Dima Korma

Dima Korma (born 1988, Ukraine)  is a visual artist who works primarily in the field of abstract muralism. His practice focuses on exploring colour, form and rhythm as a language in itself, using mural painting as a tool to transform the perception of public space. His interventions do not stem from an explicit narrative, but rather seek to generate sensations, emotions and open-ended visual experiences, establishing a direct relationship between the artwork, the architecture and the people who move through the space.

You often speak about balance and harmony in your compositions. Do you worry that this kind of language might be perceived as neutral or even decorative in public space?

I understand why words like balance and harmony can sometimes be perceived as neutral or purely decorative, especially in public space. But in my work, balance isn’t about symmetry or textbook color combinations—it’s about relationships: between the mural and its environment, and between all the elements within the composition. I think decoration becomes empty when it doesn’t engage the viewer beyond the surface. What interests me is how a mural can shift the energy of a place, influence how people move through it, and affect how they feel within it. Even without a narrative, that kind of impact is not neutral.

So I don’t see harmony as something soft or passive—it’s something constructed, sometimes even fragile. That underlying tension is an essential part of the work.

Your work strongly depends on its relationship with architecture. At what point do you choose to adapt to a space, and when do you decide to impose your own logic onto it?

I think it’s always a mix of both, and it changes with each project. My decisions are guided not only by the architecture, but also by my own intuition and the story of the location. Sometimes the architecture leads the process—the proportions, surfaces, and spatial rhythm suggest a direction for the composition. Other times, it’s more about the atmosphere or the story of the place, which can push the work in a different direction. I’m interested in finding a balance between these elements. The mural needs to respond to its context, but also bring its own energy and perspective. That balance is never fixed; it evolves with each space.

Contemporary muralism tends to lean towards figurative and narrative approaches. Do you think this responds to a real need, or to a simplification of visual language to make it more easily consumed?

I think it reflects a combination of factors. Figurative and narrative murals can communicate quickly and connect with a wide audience, which makes them very effective in public space.At the same time, every approach comes with its own limitations. When an image is very direct, it can sometimes leave less room for open interpretation. But that doesn’t make it less valuable—it just serves a different purpose. For me, abstraction offers another way of engaging with people. It might not communicate instantly, but it can create a more open and personal experience through atmosphere, rhythm, and emotion. It invites the viewer to spend time with the work and find their own meaning. 

In an environment where images are quickly consumed —social media, tourism, urban branding— how do you prevent your work from being reduced to a purely aesthetic experience?

I don’t think it’s possible to fully control how a mural is consumed today, especially through social media. Over the years, I’ve learned to “release” my work. I focus on the development and the process—the moment of creation—but once the work is finished, I can’t control how it circulates or is interpreted. At the same time, I know the work continues to live its own life. I often receive feedback years later from people who have experienced it in very different contexts, which shows me that it exists beyond its initial image or moment. So rather than trying to control its perception, I trust the work to evolve on its own after it leaves my hands.

You come from a background in design and visual communication. To what extent does your work still respond to a design logic, and when does it become something more open or uncertain?

My background was very important at the beginning, as it helped me build my visual language and understand composition and structure.Over time, my practice has evolved. Today it’s less about applying a fixed design logic and more about a flexible process that changes depending on each project. Sometimes it’s more structured, sometimes more intuitive—but always a balance between the two.

Your process seems highly controlled and composition-driven. What space do you leave for error or improvisation while working on site?

I am quite a control-oriented person in my process—I usually plan every step in detail, with lists, notes, and a clear structure before I start painting. But working on site always introduces unexpected situations. Over the years, I’ve learned to accept that and not fight it. Instead, I try to stay flexible within that structure. So even if the composition is highly planned, I always leave space for improvisation. Often it’s intuition and the reality of the wall that guide the final decisions. That balance between control and adaptation has become an important part of my process.

With the rise of digital tools and AI —which also operate through form, color and composition— where do you draw the line between your practice and a generated image?

For me, the key difference is not the use of form, color, or composition, but the relationship to the physical world and the process behind it. Digital tools and AI can generate images based on parameters, but my work is rooted in a direct, physical dialogue with space, scale, and material. It’s shaped by constraints, accidents, and real-time decisions that happen on site. My practice is slower, embodied, and tied to specific environments, while generated images exist in a more detached space.So the distinction is less about visual language itself, and more about context, process, and presence. 

If a tool can generate complex abstract compositions in seconds, what value does the manual process still hold?

As I said before, my work is strongly inspired by the environment, and I try to design it in a way that doesn’t only respond visually, but also invites interaction. In a project like Color en moviment in Nou Barris, the goal wasn’t just to create something to look at, but something that could be used and experienced—almost like a game within the sports field. The decisions I make are always connected to that idea of activation: how color and form can guide movement, create rhythms, and influence how people occupy the space. In that sense, the mural is not a background, but a trigger for activity and perception.

In a piece like the one in Nou Barris (Color en moviment), you’re working within a very active, everyday environment. What decisions do you make to ensure the work doesn’t just function as a background, but actually transforms the perception of the space?

From my own experience in this project, it was a very balanced approach. On one hand, there was a clear decision regarding the visual language and direction for each location, along with a defined brief and expected outcome. On the other hand, there was also a free creative process during the sketching and development phase, where ideas could evolve and be tested. So overall, it was a good balance between structure and creative freedom, which allowed the work to stay focused while still leaving space for exploration.

Looking at the sector as a whole, do you think muralism is becoming more conservative in terms of visual language?

I think figurative work is often more visible and tends to move faster in terms of exposure, mainly because it is easily recognizable and readable. It communicates quickly, which works well both in public space and in digital contexts. At the same time, the field is still very diverse. There are many artists continuing to push abstraction, experimentation, and more complex visual languages. These practices might not always be as immediately visible, but they are very present and evolving in parallel. 

What do you think is genuinely working in the current scene, and what feels like it’s being repeated without adding anything new? 

I don’t think there is a fixed definition of what is “genuinely working” in the scene. It depends on many factors—place, culture, environment, and context. Each work can have its own relevance, regardless of the visual language it uses. From my point of view, it’s more about whether a piece is honest to its context and intention, rather than whether it fits a certain trend or style. Because of that, I’m careful about saying something is being repeated without value. Even similar visual approaches can function very differently depending on where and how they are placed.