Dinara Yerdenova grew up in Kazakhstan surrounded by a visual culture where meaning was embedded in everything, ornaments, textiles, everyday objects, long before art became a conscious pursuit. That early immersion in symbolic thinking never left, and it now forms the quiet foundation of a practice built on female portraiture, atmosphere, and the slow translation of cultural memory into contemporary painterly language. Moving between Kazakhstan and Dubai deepened rather than diluted this connection to heritage, turning distance into a lens through which origin could be seen more clearly. The work that has emerged from this process is neither nostalgic nor literal, it is rooted and open at the same time.

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How has your upbringing or cultural heritage shaped the themes and techniques you explore in your art today?

I was born in Kazakhstan and grew up surrounded by a deep connection to nature, traditions, and symbolic thinking. In our culture, visual language exists everywhere. Ornaments, textiles, jewelry, and even everyday objects carry meaning. As a child, I did not consciously analyze this, but it shaped the way I perceive form, rhythm, and storytelling through imagery. When I began to study art more seriously, I realized that I was not only interested in technique but also in meaning. I wanted my work to carry something beyond aesthetics. I think moving to Dubai also influenced this shift. Being in a different cultural environment made me reflect more deeply on where I come from. My heritage returned to my work not as a direct reference, but as a feeling.

I often work with female portraits. For me, they are not just figures but carriers of energy, memory, and connection to nature. This comes from an intuitive place, but it also reflects traditional ideas of feminine strength and life force in Central Asian cultures. Recently, I have been more consciously referring to ancient Kazakh myths and legends connected to Tengri. These stories give me a sense of depth and continuity, something that connects the past with the present. From a technical perspective, I am also in a period of change. I want to explore different techniques and move closer to applied arts, because in Kazakhstan there is such a strong tradition of craftsmanship. This direction feels very natural to me, as it expands my understanding of what art can be beyond painting.

At the same time, I am not trying to recreate traditional art in a literal way. I am more interested in translating its essence into a contemporary language. I combine classical oil painting techniques with a more modern approach to form. I focus on soft transitions, simplified details, and atmosphere rather than strict realism. This balance between tradition and modernity reflects my own life between cultures. In the end, my heritage gives me a foundation but does not limit me. It allows me to develop a voice that feels both rooted and open to change.

In a world flooded with imagery, what responsibility do artists have to stand out and say something authentic?

We live in a time when images are created and consumed at an incredible speed. It has never been easier to produce visual content and share it instantly, but at the same time, it has never been harder to be truly seen. In these conditions, I believe the responsibility of an artist is not simply to stand out visually, but to remain honest. Authenticity is not about trying to be different just for the sake of being different. It is about being connected to your own experience, your own emotions, and your own way of seeing the world. Today’s audience is very sensitive. People can feel when a work is made only to follow a trend, and they can also feel when something comes from a much deeper place. Even if they cannot explain it clearly, they still sense the difference.

For me, authenticity begins with slowing down. Instead of constantly asking, “What will perform well?” or “What kind of work is more visible right now?”, I try to ask myself a different question: “What do I really want to say?” This is not always comfortable, because honest work often requires vulnerability. It asks the artist to reveal something personal, uncertain, or unresolved. But I think this is exactly what gives art its strength. People may forget polished images, but they remember something that feels real. Today it is also important to understand that an artist is not seen only through the final image. Viewers are interested in the process, the story, and the person behind the work. They want to know what inspired a piece, how it was made, and what inner questions shaped it. This does not mean that everything has to be explained in detail, but it does mean that artists benefit from being open enough to invite people into their world.

At the same time, I think artists should remember that they often become public figures in their own way. Just like musicians, actors, or other personalities in media, artists can become idols for an audience. Because of that, there is also a certain responsibility in what they normalize, what they glorify, and what values they communicate through both their work and their presence. This does not mean that artists need to become moral authorities, but it does mean that their voice carries weight. The way they speak, the way they present themselves, and the themes they choose can influence how others see beauty, culture, success, and even identity. I also believe artists have a responsibility not to contribute blindly to visual noise. Not every sketch, idea, or experiment needs to become public immediately. There is value in selectivity. There is value in taking time, in letting an idea grow, and in sharing work with intention rather than urgency. In a world that rewards speed, choosing depth can already be a radical act.

In the end, what makes an artist stand out is not only style, technique, or aesthetic choices. It is clarity of voice. It is the courage to say something that feels true, even if it is quiet. In a world overflowing with images, authenticity becomes not just a quality, but a responsibility.

Has there ever been a time when the creative process felt more like a burden than a joy? How did you navigate that?

Yes, quite recently I went through a period like that. For about two months, I almost stopped painting. It was not because I did not want to create, but because I felt disconnected from the process. Something that used to feel natural started to feel forced. These moments often come when I feel the need to start something new but at the same time have strong doubts about the technique and the meaning behind the work. I often become dissatisfied with the result and redo the same work again and again, trying to find something that feels right. Interestingly, even after this process, I am rarely fully satisfied. Because of that, I am learning to let go and to share my work even when it does not feel perfect. I believe consistency is very important for an artist. Consistency in work, in developing technique, and in participating in exhibitions. At the same time, I realized that forcing myself to create during these periods only made things worse.

Taking a break became necessary. I stopped seeing it as failure and started seeing it as a period of observation. I allowed myself to step away from painting and focus on other sources of inspiration. I visited galleries, observed other artists, read, and simply looked at the world more carefully. This period taught me that creativity is not only about producing work but also about absorbing experiences. Sometimes you need to fill yourself again before you can create something meaningful. When I returned to painting, my approach had changed. I focused less on the result and more on the process. I allowed myself to experiment, make mistakes, and explore without pressure. Now I see these periods not as a crisis but as a transition. They show that something is changing internally and that growth is happening, even if it feels uncomfortable at the time.

Do academic institutions still play a vital role in shaping artists today, or has self-taught creativity disrupted this tradition?

I believe both paths are valuable and serve different purposes. Academic institutions provide structure, discipline, and a deep understanding of fundamentals. During my studies, I learned not only technique but also how to see. I learned how to analyze form, composition, and color. This creates a strong foundation that supports an artist throughout their career. Personally, I tend to lean more toward a traditional view in this sense. I do not think the academic foundation can be ignored. Education is an important part not only for artists but for many professions. At the same time, I believe it is possible to learn these fundamentals much faster than the typical three to five years in university, but it requires much more focus, discipline, and personal responsibility.

The foundation is like a structure for the artist. Without practice after that, it does not have much value. I would say it is only part of the process. Today we live in a time where information is widely accessible. Artists can learn independently, experiment freely, and build their own path outside of traditional systems. This freedom creates diversity in voices and approaches. However, I do not see these paths as opposites. The most interesting artists are those who combine both. They have a strong technical base but are not limited by it. Academic knowledge provides tools, while independent exploration develops a personal voice. Learning does not end after university. Artists continue to educate themselves through practice and new directions throughout their entire careers.

One of the risks of academic training is that it can create a fear of breaking rules. When you are trained within strict systems, it can be difficult to move beyond them. This is where self-directed learning becomes important. At the same time, self-taught artists may sometimes lack technical depth. That can limit how far they can develop their ideas. This is why continuous learning is essential, through practice, workshops, and experience. For me, academic education gave confidence in technique, but my artistic identity developed beyond it through experimentation and personal experience.

Artificial Intelligence is increasingly infiltrating creative fields. Do you see artificial intelligence as a threat, a tool, or a collaborator in the art world?

I see artificial intelligence primarily as a tool, but also as something that forces us to rethink the value of art. AI can generate images very quickly, imitate styles, and produce visually appealing results. In that sense, it can be seen as a threat, especially to surface-level aesthetics. However, AI cannot replace human experience. It can replicate patterns, but it cannot live, feel, or build a personal story. For me, this is where real art comes from. It is not only about the visual result but about what stands behind it. At the same time, I do not think it is necessary to reject AI completely. Like any tool, its value depends on how it is used. It can help in research, idea development, and visual experimentation. It can speed up certain processes and open new possibilities. Its presence is also changing how we look at art. If an image can be generated in seconds, then the focus shifts from how something looks to why it exists. Viewers begin to ask deeper questions about meaning and intention.

In this way, AI can even strengthen the importance of authenticity. It creates a clear difference between generated images and human-made work. Artists who are connected to their voice will stand out more. For me personally, the physical process of painting remains essential. Texture, time, and imperfection are part of the work. These elements cannot be fully recreated digitally. I also think many of my colleagues would agree that AI has already become part of the creative process in different ways. It is no longer something external. It is becoming integrated into how ideas are developed and explored. Because of this, I see AI not as an enemy, but as a tool that challenges artists to go deeper and define what makes their work truly personal.

Do you believe artists have a responsibility to address climate change or environmental concerns in their work? Why or why not?

I believe artists should be aware of what is happening in the world, but they are not required to address the same topics. Environmental issues are very important, and art can be a powerful way to reflect on them. At the same time, not every artist needs to speak about them directly. Art is most powerful when it is honest. If an artist has a real connection to environmental themes, it will naturally appear in their work. But if it is done only because it is expected, it becomes superficial. I think it is important for artists to work with topics that truly concern them. This can include environmental issues, natural disasters, or even smaller local problems. What matters is that the connection is real.

In my work, the relationship between humans and nature is often present, but not in a direct or political way. I express it through atmosphere, color, and feeling. I want the viewer to experience a sense of connection rather than receive a clear statement. I also believe that art can influence people in subtle ways. It does not always need to communicate directly. Sometimes creating a sense of fragility or beauty can change how people perceive the world. At the same time, I respect artists who work directly with environmental topics. Their work plays an important role in raising awareness and shaping discussions. In general, I think the responsibility of an artist is not to follow a specific agenda, but to remain honest and aware. Each artist chooses their own way of responding to the world, and that choice should come from a genuine place.

How do you envision the evolution of your work in the coming years?

In the coming years, I see my work moving toward a more defined and personal visual language. I often admire illustrators and the way they simplify form while still keeping emotion, narrative, and atmosphere. Because of that, I feel myself gradually moving away from purely traditional art and becoming more interested in building a style that exists somewhere between painting, illustration, and visual storytelling. For a long time, I was focused on technique, on learning, improving, and mastering different approaches. But now I feel a stronger need to shape a language that is more recognizably my own. I want my work to be identifiable not only by subject matter, but by mood, composition, color, and the way I transform ideas into images. I am especially drawn to creating work that carries meaning in a more accessible visual form, something poetic and symbolic, but still clear enough to connect with a wider audience.

One direction that feels very important to me is using my art to highlight stories and issues connected to the region I come from. Kazakhstan has a very rich history, a unique visual culture, and many themes that deserve to be seen and discussed more widely. I want to reflect the history of Kazakhstan, the formation of the country, its cultural memory, and the beauty and complexity of its identity through my work. I think art can become a bridge between aesthetics and education. It can attract attention visually, and then lead people into a deeper understanding of heritage, history, and cultural values. This is why I am also very interested in developing educational content through social media in the future, especially through platforms like YouTube. I do not want it to feel dry or overly academic. I would like it to have an aesthetic approach, where visuals, storytelling, and atmosphere are just as important as information. I want people to feel inspired while they learn something meaningful. In that sense, I do not see my future only in making artworks for exhibitions, but also in building a broader creative platform around them.

At the same time, I want to continue experimenting with mediums and formats. I am interested in illustration, design, and possibly more applied forms of art as well. I think this expansion will help me discover new possibilities and make my practice more flexible. It is important for me not to stay fixed in one narrow definition of what my art should be. Most of all, I hope my work becomes more honest, more mature, and more intentional. I want each project to feel connected to something real, whether it is personal memory, cultural heritage, or a question that matters to me deeply. My goal is not only to develop a style, but to create a body of work that has identity, depth, and a clear voice. That is the direction I see for myself in the coming years.

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What comes through most strongly in this conversation is a sense of an artist in genuine transition, technically, conceptually, and personally. Dinara Yerdenova is moving toward a more defined visual language, one that can carry the weight of Kazakh history, myth, and cultural identity into a form that is both aesthetically alive and widely accessible. The ambition is not simply to make beautiful paintings, but to build something larger: a creative platform where art, storytelling, and education can meet. That is a serious and considered vision, and the work being made along the way already carries its clarity.