts (with Honors)
Field of study: Fashion Design
School: Baltic University of Ecology, Politics and Law (BUEPL), St. Petersburg, Russia
Year: 2008