21 October 2025
Artist Highlight - Makar Polovinka
Artist Interview and Review
Makar Polovinka (b. 1999) is an artist and graphic designer based in London. His work explores ways of creating a common voice and fostering connection through co-creation and collaborative making. He holds an MA from the Royal College of Art and had his first exhibition at Small Gallery. His recent project combines typeface design, coding and workshopping to explore a common voice that could appear spontaneously. His practice was recently recognised with a nomination for the Varley Memorial Award.





ARTIST INTERVIEW
1. Your projects always invite people in as co-creators, from drawing typefaces to making music with light. How do you find the balance between your own role as an artist and what the group brings?
The balance between the artist and the group is a key area of exploration for me. I think it depends on many factors: the particular people, the projects, the atmosphere and mood, and the enthusiasm of the people involved. Canvey Sans was definitely more about me as an artist and researcher than about the people, while, in Collaborative Typeface, the emphasis is much more on the participants, and I act as a facilitator who is there to provide a space. I’ve seen in other community art projects how the initiative starts with a designer but then can be taken by someone else, this dynamic naturally changes constantly.
To me, the most interesting thing is when there is more initiative from others as it puts me in the role of an explorer. The other day I was doing photography for an event when a teenager asked for my camera and started photographing their friends. It was completely unexpected and I think the photos turned out great. Seeing someone activate their talents and initiative and being able to provide space for that feels rewarding and just very nice.
2. With Canvey Sans, you turned a community’s words and drawings into a typeface. What made typography feel like the right medium to capture that shared voice?
This is actually something that was suggested to me by my tutor. I was trying to combine my interest in typography and community art, and she saw the metaphor of giving a voice to someone. I loved that idea. I was interested in bespoke typography at the time, a custom typeface made for brands, and was wondering how to use it in a less commercial setting.
To me, a custom typeface combines several important things:
1. It’s a craft, meaning people who build it would have to spend time to make it good, and that time is an opportunity to work together, get to know each other better, possibly discover what you like doing and find like-minded people. And when you finish the project, you gain an actual skill that can also connect you to opportunities and other people.
2. A typeface, in its essence, is a tool to communicate and to identify. You can actually use it: for posters, leaflets, signs. And having something that has a practical use and was made by you or people you identify with can have the capacity to strengthen your affiliation with that group.
3. Guqin Guqin+ combines meditation, music, and even data from the body. How do you think about using personal information in a creative setting, and can technology actually deepen spiritual experiences rather than take away from them?
I think technology can enhance a real experience, whether it’s a spiritual experience, connecting to anyone, or anything else that feels profound. So far I found that technology has the capacity to do so if it feels natural, genuine, and there is a real intent behind it.
For example, a typeface is, in its essence, a piece of software. It can’t exist without computers, unless you are using a traditional method like letterpress. We interact with typefaces daily and it doesn’t feel weird that we press a key on a keyboard and the letter appears on the screen. It became part of how things are, just like when you touch a string you hear a particular sound. So to me it feels native to use technology in a typeface workshop in an effort to create a real experience. There’s a huge variety of musical instruments that are also programs, yet that doesn’t take away from them. They evoke real feelings. If you use technology because you want to use it and it brings something new rather than because it’s trendy or easy, I think you have a good chance of making it feel real.
Using personal information is one of the ways technology can be used naturally and with intent. There aren’t many non-technological tools that can hold your personal information. I think technology that can adapt the experience to your input, putting you in a position of a co-creator, can become an opportunity to discover something about yourself and help put your ideas to life, making it a real experience.
4. In Binding Light, something as ordinary as a phone torch becomes a musical instrument. What excites you about turning everyday tools into creative ones, and what reactions do you usually see from participants in that moment?
There’s definitely something in using just what you have. Maybe it’s because you don’t dilute the experience with new creations where they are unnecessary. For example, if I were to build digital torches and hand them out to the audience, I think it would feel weird. Why torches? Why do they have to look the way they do?
When you use resources that are already present, it feels natural, obvious. It feels like this new experience appears out of thin air and fits right in. It also feels smart, using an everyday object in a new way rather than creating completely new entities just to serve a moment. Maybe that’s the reason we find minimalism satisfying.
5. A lot of your work has these moments of transformation, scribbles into alphabets, stress into visuals, light into sound. Why is that shift so important to you, and what do you think it stirs in people?
To me, these are magical moments. I’ve always been fascinated by different forms of craft because I couldn’t comprehend how you go from an idea to actually making something. Giving people a tool to make something both taps into that feeling of mystery and fascination and sheds light on the process a little bit. I think both parts of that experience are exciting.
For example, in Binding Lights you take part in the process of how a simple melody is created. Your flashlight produces a note, and someone else’s produces another note. Together they form a sequence, and you experience making that sequence. In Collaborative Typeface you see how an alphabet can be constructed from the same elements. When I was beginning to learn type design, a typeface felt impossible to make. One can’t possibly plan out every small detail of every letter and think about how these letters would interact in all possible combinations. When I learned that a lot of forms actually repeat, it blew my mind. I think it’s a realisation that can make it less daunting to approach designing a typeface.
6. Looking across your projects, it feels like you’re building temporary spaces for people to connect, rather than just creating objects. Do you hope these connections last beyond the event, or do you see the value in their fleeting nature?
I do hope that those connections last! I think anything that you experience together is a chance to connect and build a lasting relationship. And, of course, the more time you spend together, the more opportunities there are.
Making a typeface together is meant to build a long term connection. I theorise that having a long process and then having an outcome that can be used for even longer gives more chances to find real connection. Binding Lights and Guqin Guqin+ are not continuous, but they are meant to provide strong experiences you feel an urge to share with someone, which can also lead to a connection.




REVIEW BY SARA CHYAN
Makar Polovinka’s practice thrives in the in-between spaces of authorship, where creation becomes a collective act rather than a solitary performance. His works are not objects in the traditional sense but frameworks for shared experience, designed to reveal the latent creativity that exists within any group of people brought together by curiosity and care. Through participatory projects such as Collaborative Typeface, Binding Light, and Guqin Guqin+, he constructs temporary ecosystems of collaboration where technology, craft, and play converge into something quietly transformative.
At the heart of Makar’s philosophy lies a belief in the invisible potential of co-creation. He sees making not as a process of asserting artistic control but as an act of invitation, where energy circulates freely among participants. In Collaborative Typeface, for instance, a community becomes the author of its own visual language. Letters are drawn, refined, and arranged through shared effort, each gesture forming part of a collective rhythm. What emerges is more than typography; it is a portrait of connection rendered through the tools of design. Makar’s role shifts fluidly between artist, facilitator, and observer, depending on how much initiative his collaborators take. This willingness to relinquish control speaks of a mature understanding of authorship as porous, adaptive, and alive.
In Binding Light, the simplicity of using phone torches as musical instruments encapsulates his ethos perfectly. Rather than constructing complex interfaces, Makar finds poetry in the familiar. Participants lift their phones and, through light, generate sound, transforming an everyday tool into an instrument of communal expression. The act feels spontaneous and inclusive, a moment where technology serves not as a barrier but as a bridge. The beauty of these experiences lies in their immediacy. They appear, shimmer, and fade, yet the memory of shared play lingers long after.
His use of technology resists spectacle. For Makar, code, sensors, and data are not ends in themselves but extensions of the human impulse to connect. In Guqin Guqin+, bodily data becomes sound, deepening a meditative experience rather than disrupting it. He treats digital systems as natural companions to human touch and rhythm, weaving the spiritual and the technological into quiet harmony.
What unites all of Makar’s projects is their attentiveness to the relationships formed through making. He builds temporary architectures of collaboration, yet he hopes the connections they spark endure. His practice demonstrates that art’s most profound power may not lie in what it produces, but in what it enables—shared curiosity, collective authorship, and the simple joy of creating something together. Through this lens, Makar redefines design as a living conversation, where every participant’s contribution becomes part of a common voice.
