Raman Kaminski: I build a home wherever I am: a 12th-century church residency, a Bastille studio, and the practice of place — painting, performance, music
Raman Kaminski is a Belarusian-born artist based in Paris, working across painting, performance, and music. Most days unfold in his Bastille home-studio, with canvases stored rolled for mobility and reopened like diary pages; the practice extends into sound — albums, gear, live sets — and into precise, unfussy installs where a few found gestures can “close” an image.
We spoke with Raman about the solitude and clarity of his French residency, the rhythms of working between a studio and morning café edits, and the simple mantra that anchors his days: “I’m here to work.” He describes what he wants people to see when they look him up — artist, musician, performer — and why a work “works” only when someone feels something.
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BLAU: How are you right now? Is there room for procrastination in your life — a spontaneous question, but it feels relevant to everyone.
Raman: When it comes to art, I don’t procrastinate. I like working: painting, sound, form come naturally, almost physically; the art pulls me in on its own. I don’t look for a reason to sit down and work — the work finds me. What’s harder is everything around it: emails, paperwork, logistics—the things orbiting the process but not the process itself. There I try not to fight or force strict schedules; the day brings a moment when everything clicks.
BLAU: Tell us how and when you ended up in Paris.
Raman: Before Paris there was Ukraine: in 2017 I moved there to study, got my papers, and lived there until the war began. The day before February 24 I left for Georgia — planned a couple of weeks to “look from the outside,” but stayed in Tbilisi for five months. That’s when Karen, a collector from the U.S., wrote to me. A few years earlier, on a flight, she’d seen an airline-magazine ad for the bar “Svobody 4” in Minsk featuring my yellow paintings; later she saw the works in person, found my contact, and bought one — that’s how we met. Karen owned property in France, including a 12th-century church in the town of Fontevraud that had been converted into a home. She invited me, helped with a visa and a grant — so I came to France as an artist-in-residence. It was almost monastic solitude: I woke at six, went to bed at ten, barely spoke to anyone, and worked. The everyday noise fell away — there was silence, clarity, and the process. It’s a big privilege: to have the chance not to survive, but simply to be and to work.
BLAU: How did Paris enter the picture? When did the city become “yours”?
Raman: After the residency I completed the paperwork and obtained French protection status. If you’re going to live in France, then of course in Paris: that’s where the cultural fabric, infrastructure, and connections are. During the residency I met a Paris gallerist — she immediately suggested a show. I came, found an apartment, and stayed.
BLAU: That sounds almost seamless. Weren’t there difficulties?
Raman: There were. In Paris you can’t just rent a place: you need guarantors, a track record, stable income.
Even if you have money, without context and paperwork you’re still an outsider — someone off the street.
But once you have a home, the city opens up differently. You stop being a spectator; Paris is no longer a backdrop or a postcard — it’s alive, dense. Yours.
BLAU: Tell us about your Paris.
Raman: I spend about 80% of my time at home working. My apartment is a studio on Place de la Bastille — warm, cozy, filled with interior details and artworks, mine and others’. It feels like a playroom: everything you need to create and to live. Parties and restaurants aren’t my thing. I already have what I need—and if I don’t, I send a request to the universe and it arrives. I wanted a coffee machine, and one just appeared outside my building — someone must have tossed it (smiles).
Of course Paris is expensive. But if you don’t live like a tourist — if you’re truly here — the city has its own rhythms: markets, small shops, quiet streets. It matters to know why I’m here. I’m in Paris to work. Walks are great — but not for lifestyle, more as a way to switch: to stroll, breathe the street, feel that you’re here, then go back home. Back to yourself and your work.
BLAU: What does “home” mean to you? Is it tied to a place? To things?
Raman: I build myself all places I live at, so I've never had bad apartments. I worked as an interior designer for 13 years — I know how to turn any space into my own. My formula is: a monstera for sure — plants in general. Musical instruments. A vinyl turntable my friends once gave me. Dinosaur toys, a big Batman figurine, photo albums. LEDs. A rug. Paintings. A mattress on the floor. These are my anchors — everything that makes a space mine. My home is where I am.
BLAU: You were very productive — especially during the residency, but you’re still making a lot now. How do you handle the works? How do they travel with you?
Raman: Mostly I store everything rolled, without stretchers. It’s the only way to simplify logistics, especially between countries. Many works stayed in Kyiv, Ivano-Frankivsk, in Georgia; some are still in Belarus. Some are with friends, tucked into corners. Sometimes I open a box and it hits me. It’s like opening an archive of sensations: you immediately remember what state you were in, where you were in life. Each work is like a diary page.
Each work is like a diary page.
BLAU: And music? Is it as much a part of your practice as the visual work?
Raman: Yes. I’ve been making music for more than ten years. I started with beatmaking and released a couple of albums. Then came guitar, then synths. Now it’s a crucial part of my practice: I collect gear and do performances.
BLAU: If someone looks you up, what would you want them to see?
Raman: That I’m an artist. A musician. A performer. That I make things. If someone felt something from my work, it means it worked. Sometimes the response is so personal it’s almost awkward. But that’s exactly the point.
For example, the show “Past Garden” at HOS in Warsaw. It went well, but it was energetically tough. People bring energy, but they take it too. Afterward you want to disappear. You stand in front of your paintings, and only you know how much went into them—hours, details, irritation, joy.
BLAU: How did that show come about?
Raman: The HOS show came together simply, almost by itself.
Curator Olga Mzhelskaya saw my recent “church” works; the gallery had a window and she proposed a show. We needed to cover a basic budget (shipping from Paris, stretchers, minimal promo). Olga insisted we apply for a grant—and we got it. After that everything moved fast: I shipped the works, flew in, and together we unpacked the series for the first time — a key moment for both of us. We aligned closely in our vision, so the install went smoothly and precisely. I added a few found things — a stick from a park, tiles, daisies, small wooden figures, a bit of soil. That farewell gesture to my mother “closed” the image. Overall the project taught me to let go of control and allow the process to happen.
I think I used to be more joyful. Lighter, more naive. Less disappointed. I haven’t been home for almost six years. In that time, the closest people passed away. Only my grandmother remains. When you lose your parents early, the world changes. While they’re there, you’re a child — there’s a buffer.
When they’re gone, you realize that now you’re next. Everything gets louder. And loneliness — it comes in waves, you know. Sorry, I’m good at bringing in the darkness. (lights a cigarette)
As if I’d returned to the past, but it’s altered.
BLAU: Imagine a close friend arrives in Paris. Where would you take them? What kind of Paris would you show?
Raman: First stop coffee: FAUNA, Partisan Café Artisanal, Dreamin’ Man, Bonjour Jacob — Canal Saint-Martin, The Caféothèque of Paris, or Motors Coffee. Croissant — from Sain Boulangerie: buttery, fresh, from a place I trust. Then a gallery walk. I live in the Marais; galleries are on every corner — every 10–15 meters you can step in and look. I live in the Marais; galleries are on every corner — every 10–15 meters you can step in and look.
BLAU: And what do you usually do in a café? Do you work there, read, get yourself going?
Raman: I roll my own cigarettes, look at the sky, listen to music. Sometimes I re-listen to the demos I made the day before. In recent months I’ve been working on an album, and mornings became the time for “fresh ears.” I’d sit in a café for four to five hours, editing and sending materials to designers. It’s my morning workspace.
Working at home doesn’t always happen — there are too many little distractions. In a café everything falls into place: sound, rhythm, a light background. People with laptops; the music feels like it’s from my own playlist. You sort of lock into a shared rhythm.
BLAU: When you leave the café, where do you head? What would you show someone seeing your Paris for the first time?
Raman: On an ordinary day I stop by consignment shops, especially the ones where you can find music equipment. I like piecing the city together through details. Then I head home and work late into the evening — painting, sound, texts.
If a friend is nearby, I take them along my tried-and-true routes. The best burger in town, in my opinion, is at Junk (rue Montmartre) — a real discovery. Falafel — in the Marais, on the Jewish street with buns and hummus. After that, a museum for sure. Arsenal is a great place where works I’d seen in completely different contexts come together.
Then definitely the museum near the Pompidou — another great spot where works I’d seen in very different contexts are gathered. Across the Pont de Bir-Hakeim, into the 16th arrondissement — it’s full of beautiful architecture. And the final stop: the Maison de Balzac and a coffee nearby.
Then up to Montmartre, to Sacré-Cœur — best at sunset. Oh, and I love Mercato as well — it’s a store where you can find everything: electronics, cameras, even clothing. Everything’s checked, with a warranty. It’s important for me to touch a thing, to feel it physically. And Cash Express, of course.
This interview was conducted by BLAU Studio as part of the BLAU MAP project.
Raman Kaminski is a Paris-based Belarusian artist working across painting, performance, and music.
Instagram: @ramankaminski
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