There are places in the world that don’t just shape you — they become part of you, woven into the way you see, feel, and move through life. For me, that place is Rakhiv.
The town where I was born, Rakhiv, is a small and beautiful town nestled in western Ukraine, cradled on all sides by the magnificent Carpathian mountains.
It is not a grand or famous place by the world’s standards, yet to those who come from it, it carries a weight and a warmth that no map can fully capture. The mountains don’t simply surround Rakhiv — they watch over it, define it, give it its particular character and soul.
But what makes Rakhiv truly special is not only its landscape. It is the people, the history, the extraordinary layering of cultures that has taken place here across centuries. Situated at a crossroads of different worlds — Ukrainian, Romanian, Hungarian, and beyond — this small mountain town became a place where traditions didn’t clash but interlaced, creating a rich and fascinating amalgamation of customs, languages, crafts, music, and ways of living. You can feel it in the architecture, taste it in the food, hear it in the folk songs that have been passed down through generations like carefully guarded treasures.
The people who call this region home are known as Hutsuls — a proud, warm, and deeply rooted ethnic group whose identity is inseparable from the mountains they inhabit. My family belongs to this group, and so do I. I am a Hutsul, and saying that carries meaning far beyond a simple label of origin.
Hutsuls are known, above all else, for their love of mountains. Not the kind of love that belongs to tourists or weekend visitors, but something older and more fundamental — a belonging. The mountains are not a backdrop to Hutsul life. They are its very foundation. They are home, fortress, inspiration, and sanctuary all at once. They teach you silence and they teach you strength. They show you how small you are and somehow, at the same time, make you feel unshakeable.
Growing up surrounded by the Carpathians means growing up with a particular kind of inner landscape too. A love for open skies and high places. A comfort in solitude that never tips into loneliness. A deep, almost instinctive respect for nature and its rhythms — perhaps not so different from what finds its way, quietly and inevitably, into my paintings.
You can take a Hutsul out of the mountains. But the mountains, I think, never quite leave the Hutsul. ????️
