Elena Gorn was interviewed for the fourth (and final) edition of the Contrast publication. You can find the online exhibition version of the publication here.
Can you take us through your creative process — from the start to finished piece?
My creative process begins with an internal image. These images stay with me constantly — not as visuals, but as quiet thoughts directed inward. Sometimes I work from a sketch — it helps bring clarity to my inner picture. Other times I work purely on emotion, intuitively. I use acrylic mixed with natural sand collected from the Mediterranean coast. This combination allows me to build form and relief, evoking a sense of memory.
The process is slow and reflective. I am a deeply intuitive person, and at times I need to negotiate with myself before a painting reveals its direction.
Finishing a piece is not about completing an image — it’s about reaching the point where the work reflects my personal statement and inner truth.
You described contrast as ‘the language of being split and still whole’. Can you speak more to how this concept speaks and resonates with your personal and emotional experiences?
To me, contrast reflects the emotional reality of living between opposing states: presence and absence, silence and pressure, strength and vulnerability. I often experience internal division — moments where confidence and doubt, closeness and distance coexist within me.
Art allows me to give form to this quiet split without needing to solve it. Through contrast, I try to show that fragmentation doesn’t destroy identity — it deepens it.
How do you define contrast beyond the visual form? What does it mean emotionally or spiritually to you?
I see contrast beyond the visual as emotional layering — when opposing feelings coexist without negating each other. Spiritually, it’s the tension between longing and acceptance, movement and stillness. It’s the presence of multiple truths within one space — a quiet friction that leads to growth.
You mentioned that textures can ‘hold both silence and resistance’. How important is the tactile or sensory experience for the viewer?
Texture is essential in my work because it holds emotional weight. Even when a viewer cannot physically touch the painting, the visual presence of texture evokes a sensory response — a sense of nearness, roughness, time embedded in material. It makes the experience more intimate and physical, even when the composition is minimal.
How do you hope viewers will feel when they encounter your work — especially given the textures and open spaces? Furthermore, have you had a response from a viewer that has surprised you?
I hope viewers experience a pause — a moment of stepping out of their everyday rhythm into a quieter internal space. My goal isn’t to direct their emotions, but to create an atmosphere where their own reflections can rise to the surface. Once, a viewer told me that a painting made them feel both comforted and unsettled — that duality was exactly what I wanted to express.
In The Listener (2025) the silhouette is very powerful. Why did you choose to make it faceless and what does that anonymity express to you?
I chose to keep the silhouette faceless to remove individuality and create a universal figure — a presence that anyone could enter. To me, anonymity expresses the idea that identity is formed not by visible features but by what we carry within. It invites the viewer to place themselves into the stillness and distance of the piece.
What significance does the combination of natural sand and acrylic hold for you?
The combination of sand and acrylic connects the physical world with the emotional. Sand brings a sense of earth, time, and impermanence; acrylic gives structure, layering, and transformation. Together they create a surface that feels both ancient and immediate — like the emotions I seek to express.
How do you decide to use more texture in certain areas and less in others?
I follow the emotional structure of the painting. Where there is tension or unresolved energy, I add more texture — thick layers and rough surfaces. Where there is openness or quiet, the surface becomes smoother and lighter, allowing space for breath and reflection.
Do you have any upcoming projects you’d like to share with us? Where do you see your artistic practice within the next ten years?
I’m currently working on a new series called Reframed Icons — a contemporary reinterpretation of iconic portraits through texture, abstraction, and the absence of facial features. Each piece is created with a palette knife and a limited color range, emphasizing emotional essence over likeness. By stripping away the details, the series invites viewers to connect with a timeless, universal presence — from Vermeer to da Vinci.
In the next ten years, I hope to deepen my practice through international exhibitions, collaborations, and residencies — continuing to explore how silence, material, and form can create emotional resonance across cultures.