Zaya Ambros
- Anna Lilli Garai
- Apr 26
- 3 min read
Updated: 4 days ago
Zaya Ambros paints by feeling. Each piece starts with an emotion and unfolds at its own pace. Her work draws from memory and mood, shaped by what stays in her mind. She works with soft textures and open forms, allowing the painting to shift as she goes. The surface responds to small changes, to what she notices in the moment. She stays close to what feels honest, without trying to explain or define. The paintings hold quiet energy and leave space for personal connection. They invite a slower look, where meaning builds through time and attention.
Q: You describe painting as a kind of diary. What makes a moment worth recording?
A: It’s usually something that resonates with me — an emotion, a thought, or a shift I feel internally. Painting helps me sit with it, process it, or sometimes just let it go. It’s not always clear at first, but if it lingers, I try to follow it. And while painting is a personal process, it’s also my way of communicating — putting something out into the world that others might relate to. Letting a feeling leave my inner world is how I reach out, hoping it lands with someone else. That connection matters to me.
Q: Your work moves between structure and flow. How do you find the right balance between control and letting go?
A: It’s definitely something I’m still figuring out. When I came back to painting, part of the process was learning to let go of perfectionism — the pressure to make everything “right” or to follow a plan.
That mindset used to keep me stuck. But I’ve realized that when I stop trying to control every step, the work often turns out better than I expected, and I feel more connected to it. There’s freedom in trusting the process and listening to my inner voice. Finding balance is hard, and I think it’s a lifelong lesson, but what helps is having a bit of structure while leaving room to explore and stay curious without judgment.
Q: In "Between My Selves", there’s a shift from searching to becoming. How did that process unfold for you while painting?
A: That painting came from a place where I was trying to make sense of a lot internally. I didn’t have a clear plan — I just needed to let something out. At first, it felt like I was reaching without knowing exactly what I was looking for, but I kept going. I let myself create without explaining every step, and that loosened something inside me.
The process shifted from searching for answers to simply making space for what was already there. Looking back, those works marked an important shift in my life. It felt like finding my voice again — a moment of clarity and freedom. Like returning home to myself, without needing to look so far outside.
Q: You often link emotions to natural forms. What kind of textures or tones feel the most like you?
A: I’m drawn to softness with contrast — muted tones that hold depth, with small moments that quietly stand out.
I like when things blur and blend into each other, not in a chaotic way, but more like a slow, steady unfolding. I connect with textures that feel worn-in, layered, or gently raw — there’s something emotionally familiar in them.
Nature has that same kind of balance, where stillness carries strength. I think those fluid, imperfect, slightly unpredictable qualities reflect how I feel most of the time. They hold an emotional rhythm I relate to.
Q: How do you know when a painting is honest — when it comes from somewhere real?
A: For me, it’s when the process feels raw and unfiltered — when I’m not trying to control the outcome, just letting it unfold. I know a piece is honest when I feel connected to it, when it holds something I didn’t consciously plan for. There’s a sense of stillness, like something has settled. If I come back to it later and it still echoes what I felt while making it, then I know it’s real.
Q: What do you hope someone feels when they stop in front of your work for more than a second?
A: I hope they feel seen — maybe a bit curious — and find something they can relate to. A small moment of recognition or reflection, something that stirs a memory or emotion from their own experience. I want the work to feel like a warm pause, an invitation to feel without needing to explain. If someone walks away feeling even a little more connected — to themselves or to the world around them — then I’ve shared something meaningful.
