There is something so subtle and delicate in Naomi Boiko’s pieces: their muted palette, the focus on little details, the calmness they exude. Painting with watercolours, the stretched cotton and silk she uses as canvases soak the material instead of just having it on top. And in a poetic sort of way, they also soak her emotions. Cats, rabbits, swans, or people are what catch her eye, which she later translates into small-format artworks that feel like “ a little secret you own, very precious and dear,” she says. Today, we sit down with Naomi to discuss her practice, family, and future projects.
Your practice is focused on painting, more especially watercolour. But tracing back to your childhood, do you have some early memories with a brush or crayon in your hand?
Yes, for sure. I did a lot of drawing when I was little, but one special memory I have was when I must have been around seven years old helping my mum with the background of one of her oil paintings. I remember how exciting it felt, especially when she showed me how to mix the paints with mediums. It was like magic to me, something I’d now describe as a kind of alchemy! It made me think that she was super cool. That experience definitely planted a seed and gave me a deep curiosity about materials and processes, which still drives my practice today.
Choosing the artistic road isn’t always easy. When and how did you know that’s what you wanted to do? Did your family support you?
I’ve been very lucky in that both of my parents used to paint, however, they never got the chance to pursue the arts as a career due to family and financial reasons. I’ve been very fortunate that art was always encouraged and, more importantly, presented to me as a possible career path. I know that’s quite different from what many artists experience. In fact, I had almost the opposite situation: if I ever mentioned something more ‘traditional,’ like becoming a lawyer, it was discouraged — not out of judgment, but because my parents knew it wasn’t truly what I wanted. I’m grateful to have grown up in an environment that nurtured creativity and embraced a way of living that didn’t necessarily follow the conventional route. I think this is due to my parents not being able to pursue their dreams, they really wanted me to have the chance to do that.
Most of your paintings are close-ups of faces (humans and cats) and details. They’re intimate but also somewhat violent; there’s a tension in the expressions and what you depict. Is this something you strive for when starting a new work?
Definitely! I’m really glad to hear that comes across. I’m fascinated by how a moment frozen in time, like a close-up of a face, can spark entirely different narratives depending on who’s looking at it. Our personal histories, emotions, and even passing moods all shape how we interpret an image, and I love playing with that open-endedness. It kind of makes me think of a Rorschach test or something that is revealing a secret.
I’m also deeply interested in how memory works, and how unreliable it is. Every time we recall a memory, our brain subtly rewrites it, so what we’re remembering might not be at all close to the original but a version influenced by the last time we remembered it. I find that both fascinating and terrifying. Sometimes I even hesitate to reminisce on special memories because I’m scared of eroding them or twisting them into something new.
That’s where my paintings come in, I think. They’re like hazy recollections, fragments of moments that have been reshaped over time, both by myself and potentially by the viewer. What you’re seeing may be quite far from the ‘truth,’ if there ever was one. And yet, sometimes the distortion brings a strange kind of comfort. Even memories that would have been bad, like arguments with my mum, can now feel softened simply because they involved her and she was there. That transformation and emotional shift is something I try to capture in my work.
I’m also deeply interested in how memory works, and how unreliable it is. Every time we recall a memory, our brain subtly rewrites it, so what we’re remembering might not be at all close to the original but a version influenced by the last time we remembered it. I find that both fascinating and terrifying. Sometimes I even hesitate to reminisce on special memories because I’m scared of eroding them or twisting them into something new.
That’s where my paintings come in, I think. They’re like hazy recollections, fragments of moments that have been reshaped over time, both by myself and potentially by the viewer. What you’re seeing may be quite far from the ‘truth,’ if there ever was one. And yet, sometimes the distortion brings a strange kind of comfort. Even memories that would have been bad, like arguments with my mum, can now feel softened simply because they involved her and she was there. That transformation and emotional shift is something I try to capture in my work.
There’s a sense of dichotomy as well in the themes; I mostly get pain and pleasure. And there’s also something unsettling to them (for example, Find It in Your Eyes, where we see a close-up of someone putting a contact lens on). Would you say these contradictions are reflective of your life, or even the world?
Absolutely. I’d say those contradictions are very present in my life, and in the world too. I really like the ideas of Hegel’s dialectic. Very basically put, it’s the idea that when a proposition (a thesis) clashes with its opposite (an antithesis), the resolution that comes from that tension is a more complex, evolved understanding (a synthesis). Hegel used it to describe how ideas evolve through conflict, but I think it also applies more broadly to how we experience life. Most things don’t live in the black or white — they’re messy, emotional, layered, unresolved.
That’s something I try to reflect in my work. Pain and pleasure, intimacy and discomfort; they’re not opposites so much as things that often exist at the same time, in the same space. Even in something as small as putting in a contact lens, like in Find It in Your Eyes, there’s this weird blend of the mundane, vulnerable, and something slightly disturbing.
I’ve also felt this tension a lot while acting like a parent to my younger sister throughout her teen years. There are so many situations she faces that don’t have clear answers. Being there for her has really made me appreciate how complex and contradictory life is, how little is ever purely right or wrong, and how we’re constantly navigating that grey space.
That’s something I try to reflect in my work. Pain and pleasure, intimacy and discomfort; they’re not opposites so much as things that often exist at the same time, in the same space. Even in something as small as putting in a contact lens, like in Find It in Your Eyes, there’s this weird blend of the mundane, vulnerable, and something slightly disturbing.
I’ve also felt this tension a lot while acting like a parent to my younger sister throughout her teen years. There are so many situations she faces that don’t have clear answers. Being there for her has really made me appreciate how complex and contradictory life is, how little is ever purely right or wrong, and how we’re constantly navigating that grey space.
“Our personal histories, emotions, and even passing moods all shape how we interpret an image, and I love playing with that open-endedness. It kind of makes me think of a Rorschach test.”
This sense of intimacy is also achieved by the small scale of your paintings. Do you find it more comfortable to work this way? Or is there a more symbolic reason to it?
I used to do large oil paintings while I was in my first two years at university, up to 2 x 2 m. It’s since starting to use watercolour and having a home studio that I’ve started making such small paintings. Part of this I’m sure was an unconscious way to work with the space that I have, but also, I do love the intimacy and object-ness small paintings afford. I always feel like small paintings are like a little secret you own, very precious and dear! Having said that, I’m starting a series of larger paintings that are more narrative based, which are going to be based on a series of watercolour on paper sketches I made while my mum was unwell. These were mainly cathartic and not really intended to be part of my practice but when I have studio visits, they always seem to be liked, so I’m revisiting them.
Your colour palette is very characteristic: usually soft, pastel hues, mostly red, blue, pink, and gray. They give a sense of nostalgia, even sadness. Could you guide us through this chromatic world?
That’s such an accurate reading. I’m really drawn to soft, muted palettes –blues, greys, pinks– because they evoke something that feels distant or half-remembered, like a dream or a memory that’s slipping away. Blue and desaturated tones especially give me that sense of something just out of reach, not quite real, which fits with the themes I often explore in my work. Ben from Delphian Gallery said something recently that really stuck with me: he pointed out how colours like baby pink and light blue are also strongly associated with childhood. I hadn’t consciously thought of it that way before, but it makes so much sense — they carry this emotional weight and cultural shorthand that speaks to fragility, nostalgia, and a kind of gentle sadness.
I guess watercolour helps in achieving those faded colours. Since you attended art school, I assume you also experimented with other techniques and media. Is there one you think you might give a try in the future?
I’ve tried out a lot of mediums, in fact, it was just two weeks before my degree show that I first tried watercolour on cotton and completely fell in love with it. There’s something about the way the paint soaks into the fabric instead of sitting on top of it that I love. It also creates an image on the back of the painting where it soaks through that I would really like to explore hanging work, so this is shown.
Lately, I’ve been in a few group exhibitions with the curatorial project Display Fever that included some exciting sculpture pieces, and they’ve made me want to try something new and sculptural. I’ve been toying with the idea of working with glass or finding ways to bring a more physical, dimensional aspect to my paintings.
Lately, I’ve been in a few group exhibitions with the curatorial project Display Fever that included some exciting sculpture pieces, and they’ve made me want to try something new and sculptural. I’ve been toying with the idea of working with glass or finding ways to bring a more physical, dimensional aspect to my paintings.
There are several animals in your work: cats, dogs, rabbits, a swan. Do you have pets? I mean, are these inspired by your own animals, or is the theme of wilderness vs domestication something you’re interested in?
When I was a baby and we first came to England, we lived with my aunt who had two cats until I was around seven. I’ve since then had pet lizards that have been the most wonderful pets (but haven’t yet made it into the paintings!). The cats in my paintings started because of my little sister’s love for them. She has always wanted a cat but we can’t really have one now. So, in a way, the cats I paint are like a little gift to her because I can’t give her a real one. Sometimes I include her in the paintings in tiny, quiet ways — just her hand or the bottom of her face, so that it feels like a secret between us.
The swans and rabbits hold a special place in my heart too. They remind me of bittersweet countryside walks with my mum and sister. Whenever I see a rabbit now, I can’t help but think it’s a message from my mum, even if it sounds a little silly. One of the paintings I did for my solo show Twenty two with Delphian gallery is of a rabbit curled up like an embryo and it is based on a self-portrait my mum did while pregnant with me.
The swans and rabbits hold a special place in my heart too. They remind me of bittersweet countryside walks with my mum and sister. Whenever I see a rabbit now, I can’t help but think it’s a message from my mum, even if it sounds a little silly. One of the paintings I did for my solo show Twenty two with Delphian gallery is of a rabbit curled up like an embryo and it is based on a self-portrait my mum did while pregnant with me.
Checking your About page, I’ve learned you’re now acting as a parent figure to your younger sister. I don’t want to be too inquisitive, and I understand it might be difficult to speak about it, so in general terms, what have you learned about yourself so far through this? All parents say that having kids is a continuous learning experience, but it’s not like you chose to be in this position.
I’ve always been quite involved in parenting my sister. There’s seven years between us, quite a big gap, so whenever it was her school holidays I’d take her on days out. We’d go on lots of picnics and countryside walks, and when I was at university, I’d bring her to Brighton for mini holidays. The biggest thing I’ve learnt and experienced is how little control you have while parenting. There were so many things I went through in my teens that I wanted to do everything possible to make sure my sister didn’t go through as well, and despite trying my best, I haven’t always able to do that. It's made me have a lot of compassion for my parents and any ‘mistakes’ I thought that they had made in my childhood.
At the same time, caring for my sister has been the easiest and most natural thing in the world. I absolutely adore her and she means the world to me, so looking after her is instinctual and my privilege. In some ways, I think it made dealing with my mum passing easier because I had someone to focus my energy and love on, and someone that I had the responsibility to stay put together for.
At the same time, caring for my sister has been the easiest and most natural thing in the world. I absolutely adore her and she means the world to me, so looking after her is instinctual and my privilege. In some ways, I think it made dealing with my mum passing easier because I had someone to focus my energy and love on, and someone that I had the responsibility to stay put together for.
“I’m really drawn to soft, muted palettes because they evoke something that feels distant or half-remembered, like a dream or a memory that’s slipping away.”
You say that through your art, you “delve into the confusion and isolation inherent in this transitional phase of life.” Would you define painting as a cathartic process? It didn’t start like that, so would you say you’re giving new meanings to it?
Absolutely, some parts of my practice are cathartic for sure, like those watercolour sketches I mentioned earlier. They give me space to process feelings and moments that might be confusing or overwhelming. But for much of my work, I don’t see painting to find clear answers or solutions. Instead, it’s more about living within that confusion, exploring it honestly without the pressure to define or resolve it.
You graduated only a couple of years ago, so I guess you’re still finding your way around this thing called ‘being an artist’. And most importantly, living off of it. How are you navigating this path?
I’m still working out how to navigate this. It’s meant making sacrifices and accepting that some things, like buying a house or other traditional ‘adult’ milestones, might take longer to achieve than in other careers. But honestly, the trade-offs have been worth it. I’ve had incredible experiences, met fascinating people, and visited amazing places that I might never have if I’d have chosen a different path. Right now, I also work part-time as a lecturer in a college teaching fine art, which I adore. It can feel very daunting and a big risk to be an artist, but I am learning to enjoy the journey, not just the destination!
To finish, I saw on your Instagram that you’re preparing material for new exhibitions. Could you share any more details, or is it still top secret?
I had my first solo show, Twenty two, last year with Delphian Gallery. It was about my relationship with my sister and reflecting on the years since our mum passed. I called it like that because that’s the date that she passed, but my sister and I view it as an angel number and take it as a sign from her when we see it. This summer I did a residency with Soho Revue and had a fantastic time experimenting with printmaking for the first time, and from now I’m going to focus on being more experimental with my practice and making some larger pieces. Since I graduated, it’s been busy both in my personal life and with exhibitions, so I am purposely giving myself an interlude to get back into the nitty gritty of the work! But beginning of next year I am in some shows in London that I am super excited for. Can’t wait to share the new paintings I’ve been working on! <3
