An artist with a fluid style and a transforming imagination, Criminaliza crosses languages, countries and forms of expression. In this conversation, she tells us about her journey: from a drawing hidden behind a sofa in Moscow to Un’ultima cosa (One Last Thing), published by Diabolo Edizioni and born from a dialogue with Francesca Ghermandi. Through reflections on identity, communication and the power of comics as a universal language, Liza guides us on an adventure in which curiosity and uncertainty become tools of freedom, and art a form of luminous resistance.
Ciao Liza, it’s a pleasure to welcome you to Lo Spazio Bianco. Thank you very much for your time.
Let’s start with introductions: would you like to tell our readers about yourself? What is your artistic background? How did you come to use comics as your medium?
Ciao Nicole, it’s a huge pleasure also for me. Thanks for having me, and i couldn’t think of anyone better to chat in this format with then you :o)
My first childhood art-related memory was hiding behind the couch to draw naked people. My mother caught me and she seemed to be very angry – I’m still wondering why –. Overall it’s always been a journey. I studied literature at Moscow State University just to quit the last year of studies (long enough to understand that I love stories though). I was the worst. I made it to the British Higher School of Arts and Design and unexpectedly finished with distinction. I was always into animation, but my attention span kept me in comics instead. just key frames, giving the labour of everything in-between to the reader.
While studying illustration I was riso-printing (an “ideal” printing technique – “riso” in Japanese – and environmentally friendly, whereby a stencil is duplicated by printing the original image onto paper using soy ink. The process is repeated for each colour, producing a brilliant, handcrafted result. Ed.) comics at Sputnikat press (small independent international publishing house) and this gave me a lot of technical skills and visual training as well.
After the beginning of the war with Ukraine I was lucky to have a chance to move to Italy in a refugee status and to continue my journey here, supported by incredibly hard-working and loving people who are also really exceptional artists. Now I’m working as a part of experimental collective Trincea Ibiza which is focusing on self-production. This allows us to go as crazy as we want, giving the world the worst and the best of our poor little souls in a nice glossy packaging. and sometimes some publishers feel brave enough to invite me to do things together, as lovely Diabolo Edizioni did with Un’ultima cosa (One last thing, Ed.).
Un’ultima cosa was created thanks to a residency at Compulsive Archive, and you created it based on the imagery of Francesca Ghermandi. What was it like to collaborate with this author and, even before that, what prompted you to participate in the project?
It was like taking part in a fascinating intellectual rave, but instead of music there were ideas, instead of light visuals, and instead of side quests new fields of knowledge.
Compulsive Archive gave me an unbelievable amount of useful and inspiring input, shaping the route of thoughts, helping me to formulate better for myself why I’m doing what I’m doing (for this project and in general), and most importantly somehow it gave me permission to (sometimes) be free from the fear of being misunderstood (that used to follow me wherever i went).
Francesca Ghermandi is an exceptional author, and I’m insanely lucky to have worked closely with her stories. She inspires me a lot. The funny thing is that partially because reading and talking in Italian is still challenging to me, the main story of the book came out of inability to communicate or receive information clearly. Words are superficial and vague, words with images are a bit better (that’s why we keep choosing comics), but in the end this form of art leaves you so much space for your own private experience and perception application that’s simultaneously fascinating and frustrating.
Our dialogue with Francesca started long-distance by studying each other’s work, continued throughout – she supported me a lot during the process, and even made a fantastic trailer/map of my story, making it actually more accessible to the reader.
As long as Un’ultima cosa talks about impossibility to communicate, reading it gets to be a challenge also for a reader (mean but just), so people use Francesca’s map to understand better the flow of the story, switching between these two objects. Conceptually it’s mind-blowing for me and the dialogue keeps going on – through public talks and private discussions, more reflection and getting deeper into each other’s way of thinking and process, I don’t think this snowball rolling directly from the frozen space could be ever stopped now and i wouldn’t want it to stop.
In the end curiosity is a very rich fuel and it’s the only anti-fear medicine i know. :o)
The story is peppered with questions and reflections on existence that come across as aphorisms and moments of lucidity during the inevitable journey of ME, the protagonist of the story.
How many of the ideas you have shared here are driving forces behind your work?
I don’t know if I’ve managed to leave anything helpful for the reader or myself. For me these matters only get bigger and more complicated while you’re reflecting on them, like in that story of David Foster Wallace Brief interviews with hideous men about stopping the time. And I guess it’s more about getting used to the discomfort of not having answers at all rather than finding a solution, shaping this discomfort as curiosity and turning the curiosity into the driving force.
It feels strange juggling themes I know nothing about so it only makes sense (consciously and subconsciously) to share my real experience, which is knowing nothing about nothing but trying to process everything anyway, hoping that when the time comes the rough collage of world perception created by mind will pass the test again. spotting here and there reactions and patterns and holding them like rescue straws in a stream of unstoppable forces.
After the beginning of the war in Ukraine I continued doing commercial illustration in Russia. For every new project at the final stages I always had to go through the pdf with governmentally restricted symbols and ideas (the list kept growing day by day), making sure nothing popped up involuntarily. otherwise both the client and me were risking massive fines at minimum up to 15 years jail time by law. In some cases only these precautions helped me to avoid irreversible complications. Your work reveals your inner world anyway, no matter how crucial it is to hide your opinion in some extreme cases.
In the afterword, you refer to your changing language: how has it changed for this story? We recognize your fluorescent colors, the fluid material that gives the impression of continuous becoming, of constant transformation, as if everything could melt away at any moment and be reincarnated in subsequent stories.
A strange moment of history we are living now seems to steal from every last human the ability to plan ahead, changing and transforming every single moment. For years me and many others were living with no concrete plans, getting used to the fact that whatever future you’re imagining for yourself in a couple of hours could become an impossible dream.
This involuntary practice made me more (still painfully) open to changes, having been forced to learn how to write and draw stories being guided by the process itself. No precise planning ahead – just a rough idea, letting the frames flow, growing from one another. accepting what comes out and building over it. This fluidity might be the main difference with my process from the past, instead of reaching for clarity or likability. an experiment, an attempt as the main prize.
Accepting my professional and personal challenges (prosopagnosia, lack of visual memory, anxiety, uncertainty, etc) and making these the lead powers of my sign and storytelling. I’m still searching, and always will :o)
In what language did you imagine it, and which of the cultures you encounter did you draw most inspiration from? – Although it may be difficult to distinguish between them, given that you probably synthesise them all in your experience. – Are there any images that stood out more because they could only happen in a certain context, or do you find them universal?
At this point there’s a borsch of languages in my mind so it’s really hard to tell. In addition to different words and phrases each language is trying to pull the train of my thought in its own direction. That’s amusing, but a little bit too chaotic. That’s how I’m explaining to myself that only now, after living in Italy for a bit, most of my writing started being done in the Russian language. This never happened before, because I studied illustration in an English-speaking university and all my professional reflections and presentations were in English exclusively.
Now Russian makes more sense for having a better perception of nuances and therefore, control. In addition, it’s much closer to Italian in many ways – starting from detailed descriptiveness to more poetic approach, while English feels more adapted for utility and fast general explanations. translation is still a pain in the ass though.
On the bright side, being involved so deeply in both cultures and poorly operating in three languages I still get the benefits of different perspectives on the same matter which fits perfectly to my confusing perception of the world. I find differences and eclectics inspiring.
As for universality – everything that happens somehow changes the outcome, gives new experiences that then emerge on their own no matter what (coming back to the discussion from before). So, i guess, everything makes sense in the end, even if it doesn’t seem like from the beginning, and it’s particular place in the certain context is exactly what makes it universal. I’m sober btw, ask me again after one beer and i would deny everything.
At one point, ME’s finger (spoiler not spoiler alert, ed.) bends, very long, in front of a button: did it press it in your mind?
It’s an attempt to mirror the inner state of the reader, like a little test. if while reading you are reflecting about your own “un’ultima cosa”, and the button goes pressed – then you’re good to go, while if not – here’s your obstacle. My own button never gets pressed, and this story partially is me kicking my own ass to move more and prepare less.
There never is a perfect moment for anything, so let’s just hope that all the last things would be completed one day to give space to more new beautiful ideas before they get old.
What other projects are you working on? Where can we find you in the coming months?
At the moment I’m working on a couple of group projects with our collective “Trincea Ibiza”, also with them we’re regularly attending many festivals of comics and illustration all over Italy, usually informing about our movements in advance through socials. aside from that i’m working on various illustrations for different projects, two-people experimental comics (like “purple empire”, but with a different technical principle), on graphics for “team against torture” and a bunch of short stories for my personal projects (that’s probably too early to mention).
Thank you so so much, Nicole, it was really a pleasure for me too.
Thank you so much, Liza, it was a great pleasure for me too.
See you soon!
Interview conducted by email in Italian and English in August 2025.
Criminaliza
Criminaliza is a Russian artist who was forced to leave her country due to government repression. Her most recent works include the webcomic Half litre diary; Dementia (Wobby Club); Purple Empire (Trincea Ibiza); the autobiographical story Il mondo nuovo (The new world – ed., Lettera22); Gli animali (The animals – ed., Bauci Press).
