Letters Written by Light
abstract painting · acrylic and watercolour pencils on canvas
Light as an Inner
Source of Strength
The series of abstract works Letters Written by Light is a philosophical and poetic investigation into the search for an inner point of support through complex processes of personal transformation.
Svetlana Rumak’s distinctive technique is based on the repeated layering of acrylic paint and watercolour pencil, together with the partial destruction of the image through erasing, scraping and removing layers, followed by the addition of new elements.
The process of creating the work itself embodies the concept of the series and becomes a metaphor for recording experiences that cannot be fully expressed in words. The image is constructed as a field of memory in which the visible and the erased coexist, and each new layer retains traces of the preceding one rather than obliterating it completely.
The inscriptions in the paintings evoke handwritten letters or personal diaries. They are perceived not as legible text, but as traces of lived experience, fragments of memory and emotional rhythms. Signs that are partially erased and covered by layers of paint turn the surface into a testimony to inner reconstruction and adaptation to new experience.
The series explores the formation of a new maturity, understood as the outcome of an intense inner journey leading from denial and self-destruction towards an awakening to the power of beauty and harmony present in the world.
Svetlana Rumak’s distinctive technique is based on the repeated layering of acrylic paint and watercolour pencil, together with the partial destruction of the image through erasing, scraping and removing layers, followed by the addition of new elements.
The process of creating the work itself embodies the concept of the series and becomes a metaphor for recording experiences that cannot be fully expressed in words. The image is constructed as a field of memory in which the visible and the erased coexist, and each new layer retains traces of the preceding one rather than obliterating it completely.
The inscriptions in the paintings evoke handwritten letters or personal diaries. They are perceived not as legible text, but as traces of lived experience, fragments of memory and emotional rhythms. Signs that are partially erased and covered by layers of paint turn the surface into a testimony to inner reconstruction and adaptation to new experience.
The series explores the formation of a new maturity, understood as the outcome of an intense inner journey leading from denial and self-destruction towards an awakening to the power of beauty and harmony present in the world.
It Is Written in the Heavens in a Language Unknown to Me
The Letter from Kyoto
The Fog in Your Letters
Diaries Written in a Hurry
Letters from the Other Side of the Sea
Let Me Get Lost Myself in the Lavender Fields
Lights in the Fog
Lights That Run Away From Me Again And Again
Landscape with Dancing Lights
Polaroids of the Horizon. 1
Polaroids of the Horizon. 2
Letters Written by Light
It Is Written in the Heavens in a Language Unknown to Me
acrylic and pencils on canvas
150×120 cm
2026
The work is part of the abstract painting series Letters Written by Light, which has been in development since early 2025 and currently comprises 16 paintings. The series is a philosophical and poetic exploration of the search for inner grounding during periods of uncertainty and complex personal transformation.
The paintings are conceived as a kind of letter or diary in which the painted surface preserves traces of lived experience.
Svetlana Rumak’s original technique is based on the repeated application of thin layers of acrylic paint and watercolour pencils, followed by their partial destruction through erasing, scraping and washing. The process of creating the work itself embodies the concept of the series and becomes a metaphor for recording experiences that cannot be fully expressed in words. The image is constructed as a field of memory in which the visible coexists with the erased, and each new layer does not completely destroy the previous one but preserves its trace.
The painting It Is Written in the Heavens in a Language Unknown to Me explores the human desire to find meaning in complex events and ambiguous experiences that cannot be explained. It is at once protest and acceptance, meditation and an emotional flow of feelings and thoughts, the rhythms of phrases and the silence between words.
Tangled lines and repeatedly recurring marks create the impression of a message that cannot be deciphered. It is a visual metaphor for an experience whose meaning is felt intuitively but resists any unambiguous interpretation.
150×120 cm
2026
The work is part of the abstract painting series Letters Written by Light, which has been in development since early 2025 and currently comprises 16 paintings. The series is a philosophical and poetic exploration of the search for inner grounding during periods of uncertainty and complex personal transformation.
The paintings are conceived as a kind of letter or diary in which the painted surface preserves traces of lived experience.
Svetlana Rumak’s original technique is based on the repeated application of thin layers of acrylic paint and watercolour pencils, followed by their partial destruction through erasing, scraping and washing. The process of creating the work itself embodies the concept of the series and becomes a metaphor for recording experiences that cannot be fully expressed in words. The image is constructed as a field of memory in which the visible coexists with the erased, and each new layer does not completely destroy the previous one but preserves its trace.
The painting It Is Written in the Heavens in a Language Unknown to Me explores the human desire to find meaning in complex events and ambiguous experiences that cannot be explained. It is at once protest and acceptance, meditation and an emotional flow of feelings and thoughts, the rhythms of phrases and the silence between words.
Tangled lines and repeatedly recurring marks create the impression of a message that cannot be deciphered. It is a visual metaphor for an experience whose meaning is felt intuitively but resists any unambiguous interpretation.
The Letter from Kyoto
acrylic and pencils on canvas
100×100 cm
2026
100×100 cm
2026
The Fog in Your Letters
acrylic and pencils on canvas
100×100 cm
2026
100×100 cm
2026
Diaries Written in a Hurry
acrylic, pencils on canvas
60 × 50 cm
2026
Your diaries are letters to your future self.
One day, you will find a familiar notebook in a box on a distant shelf — in a house where you no longer live, in a city you barely remember, in a country you have not been to for a long time.
So many emotions.
So many events.
So much love, disappointment, and love again.
Loving was not frightening.
Written in a nervous, hurried handwriting, with words crossed out and full of mistakes. You were rushing as you wrote everything down in your diary. Because you were always rushing.
You wrote quickly, walked quickly, ate and drank quickly, fell in love quickly, became disappointed quickly, forgot quickly.
Why were you always in such a hurry back then?
Because time itself was rushing.
Days flew by — the sun had only just risen, and suddenly it was evening.
Weeks, months, years rushed past.
You had to experience everything, try everything.
Write it all down immediately.
And immediately forget.
60 × 50 cm
2026
Your diaries are letters to your future self.
One day, you will find a familiar notebook in a box on a distant shelf — in a house where you no longer live, in a city you barely remember, in a country you have not been to for a long time.
So many emotions.
So many events.
So much love, disappointment, and love again.
Loving was not frightening.
Written in a nervous, hurried handwriting, with words crossed out and full of mistakes. You were rushing as you wrote everything down in your diary. Because you were always rushing.
You wrote quickly, walked quickly, ate and drank quickly, fell in love quickly, became disappointed quickly, forgot quickly.
Why were you always in such a hurry back then?
Because time itself was rushing.
Days flew by — the sun had only just risen, and suddenly it was evening.
Weeks, months, years rushed past.
You had to experience everything, try everything.
Write it all down immediately.
And immediately forget.
Letters from the Other Side of the Sea
acrylic, pencils on canvas
60×50 cm
2026
There were times when distances were greater.
Between cities there were days, months, years.
Between letters there were intervals as long as eternity.
There were times when our lives were made of waiting.
Yet we did not notice it, just as fish do not notice water.
Now I write letters to you and… erase them.
Before, when letters wandered for months in search of their addressee, I was afraid that so much would change inside me during that time that the most sincere letter would turn into a lie.
Now, when I know that you will read my letter from the other side of the sea within minutes, I am afraid that I will not have time to change.
60×50 cm
2026
There were times when distances were greater.
Between cities there were days, months, years.
Between letters there were intervals as long as eternity.
There were times when our lives were made of waiting.
Yet we did not notice it, just as fish do not notice water.
Now I write letters to you and… erase them.
Before, when letters wandered for months in search of their addressee, I was afraid that so much would change inside me during that time that the most sincere letter would turn into a lie.
Now, when I know that you will read my letter from the other side of the sea within minutes, I am afraid that I will not have time to change.
Let Me Get Lost Myself in the Lavender Fields
acrylic, pencils on canvas
50×50 cm
2025
A light mist over the lavender fields. There is moisture, peace, aroma, and anticipation of something important but light. Like in childhood. When you were waiting for your birthday and presents, or New Year, or Christmas, or when your mother would come to kiss you goodnight. Whose Love is this that has permeated the air now when you are already an adult? When have you been through so much, learned, lost, and gained so much? You feel this Love poured into the air so powerfully and precisely, with your heart and skin - It Is. People call this feeling of the Presence of Love differently. You may not call it at all. The main thing is that you recognized it; you felt it. And now you stand, enchanted, and whisper, «Let me get lost in these lavender fields.» You want to experience this feeling again and again. Again and again. Now you know that what is invisible is here.
50×50 cm
2025
A light mist over the lavender fields. There is moisture, peace, aroma, and anticipation of something important but light. Like in childhood. When you were waiting for your birthday and presents, or New Year, or Christmas, or when your mother would come to kiss you goodnight. Whose Love is this that has permeated the air now when you are already an adult? When have you been through so much, learned, lost, and gained so much? You feel this Love poured into the air so powerfully and precisely, with your heart and skin - It Is. People call this feeling of the Presence of Love differently. You may not call it at all. The main thing is that you recognized it; you felt it. And now you stand, enchanted, and whisper, «Let me get lost in these lavender fields.» You want to experience this feeling again and again. Again and again. Now you know that what is invisible is here.
Lights in the Fog
acrylic, pencils on canvas
60×50 cm
2025
Looking back, I honestly admit to myself that I have lived my life as if in a fog.
A fog of illusions, a fog of invented meanings, created only to make it easier for me to go on living. Perhaps I am lying to myself, saying it was my choice. The truth is, I love the fog—I truly do.
I love the dampness it leaves on my skin, I love how it muffles sounds, how it wraps all things in white sheets, how it hides the horizon… And then you begin to wonder—does this horizon even exist? Is there any point in striving toward it? Thinking about it, or about what lies beyond?
Is there any sense in running, in fussing? Here and now, in this fog, it feels so good, so peaceful.
Lights flare up in the distance, and they make the fog even cozier. I’m willing not to think about whether I’m walking in circles.
Today I’m in no hurry, there’s no reason to be — in such a fog! Let’s turn into the café on the embankment and sit there for a long, long time, drinking coffee in silence, simply admiring the lights in the fog.
60×50 cm
2025
Looking back, I honestly admit to myself that I have lived my life as if in a fog.
A fog of illusions, a fog of invented meanings, created only to make it easier for me to go on living. Perhaps I am lying to myself, saying it was my choice. The truth is, I love the fog—I truly do.
I love the dampness it leaves on my skin, I love how it muffles sounds, how it wraps all things in white sheets, how it hides the horizon… And then you begin to wonder—does this horizon even exist? Is there any point in striving toward it? Thinking about it, or about what lies beyond?
Is there any sense in running, in fussing? Here and now, in this fog, it feels so good, so peaceful.
Lights flare up in the distance, and they make the fog even cozier. I’m willing not to think about whether I’m walking in circles.
Today I’m in no hurry, there’s no reason to be — in such a fog! Let’s turn into the café on the embankment and sit there for a long, long time, drinking coffee in silence, simply admiring the lights in the fog.
Landscape with Dancing Lights
acrylic, pencils on canvas
60×50 cm
2025
We drove for a long time, and the landscape was monotonous but cozy. In the twilight, lights began to light up. It was incredibly beautiful - like some invisible and huge Master had embroidered the landscape with sparkling beads. We were silent, listening to the music. I thought about each light in this «pattern» on the hills: a light in a window, a lantern, or car headlights. Behind each light in this seemingly deserted landscape is someone’s life and destiny. And there are hopes, and their joys, and their sorrows. They are setting the table somewhere, or hugging, watching TV. Someone is reading a book, and someone is looking out the window. Someone is laughing because they are in love. Someone is crying because they’re in love. That’s it. It’s simple. The lights filled me with warmth just from the thought that you and I would soon return home.
60×50 cm
2025
We drove for a long time, and the landscape was monotonous but cozy. In the twilight, lights began to light up. It was incredibly beautiful - like some invisible and huge Master had embroidered the landscape with sparkling beads. We were silent, listening to the music. I thought about each light in this «pattern» on the hills: a light in a window, a lantern, or car headlights. Behind each light in this seemingly deserted landscape is someone’s life and destiny. And there are hopes, and their joys, and their sorrows. They are setting the table somewhere, or hugging, watching TV. Someone is reading a book, and someone is looking out the window. Someone is laughing because they are in love. Someone is crying because they’re in love. That’s it. It’s simple. The lights filled me with warmth just from the thought that you and I would soon return home.
Letters Written by Light
acrylic, pencils on canvas
50×40 cm
2025
Words filled with love. Important words said at the right moment.
Words of gratitude.
Words that we said or even didn't say.
Long letters written on paper or short messages full of tenderness and care, said on the phone, or very quietly, in person, in the ear.
Words said silently, as a gesture - a kiss, a hug, a touch.
You remember them and keep them in your memory as a value.
You return to them when you need support and are having a hard time.
You are grateful for each of them.
All these words are letters written by Light and they made you who you are.
Once you receive them from other people.
Once you sent them - with the same tenderness, love, and care.
50×40 cm
2025
Words filled with love. Important words said at the right moment.
Words of gratitude.
Words that we said or even didn't say.
Long letters written on paper or short messages full of tenderness and care, said on the phone, or very quietly, in person, in the ear.
Words said silently, as a gesture - a kiss, a hug, a touch.
You remember them and keep them in your memory as a value.
You return to them when you need support and are having a hard time.
You are grateful for each of them.
All these words are letters written by Light and they made you who you are.
Once you receive them from other people.
Once you sent them - with the same tenderness, love, and care.
Lights That Run Away From Me Again And Again
acrylic, pencils on canvas
50×50 cm
2025
The horizon tempts me again.
I want to reach you.
Are you sleeping?
Am I sleeping?
I run after the lights in the night.
I run every night.
These lights run away from me again and again. This dream is impossible.
This goal is unattainable.
This path is doomed.
There is no meaning in it.
Have you noticed how beautiful meaninglessness is and how meaningless beauty is?
Don’t judge me, don’t think I’m crazy.
Look how beautiful the night is,
how beautiful the horizon is,
how beautiful the lights are,
how beautiful I am,
running away beyond the horizon
50×50 cm
2025
The horizon tempts me again.
I want to reach you.
Are you sleeping?
Am I sleeping?
I run after the lights in the night.
I run every night.
These lights run away from me again and again. This dream is impossible.
This goal is unattainable.
This path is doomed.
There is no meaning in it.
Have you noticed how beautiful meaninglessness is and how meaningless beauty is?
Don’t judge me, don’t think I’m crazy.
Look how beautiful the night is,
how beautiful the horizon is,
how beautiful the lights are,
how beautiful I am,
running away beyond the horizon
Never Enough
acrylic and pencils on canvas
70×70 cm
2026
If I were to invite you into my life as if it were a film, its title would be Never Enough. To be honest, I do not remember where or when this idea first took hold of me, but I clearly remember that even back when I was still a homo sapiens cub this seed had already begun to sprout inside me. And even if you say that its roots grow out of trauma… what in human life does not grow from it? From it grow both your order and your chaos, from it grow your dreams and your limitations, your sleep, your infatuations and relationships, your faith in yourself and your lack of faith in yourself, your desire to keep going and your desire to throw it all to hell.
And then the moment comes when you and your trauma meet face to face. Looking into each other’s eyes, you scream — scream about what matters most, about what you are not willing to give up, about what you are ready to fight for. You scream “Never enough!!!” In unison, together, at the very same moment. How unexpected. Surprise, surprise. You thought your life was a struggle, but it turns out your goals are the same. You thought it was your enemy, but it turns out it is you.
70×70 cm
2026
If I were to invite you into my life as if it were a film, its title would be Never Enough. To be honest, I do not remember where or when this idea first took hold of me, but I clearly remember that even back when I was still a homo sapiens cub this seed had already begun to sprout inside me. And even if you say that its roots grow out of trauma… what in human life does not grow from it? From it grow both your order and your chaos, from it grow your dreams and your limitations, your sleep, your infatuations and relationships, your faith in yourself and your lack of faith in yourself, your desire to keep going and your desire to throw it all to hell.
And then the moment comes when you and your trauma meet face to face. Looking into each other’s eyes, you scream — scream about what matters most, about what you are not willing to give up, about what you are ready to fight for. You scream “Never enough!!!” In unison, together, at the very same moment. How unexpected. Surprise, surprise. You thought your life was a struggle, but it turns out your goals are the same. You thought it was your enemy, but it turns out it is you.
