Aga Baranska An Artist's Journey to Universal Connection

Aga Baranska’s path to becoming an artist wasn't a straight line and that's exactly what makes her work so rich. From model to photographer, fashion designer to gallery assistant, every step has informed her practice.

A graduate of both the Visual Art School in Poland, and the London College of Fashion, she creates paintings, textiles, and sculptures that traverse cultures and religions, drawing deeply from her Romani heritage and years of global wandering.

Mexican culture, particularly the spiritual aspects of Maya cosmology, profoundly influences her work. But for Aga, art isn't about representing a single culture, it's about creating a universal language. On her Instagram, she asks questions like "Can art attract love?" She wants people to feel free, to feel magic, to feel hypnotized when they encounter her work.

I sat down with Aga to talk about ancient talismans in the digital age, art as healing, and why she paints without planning.

Your greatest inspirations or influences?

I am constantly falling in love with the world. When I travel, my eyes are always searching for symbols, fabrics, rituals, gestures, colors, and human stories.

Workshops with children inspire me deeply. They are fearless creators. They remind me what true artistic freedom looks like.

I'm also deeply inspired by long conversations with my husband, and by my two close artist friends. Ania Górnicka, a photographer, and Rebecca Manners, a designer whose work constantly pushes boundaries and challenges perception.

Tell me about your journey into the arts.

I didn't come from an artistic family, but my parents supported my desire to paint from the beginning. As a child, I had pencils in every pocket and attended art classes from the age of five.

Entering art secondary school felt like heaven. Later, before Poland joined the EU, I received a scholarship and was accepted to the University of the Arts London. It was another world—culturally and creatively—and it expanded my vision completely.

Since then, living between places like Tokyo, Berlin, London, and Ibiza has deeply shaped my work. But painting has always been my constant language.

You describe your work as "contemporary talismans in a digital age." What does that mean?

Ancient talismans were part of everyday life—they carried protection, intention, identity. Today, our attention is fragmented.

My paintings function as anchors. They invite the viewer to pause. To breathe. To stay.

When I paint, I feel like I enter another portal—a space outside of time. I hope the viewer can step into that same portal, even for a moment. In a distracted world, presence itself becomes sacred.

You've said you don't plan your paintings. Can you describe your process?

I don't plan my paintings. I take my time. Sometimes I can sit for a long while just looking at what I've already painted.

The process feels like meditation. It's quiet and slow. I listen more than I decide. Shapes, symbols, and colors begin to appear—almost as if I'm channeling another dimension.

In a world that moves fast and demands constant action, this way of working feels essential. It allows something deeper and more truthful to come through.

There's a sense in your work of wanting to reintegrate art, ritual, and daily life. How do you think about that?

What fascinates me about Mayan cosmology and many indigenous cultures—is that art was not separate from life. A bowl, a garment, a wall, everything carried symbolism and meaning.

Today we divide everything: work, spirituality, creativity, rest. My hope is that my paintings gently dissolve those borders. That someone might hang a painting in their living room and feel that it is not just an object, but a presence—something that carries intention into daily life.

You work with symbols and imagery from various spiritual traditions. How do you think about our responsibility toward nature and these ancient systems?

Artists shape imagination. And imagination shapes how we treat the world.

If we see nature as sacred rather than as a resource, our behavior changes. Having worked closely with a shamanic family in Peru, I experienced how deeply interconnected we are.

Sometimes beauty itself is activism. If my work makes someone feel tenderness toward nature, that softness creates responsibility.

Speaking of ancient wisdom—how do you navigate using these symbols without commodifying them?

Ancient symbols are not trends—they carry depth.

I approach them with research, travel, and humility. I don't copy; I transform through my own lived experience. It's a contemporary dialogue with the past.

Integrity comes from intention. If the intention is honest, the work carries weight.

You've mentioned that your work can function as a healing tool. Can you talk about that?

Healing is about remembering wholeness. When someone stands in front of my painting and their breath slows, or they feel seen—something real happens in the body. During difficult times, collectors have told me the works feel like companions or guardians.

Art cannot fix the world, but it can create a safe inner space. And sometimes that is enough.

What's next for you?

I'm in a place where I feel comfortable not knowing.

I keep painting. I keep listening. I try to be kind—to others and to myself. And I trust that life will unfold as it should.

To see more of Aga's beautiful work and follow her creative questions, follow her on Instagram.