Khrystyna Kirik is a sound artist specialising in experimental improvisational music and performative art. In her work, she explores the sensory state of sound perception, focusing on the transformation of everyday sonority using electronic hardware, double bass and piano pre-recorded samples, voice, field recordings, and DIY sounding objects.
You studied Musical Art in Kyiv. What is your background, and what preceded your studies?
I have been in touch with musical instruments since I was two years old. I started with the piano, later learned the bandura, and sang in a choir at music school as a child. Much later, I picked up the bass guitar and double bass, which became my main focus at the Music Academy. For a long time, I played and composed jazz music, leading several self-founded projects, including the post-bop quartet KK4TET and the free-jazz ensemble FREEBUTTREE. I also ran a music studio called Uncovered Music Space, which I created to showcase Kyiv’s independent scene. These projects, and that period in general, came to an end in February 2022.
Your work spans performance, workshops, theatre, and composition. Can you talk about the various aspects of your creative activities and how they influence each other?
For me, everything is interconnected and interdependent. I am always searching for new approaches and formats that allow me to imagine that I have no prior understanding of a specific field—I would probably call this deliberate amateurism. It puts me in a special state of having a beginner’s mind, which is crucial to me in the creative process.
What was your favourite recent project?
One of them was Echoes of the Earth, a residency and group exhibition in Kyiv. Along with other local artists, I spent time interviewing Ukrainian ecologists and researchers about unique natural territories in Ukraine and the impact of the Russian Federation’s invasion on them. I translated the insights I gathered into a haptic spatial sound experience, combined with digital visuals reflecting the state of natural places in the south and east of Ukraine. Additionally, I learned and recorded a traditional song from a specific steppe region—one that was once commonly heard in those territories. This traditional singing opened up for me a profound connection to both my own body and the body of the land.
Another special project was a recent residency in Barreiro, where I collaborated with Ba Alvares, a multi-instrumentalist and double bass player, as well as Patricia Miguel, a singer with Down syndrome. We spent a week improvising, opening portals into the unknown by morphing musical material through constant repetition and trance-like movements in a slow flow of textures. We recorded several rehearsals that turned out really well, and I hope we will release them in the future.
How important are liminal spaces—and the spaces and sounds in between—in your work?
They feel like a metaphor for a dissociative drift into the physical world, where your sense of self and time takes on a dreamlike detachment—where reality feels distant or slowed down, sometimes accompanied by emotional detachment or deep introspection. I enjoy imagining and recalling special places, unique spaces, and their sonic ambience—like the hum of fridges in supermarkets, the muffled screams underwater in a pool, the buzzing of electrical transformers on the street, or some indescribable noise that always seems to be present everywhere.
When I was studying, there was always a problem: more students than practice rooms. So, I often had to practice double bass in the corridor, surrounded by many other musicians. We would always try not to hear each other—an impossible task! And whenever there was an empty space, it felt like pure bliss. After this experience, I realised I had started ignoring my sonic environment. At some point, I had to teach myself to listen attentively again—not just to music, but to everything around me.
Drawing from that – could you talk about the “sensory state of sound perception” that you explore in your practice?
I believe our sonic surroundings profoundly affect us and our states of being. We can listen not only with our ears but also in a more experiential way—by connecting with the tactile sensation of sound and its inner feeling. If the sound we hear is the body of sound, then that body is also our body.
Your latest album, Sub-sur-face, explores the spectrum of human existence. “It’s a sonic meditation that tunes one into openness, a connection with being, and emotions. It is a journey inward, evoking deep memory.” Can you tell us more about this release?
Through this work, I seek stillness amid the rush—a moment to simply be in the moment. Alongside producing music, I created a special project using photogrammetry of naked bodies to form a digital bodyscape. For this, the participants had to freeze for a minute and stand completely still—a state I wanted to translate into the video art of this work. I want to convey that each moment holds a unique, lucid gateway.
Considering the current state of the world, and human existence as such, how do you, as an artist, reflect and relate to current happenings?
It is as if the corridor was narrow and is now becoming even narrower. But I am searching for the strength to push through—finding resources in my daily life. There is light within and around those we love, trust, and care for. I navigate this through mindfulness, contemplation, and hypersensitivity. Life brings new challenges, and I strive to use art as a tool to create a world of harmonious coexistence—one that fosters deep immersion in meaning and explores new ways of interacting with reality.
Interview Lucia Udvardyova
Photo Sasha Samusevych