If I ask you where Buryatia is, could you pin it on a map? Probably not, and that’s because it’s a rather unknown region in Siberia — a part of Mongolia but with a strong Russian influence due to decades of soviet domination. There’s a small ethnic group there that’s survived despite colonialism: they’re known as Buryats, and the artist we’re interviewing today, is one of them. Yuma Radne is strongly and deeply connected to her roots, and even if she’s currently based in London, she feels homesick every now and then.
But painting, which she discovered at an early age, helps her connect with her identity, her goals, and also her vivid dreams. At just seventeen, she landed a solo show at the National Museum in Ulan Ude, her hometown. As a young star, she felt so happy. But a rather harsh experience studying at a prestigious academy in Saint Petersburg put her down. It was in Vienna, where she continued her professional trajectory, that she regained her trust in herself.
Now, a fully realised artist, Yuma is having a solo show titled Playing with Hands at London’s Incubator gallery — on view through March 5th. In the exhibit, we see paintings where humour, playfulness, and games become the main subject, all the while portraying an indigenous community. In the artist’s own words, “I wanted to show a story of a small Asian community that got oppressed and colonised by an empire, and I wanted to make it fun, with humour and jokes, no depressive or blaming feelings.” Just before the opening, we sit down with Yuma to discuss moving abroad, her dreamy use of colour, games, identity, and racism.
Hey Yuma, it’s a pleasure to speak with you. You’re about to open a solo show at London’s Incubator gallery. What do the days previous to an opening look like to you? Are you more nervous, thrilled, worried — maybe a bit of everything?
Hi Arnau, nice to meet you! A bit of everything, but mostly thrilled. I have a routine of cycling to the studio through the canal, I see many trees, birds and children; I think about what I am going to do today. When I arrive to the studio I start my day by putting the kettle on. Then I paint, have lunch that I have cooked usually the day before, paint some more, cycle back home — this time not the canal anymore but a shorter, louder route. I think about what I have done today. It’s an everyday report to myself.
You’re originally from Buryad Ulas (Buryatia), in Siberia and close to Mongolia. You’re from an indigenous ethnic group that’s gone through genocide, speak a dialect/language different from Mongolian, and don’t even hold Mongolian passports. So your identity has been somewhat difficult for you to explain a lot of times. How do you think that shaped you as a person and an artist?
It is indeed a unique identity. It is clearer to see from afar — in my case, I could truly understand what it is like being buryat when I left Buryatia and saw the world. Being buryat is a mix of things: we are basically a big Mongolian tribe that got disconnected from Mongolia, suffered through soviet repressions, and were forced not to speak Buryat-Mongolian language. Typical colonial situation!This is a simplification, of course, as it is much broader and complex. I was confused when I saw as a kid that we are all buryat but forced to have an education in Russian as it is seen as a more ‘prestigious’ language.
As an artist, I think my mission is very simple: I just want to speak for the indigenous communities in the world. There are traditions, knowledge systems, and beliefs that I would want to pass on and share. My goal is to really keep buryat culture alive, preventing its extinction. I think it is a humble mission — I will be happy if I can succeed in it at least a little bit.
As an artist, I think my mission is very simple: I just want to speak for the indigenous communities in the world. There are traditions, knowledge systems, and beliefs that I would want to pass on and share. My goal is to really keep buryat culture alive, preventing its extinction. I think it is a humble mission — I will be happy if I can succeed in it at least a little bit.
You confessed to missing the homeland “especially a lot during the lunar new year.” As the event approaches, how’s your nostalgia going? And what do you do to uplift yourself when you’re feeling the blues?
Every year I think: wow, I am becoming too European, I feel so assimilated, I don't miss home anymore. But then spring comes and, for some reason, especially during spring, I start to feel a bit more homesick. I think I’m always slightly homesick — I guess everyone who lives abroad is? I don’t feel it like the blues, it’s not sadness; it’s a sweet feeling actually, it gives me strength. I am lucky to have roots that help me stand strong on the ground, you know?
“As an artist, I think my mission is very simple: I just want to speak for the indigenous communities in the world.”
Speaking of this nostalgia, you say: “I guess that's the price I pay to live a nice life far away from homeland — no matter how much fun it is in Vienna or London, I always carry a little stone of sadness in my heart.” As an artist who brings a lot of her culture and upbringing into her oeuvre, how are these new (Western) cities influencing your work, if at all?
My work is influenced by Western culture, but deep inside it is Eastern. Although I wouldn’t like to limit it by labelling it. I try to avoid making work that’s too ‘souvenir-ish’, too ethnic. At the same time, I am heavily influenced by European painters, including many 19th- and 20th-century German and Austrian artists like Maria Lassnig, Max Ernst, Franz von Stuck, or Bernhard Heisig. I use cultural elements in my work to try to introduce and uplift buryat people, but the world that I paint has very little to do with any nationality in this world. I want to see it as some faraway alien world, a different universe.
I observe a lot of games in your paintings — cards, arm wrestling, and rock, paper, scissors, for example. What role do games/playfulness have in your daily life? Are you a big gamer — whether board games, ‘hand’ games, or video games?
Yes! That’s the name of the show, Playing with Hands. It started when I had an idea to paint something from childhood, seeing my little nephew growing up and always playing. It was almost an anthropological research. I initially looked for Buryat-Mongolian games and was thinking to paint something in that direction. However, I realised that the sketches I had chosen were games or cultural references that are at the intersection of buryat and soviet. For example, in The Card Game painting, the characters are playing Durak, a very famous soviet card game. However, in Buryatia, we have a different version of that game — we call it the Buryat Durak.
Or, rock paper scissors. In my painting, instead of the rock it is a well. I initially thought it was interesting to depict because it’s a Mongolian thing to use a well. Then scissors have to fall inside it, and when we play, we literally have to put the two fingers in that little ‘well’ of the opponent's hand. Turns out it is not pure Mongolian, but soviet again! This time, it was played not throughout the whole of Soviet Union but mostly Siberia and Far East regions. I found it even more interesting and exciting, and kept digging the theme. That's how it turned into the show.
I wanted to show a story of a small Asian community that got oppressed and colonised by an empire, and I wanted to make it fun, with humour and jokes, no depressive or blaming feelings. It is what it is now, we have changed, the history has changed us — let us accept it and laugh about it.
Or, rock paper scissors. In my painting, instead of the rock it is a well. I initially thought it was interesting to depict because it’s a Mongolian thing to use a well. Then scissors have to fall inside it, and when we play, we literally have to put the two fingers in that little ‘well’ of the opponent's hand. Turns out it is not pure Mongolian, but soviet again! This time, it was played not throughout the whole of Soviet Union but mostly Siberia and Far East regions. I found it even more interesting and exciting, and kept digging the theme. That's how it turned into the show.
I wanted to show a story of a small Asian community that got oppressed and colonised by an empire, and I wanted to make it fun, with humour and jokes, no depressive or blaming feelings. It is what it is now, we have changed, the history has changed us — let us accept it and laugh about it.
Identity plays also a pivotal role in your paintings. Now that the world is more and more globalised and homogenous, I think our personal experiences and ‘niche’ identities are coming into play and help us differentiate each other, and it’s seen in a positive light rather than negative. Do you see it like that — coming from an indigenous ethnic group in Siberia makes you unique, which somehow helps you? Of course, I know it also has its downsides (discrimination, racism, lack of opportunities, etc.).
I think being indigenous doesn't really help anyone in this world in many regards. It often comes with having to fight for being who you are. Buryats have a tough time being a minority. I don't want to give examples or talk deeper about it, because it is a very long conversation and it is more or less googleable. But it's hard. I am so happy to be where I am from, and I wouldn't want to change it. But I would definitely say it is easier to be Korean or Japanese, you know. I understand what you mean though, it is becoming more ‘trendy’, but it only stays on a surface.
Would you say art and artists can have a role in changing people’s perceptions and truly make a change?
I believe that everything is energy. Quantum physics simply proves it as well. Therefore, art has been changing the world already the whole time, it has an incredibly strong power.
You started painting at a very early age, so I assume your style has changed a lot throughout the years. How was the process of finding your own voice, and where do you think your style stands now?
It was lucky for me to find my topic at the age of fourteen, when I started my project Бурятка Юмы (Yuma's buryat girl) and painted portraits of my friends with some surrealist bits. It quickly spread out in local newspapers, I sold my first paintings in that age and got offered a solo show a few years later, which I held at the National Museum at seventeen.
I became a young little star in Ulan Ude, and I understood that it is easy to make something like that in a small city, and that I should not be too proud of myself. I went to study in Saint Peterburg’s Shtiglitz Academy, one of the most renowned in Soviet Union and, nowadays, Russia. I knew it was going to be hard — and it was. I was one of the worst in my class: my anatomical drawing was bad, the criticism from professors was direct and harsh, and I spent a lot of time there suffering — drawing and painting frescos and all that stuff was boring. I wasn't a little Ulan Ude star anymore, I was more seen as some girl from a poor republic.
For the first time I knew what it's like to really be a second-class person. Racism in Russia against Asians is a serious issue. Of course, it wasn't all that bad of an experience, moreover, I am so happy it happened. I learned so much there and grew up a lot. After a year, I made my way to Austria, where I finally started working among many talented people, learning from them, developing my style, searching for beyond and beyond. I had stopped making just portraits of buryat people and started creating my own universe. Firstly I was really obsessed with centaurs and birds and battles, and slowly, it became what it is now.
I became a young little star in Ulan Ude, and I understood that it is easy to make something like that in a small city, and that I should not be too proud of myself. I went to study in Saint Peterburg’s Shtiglitz Academy, one of the most renowned in Soviet Union and, nowadays, Russia. I knew it was going to be hard — and it was. I was one of the worst in my class: my anatomical drawing was bad, the criticism from professors was direct and harsh, and I spent a lot of time there suffering — drawing and painting frescos and all that stuff was boring. I wasn't a little Ulan Ude star anymore, I was more seen as some girl from a poor republic.
For the first time I knew what it's like to really be a second-class person. Racism in Russia against Asians is a serious issue. Of course, it wasn't all that bad of an experience, moreover, I am so happy it happened. I learned so much there and grew up a lot. After a year, I made my way to Austria, where I finally started working among many talented people, learning from them, developing my style, searching for beyond and beyond. I had stopped making just portraits of buryat people and started creating my own universe. Firstly I was really obsessed with centaurs and birds and battles, and slowly, it became what it is now.
Your use of colour is magnificent — it’s vibrant yet mysterious at the same time. Could you guide us through your perception and use of colour in your work?
Thank you. In the underwater world, colours can be so fascinating and feel almost fake. They're shiny and can be neon, or unnaturally bright. I don't always enjoy the colours of reality — my dreams are usually very colourful and bright too. I dreamt of little blue creatures in a forest, they were so beautiful and were shining. They didn't know I could see them. I use the colour to try to make a similar effect of what it's like to be in my dreams.
You were born in 2001, so you’re full Gen Z. Do you identify with your peers? What similarities and differences do you see between yourself and other people of the same age?
I guess I am more of a zillenial, I even did a test (laughs). Most of my friends are millennials. It's a tricky question because among people who are my age, but who also came to live to a different country and have been surviving like that by themselves, I feel like we share that independence and characteristics that older people might have. We had to grow up a bit earlier and quicker than if we had stayed in our homelands.
