Oleh Serafyn: “A true artist learns to give voice to emotions through creativity”

The most candid conversations emerge where trust begins to flourish between a question and an answer. Perhaps that is why today’s editorial feature in the pages of BOMOND VIP Fashion lifts the curtain not only on a person deeply devoted to his craft, but also on the inner workings of a creative process capable of changing the world — both the one around us and the one within us.

Through music, dance, and his own artistic explorations, the protagonist of the magazine’s new DIGITAL Cover moves through life by engaging in an honest dialogue with it. Oleh Serafyn is a singer, music producer, and multi-artist, as well as the founder of SERAFÝN STAR PRODUCTION, where he creates his own musical projects, discovers new talent, and helps artists find and reveal their individual creative voices.

In an in-depth and candid interview for BOMOND VIP Fashion, Oleh Serafyn speaks about the beginnings of his creative journey, the personal stories that become music, Kokhatymu and MAVKA, and Ukrainian cultural identity. He also reflects on finding his way back to himself, experiences that cannot be bypassed, and the ability to see creativity as an opportunity to live through and embrace personal transformation.

“The greatest happiness is helping those who carry true talent within them to shine,” Oleh says. And perhaps these words most precisely define his role today: not only to create his own art, but also to support and inspire those whose stories are only beginning.

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Every art form has its own singular beginning — the first brushstroke on canvas, the first page written, the first note played. A creative path always begins long before the world learns of it. And sometimes creativity itself becomes a way of returning to one's true self. Mr. Oleh, what was the beginning of your own story?

Thank you for such an interesting and profound question.

For me it's a many-layered one, because it has several answers at once, woven together across different periods of my life. Finding yourself isn't a single moment — it's a journey. It begins with the first creative steps, the first lines of poetry, the first notes played, and gradually leads to the making of an author, an artist, a person.

And if we're talking specifically about returning to myself, then I think I'm living through that period most deeply right now. And, honestly, it's one of the most valuable journeys of my life.

If I try to find the very beginning of my story, it seems to me it started long before I was even born. It's not for nothing that people say the soul chooses its own parents, so it can live through the exact experience that will help it fulfill its purpose.

I was born in the small, picturesque town of Zhydachiv, in the Lviv region, to an electrical engineer father, Roman, and a musician mother — a violin teacher, Oksana. And today, looking back, I understand that the greatest gift of my life wasn't only my parents, but also my sister Halyna. Family became my first foundation, my guardian angels, the people who gave me a sense of love, support, tradition, and true values. Everything I am today largely grew out of that atmosphere.

It was there, in childhood, that my creative gifts began to reveal themselves, one after another.

My first vocal performances happened, of course, around the big Christmas table. Our whole family would go carolling, put on nativity plays, and go from house to house singing shchedrivky. And, as it turned out, that was also my first business venture. (Smiles.) Carolling let me earn enough for a toy I'd dreamed of, or my favourite sweets. But it was my very first dream instrument — a Yamaha electric keyboard — that my father bought me. I'll never forget that feeling of happiness, driving together to Lviv to buy it.

In primary school I wrote my first poem — about Ukraine. I still remember it. And soon after came the next one — about love. Quite unusual for my age. And now I understand that even as a child there was already a particular sensitivity to feelings and to the inner world of people living in me.

I think it was precisely that sensitivity that always set me apart. I seemed to see the world a little differently — more deeply, more three-dimensionally, full of meanings that can't always be put into words. And over the years I understood that this is exactly where my strength lies. My calling is to live through these emotions, to find a form for them, and to tell people about them through music, lyrics, the stage, and creativity.

Dance also entered my life very early — around the age of five. It all began with classical ballet: battement tendu, demi-plié... Then came Ukrainian folk dances — hopak, polka.

I can't say that back then I loved most of all standing at the barre or endlessly polishing technique. But at home everything changed. Watching American MTV on television, I would, with delight and completely intuitively, repeat the moves of Ricky Martin, Jennifer Lopez, Shakira. As if my body already knew how it was supposed to look.

And I think that's exactly when Latin music quietly entered my life — to stay there forever. Because when I met Amador Lopez and we created the band RUMBERO'S together, my life became a true carnival.

Looking back on it today, I understand that none of it was a series of separate, random episodes. They were small signs, leading me, step by step, to who I've become today. And I'm deeply grateful to my childhood and youth for allowing me not just to learn to sing, dance, or write, but above all — to learn to feel, to realize myself as an author, and to express myself.

In your reflections, you often speak about inner change, the search for yourself, and returning to your own voice. In your view, to what extent is creativity capable not only of giving birth to new music, but of changing the very person who creates it?

Creativity has always helped me live through life. Through poetry, music, dance, I communicate with the world and the people in it. That's how I sublimate my feelings, experiences, doubts, inner conflicts. And very often it's exactly in that inner dialogue that truth is born — a new song, a new dance, a new awareness. People say you should get rid of doubt, be more confident in yourself — but what if I told you that it was precisely in doubt, in the constant search for new meaning, that the real me was born?

But the most interesting part isn't even the result — it's the process itself. Because every creative stage inevitably changes its author. If, of course, you're open to what it has to teach you.

I've always been very curious. I love discovering new things, exploring other cultures, meeting people, learning, and at the same time discovering myself. That's exactly what keeps me from standing still.

I think that, as in every author's life, everything happens in sequence. Sometimes it feels as though we're already ready for a new stage, but in reality life is still leading us through the experience without which that stage simply isn't possible.

Today I trust the process far more. I meditate, I practise breathing exercises, and I simply trust life, God, the Universe — everyone can call it whatever they like. Earlier, I very much wanted to have everything here and now. Because of that, I often stepped on the same rake again and again. (Laughs.) I probably have a whole museum of those rakes by now.

But that's exactly where experience is born from.

Life is cyclical, but its stages are sequential. You can't skip a lesson you're meant to learn. If you don't learn it, life will bring you back to a similar situation again — with new scenery, perhaps, but the same underlying meaning.

I don't think a person can be completely changed. Just as you can't change your own nature. But you can understand yourself much better. You can grow closer to your true self. And if all your decisions — even the most painful ones — eventually lead you to inner peace, love, gratitude, and a sense of happiness, then none of it was in vain.

Then you realise that the mistakes weren't really mistakes at all. They were decisions that led you exactly here.

That's why I'm convinced: a person who creates inevitably changes. Because a true author is someone who learns to see people, to feel their stories, to live through them together, and through creativity to give those feelings a voice.

At times it seems there's a rather fine line between an author's sincerity and the space they keep entirely for themselves. How do you define that line in your own work?

From experience, I can say that any strong emotion or event first needs to be lived through on your own. Only with time do you start to understand why it was given to you. Whether it's a story you're ready to share with the world, or one that still belongs only to you.

Not every experience needs to be voiced right away. Some feelings need time to turn into meaning. And only then do they become a song, a poem, or a story.

I never try to impose my point of view on the listener. I simply tell my story honestly. I share what I myself have lived through. And people find their own answers within it.

That's why it's very important for me to be sincere not only on stage, but in everyday life too. If you're going to open your heart, do it when you're truly ready — not because the algorithms or the information space demand it, but because it comes from within.

That's how my songs are born. Almost all of them grow out of personal experience.

That was the case with "Kokhatymu" ("I Will Love"), when I shared not only my own story, but the story of millions of Ukrainians whom the war has separated from the people dearest to them.

"Mi Música," written for RUMBERO'S, was born quite differently. At that time I was going through a creative crisis, burnout, exhaustion. But instead of writing yet another sad song, I asked myself a simple question: "What do people need right now?"

And I understood that I wanted to give them light. I wanted them to feel like dancing, falling in love, living and loving this life even more.

So sometimes even the heaviest inner states can give birth to the brightest music.

The song "Kokhatymu" was born from a personal story, but very quickly became the story of thousands of people who recognised their own feelings in it. At what point, in your view, does music stop belonging to its author and begin to live a separate life in the hearts of its listeners?

I think music stops belonging to its author the moment he becomes sincerely ready to let it go out into the world — without expectations, without a desire to possess it.

"Kokhatymu" was born from my personal story. But at the same time, it absorbed the stories of millions of Ukrainians that we all witnessed and lived through together.

I remember the scenes on railway platforms, when lovers said goodbye not knowing if they'd see each other again. I was one of those people. I, too, said goodbye to someone who gave me very strong feelings and became an important part of my life. We weren't meant to stay together, but that very story became the impulse for writing the song.

Later I understood that it had long since stopped being only about me.

It became a kind of manifesto of love for those separated by war, distance, or life's circumstances — a song of hope that one day all these people would embrace each other again.

People started living this song in their own way. It became part of their memories, their meetings, their farewells, their declarations, their hopes. And that's when it began to live a life of its own.

For me, that's probably the greatest recognition there is. Because I'm only the author who, one day, dared to honestly tell his own story. And if it finds an echo in other people's hearts, that means it stopped being only mine a long time ago.

After your work on "Solovey," your creative output has increasingly come to be linked with Ukrainian cultural identity. Today, as Ukrainian music lives through one of the most important stages of its development, what values do you believe it is called to shape — not only within the country, but far beyond its borders too?

I really liked your question, because the answer is already contained within it. I too am convinced: precisely now, more than ever, Ukrainian culture must carry to the world not only the beauty of our music, but also our values.

I think it happened almost on its own. When I was working on my own interpretation of the Ukrainian folk song "Oy u Hayu Pry Dunayu," I allowed myself, with great respect for Ukrainian folk art, to creatively rethink it and give it a new name — "Solovey" ("The Nightingale").

I didn't want to change its essence. On the contrary — I wanted to live it in my own way, to feel it with my heart, and to share exactly that feeling.

We filmed the video in my native Lviv region, in Zhydachiv. It was deeply symbolic for me that my sister and my godson appeared in it. They're not just characters in a video. They're my family, my roots, my continuation. My sister has always been, and remains, a guardian for me — a person who embodies our family traditions and the bond between generations.

Interestingly, after this work was released, hosts at international concerts began introducing me as "the Ukrainian Nightingale." I never deliberately sought that, but it warms me deeply that this image arose in people so naturally.

I generally feel like a creative wanderer — someone who travels the world and, through music, dance, the stage, and human connection, tells people about Ukraine. Not only through words, but through my own example, my upbringing, my attitude toward people. Because culture isn't only songs or embroidered shirts. It's also how we behave, how we love, how we respect others.

At the same time, I believe it's very important not only to speak about yourself, but also to learn to hear others. Every country has its own mentality, its own culture, its own traditions. And when we enter the world with respect for that diversity, while also honestly and worthily representing our own culture, Ukrainian identity becomes truly understandable and close to people in different corners of the world.

That, I think, is exactly how Ukraine's cultural DNA becomes known — not through loud words, but through sincerity, creativity, and humanity.

And if we're talking about values, then for me they stretch far beyond national borders. They are values of the human being.

The most important of them are Life and inner freedom.

And alongside them — respect for one another, respect for another person's freedom and choice, a kind heart, good deeds, friendship, family traditions.

And, of course, love.

Because love, I believe, is the language understood by people all over the world. And if Ukrainian music can give people that feeling, then it's already fulfilling its most important mission.

Today you're working not only on your own music, but also on shaping the musical story of the young artist Albina. How do you experience that role?

First of all, I'm deeply grateful to fate for bringing me together with Albina. She's truly a very talented girl, and I sincerely believe a great creative future lies ahead of her.

For me it was both a great responsibility and a source of inspiration to become part of the very beginning of her creative path. Together with my team, SERAFYN STAR Production, and her parents, we built a complete creative world for her: I wrote original repertoire in Ukrainian, English, and even partly in Spanish, helped shape her musical identity, find her own sound, her image, and introduce all of it to her audience.

But the most important thing for me wasn't to create an artist — it was to help reveal the personality that already lived inside her. Not to change her, but on the contrary, to give her the chance to remain herself.

That, for me, is what real mentorship is.

I've never wanted to create artists "in my own image." What interests me far more is finding what's already inside a person: their voice, their character, their temperament, their style, their inner light. Because a true artist doesn't copy anyone — they discover themselves.

Speaking more broadly, today I feel that my mission has long since grown beyond my own creative work.

I increasingly enjoy discovering new names, supporting talented people, and passing on the experience I've gathered myself over many years — through victories, hard-won experience, big stages, creative searching, and difficult decisions.

That's exactly why I'm now actively developing my mentoring work.

Young artists, vocalists, dancers, and songwriters come to me, as well as already accomplished performers looking for a new creative stage, their own sound, or wanting to reveal their individuality more deeply.

Together we work not only on vocals or songs. We search for their own timbre, style, stage image, movement, inner freedom, and honesty with themselves. Because that's exactly where a true artist is born from.

I'm also developing my own creative community, SO Dance Community, where through dance, music, improvisation, and live connection, I help people discover themselves, become more confident, feel their body, their voice, and their creative potential. For me, creativity isn't just a profession. It's a way of living more freely, more boldly, and more consciously.

Lately, I've increasingly been invited as an author, songwriter, and creative mentor. I help artists write songs, work on their repertoire, find their own style, uncover their creative individuality, and build a strong artistic identity.

It feels like a very natural stage of my life.

Once, there were people beside me who believed in me and helped me take my first steps. Today, I want to be that person for others.

Because the greatest happiness isn't simply to shine yourself — it's to help those in whom real talent already lives to shine too.

Every artist ends up with certain works that, over time, come to mean much more than just a new release. For you, that composition seems to be "MAVKA." Why is this particular song so important in your creative story?

Yes, you've sensed that very precisely.

For me, "MAVKA" is far more than a new release. It's, perhaps, the most honest return to myself.

The idea for this song had been living inside me for a long time. There were fragments — images, melodies, thoughts, feelings. But back then I wasn't yet ready to finish it. Today I understand why.

Some songs are born in a single night, and some wait until the author himself is born.

That's exactly what happened with "MAVKA."

Over the past few years I've walked a very long inner path. There were moments when I felt I had completely lost myself. I had to rethink a great deal, let go of old ideas about success, revisit my values, learn to accept myself without masks, and allow myself to hear my own voice again.

And only after that was I able to return to this song.

At first glance it's light, dynamic, danceable. But for me it carries a far deeper meaning.

"MAVKA" is a story about the search for yourself.

About that state when it feels as though you've already found the answers, but life opens new doors in front of you all over again. When you travel to different countries, meet different people, cultures, spiritual traditions — as if gathering yourself, piece by small piece.

Sometimes it seems the truth is right there, close by. You reach out your hand — and it slips away again.

That's exactly why the image of the Mavka became so symbolic for me.

She lives somewhere between reality and the world of the soul. Between freedom and mystery. She won't let herself be possessed, yet she keeps calling you to follow. And at some point I understood that this Mavka isn't about someone else at all.

She's about that part of me I had been searching for, for so long.

I think, in a way, we're all living through this same path. All our lives, we're not searching for someone else — we're searching for ourselves. And the most interesting part is that this search never really ends. You simply stop, with time, being afraid of the road, and start enjoying the process itself.

That's exactly why "MAVKA" became a symbol of a new stage for me.

It's already the voice of a different SERAFÝN.

Calmer. Freer. More honest.

And I feel that this is only the beginning.

The songs that follow will be even more candid. They'll open me up, step by step, like the pages of an autobiography I'm writing not only in words, but in music too.

Because today I no longer want to create an image.

I simply want to be myself.

In telling the story of "MAVKA," you write that it appeared not at the start of your creative path, but precisely at the moment of returning to yourself. Could we say that this work marks the beginning of a new creative chapter for you? And how do you see it unfolding?

Absolutely.

I'd even say that "MAVKA" isn't the beginning of a new page — it's the moment I finally allowed myself to be myself.

Everything that came before was very important. I'm grateful for every song, every creative stage, every experience. But right now, I feel that for the first time in many years, I've stopped searching for who I should be.

I've simply started living as myself.

That's exactly why the next creative chapter will be a special one for me.

The next composition, "No Name," will likely become SERAFÝN's first truly autobiographical song.

In the past, I very often wrote about other people's stories. I sublimated their feelings, experiences, love, loss, hope. I watched the world closely, listened to people, let their stories pass through me, and turned them into music.

Even when I wrote about myself, it was more through images, symbols, or generalisations.

But now everything will be different.

For the first time, I'll be speaking in the first person.

Without masks.

Without roles.

Without any wish to appear as someone else.

I'll sing about my own path. About my falls and my rises. About fears, freedom, love, doubt, spiritual searching, loss, discovery, and the moments that made me who I am today.

Perhaps someone will hear themselves in these songs. And that will be the greatest reward for me. But first and foremost, it will be a conversation with myself.

Because sometimes one song can say more about a person than a hundred answers to a hundred questions.

As for the sound itself, I very much want to keep dissolving the borders between cultures.

I love it when the Ukrainian soul meets Mediterranean sunlight, when folklore naturally intertwines with contemporary pop music, when Ukrainian, English, or Spanish lines can live within a single composition, and a cinematic atmosphere becomes not just a backdrop, but a way of telling a story.

The aesthetic of the wanderer is close to my heart.

Someone who discovers different countries, different cultures, different traditions, but always returns to their own roots each time. Because only by knowing who you truly are can you genuinely open yourself to the world.

That's exactly how I see this new stage of SERAFÝN.

It will be more honest.

More cinematic.

More visual.

More daring.

And, at the same time, deeply human.

Because today what interests me is no longer simply writing beautiful songs.

I want to create my own world — one where music, image, dance, style, culture, and human values become one great story.

Today Ukrainian music is increasingly becoming a way of speaking to the world about our culture, memory, and values. In your view, what responsibility does an artist carry today, once their work stops being only a personal story and becomes part of a country's cultural voice?

That truly is a great responsibility.

But I'm convinced it doesn't rest on artists alone.

Every Ukrainian, regardless of profession, represents their country every single day — through their words, their actions, their attitude toward other people. We are all carriers of Ukrainian culture, even in the simplest moments, when we're just talking to people in another country or helping someone in everyday life.

Because Ukraine begins with each of us.

And its cultural voice is shaped by each of us.

Of course, a public figure's voice tends to sound a little louder. But volume doesn't equal strength.

For me, the greatest strength isn't in a microphone, and it isn't in social media.

My strength is in being present, in showing up fully.

In the courage to be myself.

Every day I work on myself, I keep learning, I travel, I discover new cultures, I meet new people — but every time, I feel my own roots even more strongly.

Because you can change your country of residence, your profession, your style, your language, even your stage image.

But you cannot change your origins, your family, your history.

They are what shape you.

And so, whoever we become in the future, the most important thing is to remain human, to remain honest with ourselves. That's what my form teacher back at school taught me. It became part of my philosophy too.

Not to lose the ability to love, to respect others, to feel compassion, to support, to do good.

I think it's exactly these simple things that keep culture alive.

Because culture isn't only museums, songs, or books.

It's people.

And if each of us represents our values, our culture, and our country with dignity, then the world will fall in love with Ukraine not only through our music, but through us ourselves.

So, if we're talking about my own personal responsibility, it's actually very simple — to be honest with myself. Because that's exactly when a voice stops being just a sound. It becomes truth.

And perhaps that kind of truth is capable of finding its way to a person's heart, anywhere in the world.

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