EVA CHUPIKOVA’S WORK SPEAKS IN THE BREATH BETWEEN LIGHT AND SHADOW
There are great photographers, and then there are artists like Eva Chupikova—people who take the medium somewhere new, somewhere unexpected. Her images don’t just capture what’s in front of the lens; they uncover something beneath the surface. A presence. A tension. A silence that holds its own kind of gravity.
I first noticed Eva’s work because she was winning—everywhere. The Monochrome Awards, Minimalist Photography Awards, Prix de la Photographie Paris, International Photography Awards—competition after competition, she wasn’t just placing, she was taking the top prize. And every time, I thought: Yes. That’s exactly right. Because her images don’t just stay with you—they change the way you see. They pull you in deeper, past the surface, past the frame, into something weightier, something quieter, something that lingers long after you've looked away.
Her work refines everything down to what truly matters. Nothing wasted. Nothing unnecessary. Every detail—every line, every shadow, every quiet space—is deliberate. There’s a rare kind of confidence in that. A clarity that makes her images feel inevitable—like they were always there, waiting to be seen, and she was the only one who could recognize them first.
This is just the beginning. The world is paying attention, and I have no doubt that Eva’s vision will only sharpen, evolve, and expand in the years ahead. It’s an absolute privilege to introduce her to you.
From the first image, I knew. Eva Chupikova isn’t just making great work—she’s making work that stays, that insists on being felt. And that’s exactly the kind of artist worth watching.
Layers and Light: The Influence of Illustration
Eva Chupikova’s background as an illustrator is woven into every image she makes. It’s not just about composition—it’s about intent. “As an illustrator, I always have to respect the writing—it’s so important. There is always a plot, situations, characters that I have to incorporate into the illustration,” she told me. “In contrast, my photography represents me, and me alone.”
That distinction defines her approach: illustration demands structure; photography gives her freedom. And in that space between discipline and instinct, her vision takes shape.
She carries over techniques from illustration but uses them sparingly, subtly—never overpowering the frame, only enriching it. “In my photographs, I handle the illustration very delicately—it is just an accessory. But in terms of content, it can articulate a supporting idea,” she explained. For Eva, simplicity isn’t about removing—it’s about refining. “Illustration taught me that simplicity isn’t emptiness—it’s clarity.”
Texture is another layer of expression. “I find it charming to touch a photograph with my own hand—to leave a stroke, an imprint, a mark on it,” she said. Rough edges evoke memory; softness suggests vulnerability. Each mark, each imperfection, makes the image more human, more tangible—like a dialogue between artist and image.
Her work thrives on contrast—not just visually, but conceptually. Addition and subtraction. Clarity and mystery. “The most important part of an image is often what you don’t see,” she told me. She withholds, not to obscure, but to invite interpretation. The spaces she leaves open become a canvas for the viewer’s imagination. That balance—between presence and absence, intention and restraint—is what gives her work its quiet power.
The Diptych: Conversations Between Frames
A diptych isn’t just two images placed side by side—it’s a conversation. For Eva Chupikova, that conversation happens in the space between frames, where contrast and connection unfold. “When combining two or more photos, the story takes place on the border between them and only in their interaction,” she told me. That interaction—that tension—is where meaning emerges, turning the visual into something felt.
Eva often lets these images find each other. “Many combinations arise intuitively, and it is a creative process in post-production,” she said. She allows the unexpected to take hold, letting one image shift the other, their dynamic shaping something entirely new. These pairings don’t just coexist—they challenge, they complement, they create something greater than the sum of their parts.
Take, for example, her diptych that blends birds and abstract forms. The juxtaposition of motion captured in the photograph and the raw energy of a charcoal drawing doesn’t create harmony—it creates tension. The two images push and pull against each other, offering a space for the viewer to step inside that dialogue and experience it firsthand. There’s always something unsaid, something held in the breath between shadows—the space where meaning emerges between one frame and the next.
For Eva, the creative process doesn’t end once the image is made. “Creating a good photo is only 50% of the process,” she told me. “The remaining half lies in its physical presentation.” The way she delivers the work—whether through subtle tape marks holding the prints in place or handcrafted wooden frames—adds another layer of presence. These tactile details pull the viewer in, making the work feel closer, more human, more real.
The Solitude of Travel: Listening to the Landscape
If Eva’s diptychs are conversations between images, then her landscapes are conversations between herself and the world. Travel, for her, isn’t just about the places she visits—it’s about how she listens to them, particularly in solitude.
Few moments capture this better than her time in the remote village of Gjógv in the Faroe Islands, where she found herself completely alone—cut off from the world, immersed in something both isolating and profound.
“In the morning, the bus driver kindly agreed to take me to the remote village of Gjógv,” she told me. “After I got off, we arranged for him to pick me up in eight hours. Once he left, I found myself completely alone at the end of the world. An intense feeling of loneliness washed over me, and my heart sank. I realized that no one knew where I was, that I was entirely cut off from the rest of the world, and only one person—my dear bus driver Uffe—would come to get me, provided he didn’t forget. There wasn’t a living soul in that village. To this day, I’m not sure if there truly was no one there or if the locals were hiding behind their windows, watching the strange figure in a yellow jacket from behind the curtains.”
That kind of solitude can feel heavy, even unnerving—but for Eva, it became something else entirely.
She climbed a hill with an endless view, sat down, and let the world unfold around her. The sea, the wind, the birds, the shifting light. Sun. Rain. Snow. Everything converging in one remarkable, untamed display.
“In those moments, it felt like nature was putting on a performance just for me, that no one else was watching—only I was in the front row,” she said. “In those instances, you can truly hear the dialogue…”
The landscape was no longer just something to observe—it had become a partner in a conversation. The silence, the elements, the sheer force of nature—it all allowed her to connect in a way that only solitude makes possible.
“I love solitude while traveling,” she said. For Eva, these moments alone in nature aren’t just about seeing—they’re about feeling. About allowing the landscape to communicate in ways that words cannot capture.
“The landscape becomes a conversation partner,” she told me. And in these moments—whether in the Faroe Islands or elsewhere—Eva doesn’t just find inspiration. She finds something deeper. A quiet kind of understanding. A presence that exists beyond the frame, beyond the photograph itself.
Breaking Convention: The Multi-Genre Approach
Eva Chupikova doesn’t see boundaries—she sees possibilities. Whether she’s capturing the stillness of a landscape, the quiet presence of a portrait, or the abstraction of shape and light, her work moves fluidly between genres. It’s not about categories. It’s about expression.
“Both genres allow me to express myself freely,” she told me, referring to her work in portraiture and landscapes. “It seems to me that it works well, I feel free and inspired in both areas.” There’s no restriction—only expansion. Each medium informs the other, feeding her artistic vision and sharpening her ability to see.
Her approach to photography is a journey, not a formula. “My inspiration flows from various sources of art, nature, and personal experiences,” she explained. This openness allows her to approach each image with fresh eyes. “It permanently motivates me to experiment and evolve.” There’s no fixed framework—just movement. Growth. A constant evolution, shaped by the world around her and the world within.
What makes Eva’s work so compelling is the way these different genres speak to each other within a single portfolio. Her landscapes are more than just scenic views—they are emotional landscapes, layered with texture and mood. Her portraits go beyond likeness, capturing something deeper—a moment, a presence, a feeling. And her abstract work strips photography down to its rawest elements—form, space, and light—pushing the boundaries of what an image can be.
Her ability to shift between genres keeps her work dynamic, allowing her to approach each subject with a unique perspective and fresh intent. “I can shoot a landscape, and later, a portrait, and find connections between them,” she said. “Each image is an experiment, a new way to express what I feel.”
Her portraits, for example, are not just shaped by her connection to the subject, but also by her understanding of the landscape. “A portrait should feel alive,” she told me. “It’s not about capturing a single expression—it’s about revealing something more lasting.” You can see this in her portraits of Anna and Emma, but also in her landscapes, where the land itself carries that same quiet presence.
For Eva, these genres don’t exist in isolation. They interact, influence, and inform—always moving, always evolving, just like her photography itself.
The Breath Between Shadows
Eva Chupikova’s photography doesn’t just show us the world—it pulls us beneath the surface. It exists in the stillness of her landscapes, in the quiet intensity of her portraits, in the raw emotional weight she brings to every frame. Her work isn’t about decoration or documentation. It’s about something deeper—something felt before it’s understood.
And maybe that’s the point.
Because great art doesn’t explain—it leaves space. It invites us in, asks us to listen, to feel, to recognize something of ourselves within it. That’s what Eva does. Whether she’s capturing the solitude of a remote landscape, the presence of a single human face, or orchestrating the silent tension of a diptych, her images don’t just exist—they speak to one another. They move, they push, they pull, they create something greater than the sum of their parts.
It has been a privilege to witness her journey, to see how she embraces uncertainty, pushes beyond convention, and creates without compromise. There is no hesitation in her work. No false notes. Just clarity, depth, and a voice that is unmistakably her own.
For me, sharing Eva’s work isn’t just about photography—it’s about opening a door into a way of seeing. A way of feeling. A way of understanding that some images don’t fade—they stay, they echo, they change the way we experience the world. They exist in the breath between light and shadow, where presence and absence shape each other. That’s where her images live, and that’s why they stay with us.
This is Eva Chupikova’s world. And I have no doubt that it’s only just beginning.
