Creative artist Eva Lanska moves fluidly across disciplines—film, photography, writing, and now even fragrance—guided by an intuitive, deeply personal creative language. A filmmaker at her core, she approaches each medium as a different language for exploring human experience—blending emotional depth with a refined visual sensibility. Known for navigating the space between reality and imagination, Lanska’s work reflects a deep fascination with memory, identity, and the subtle forces that shape how we perceive the world. Whether through film, words, or imagery, she is driven by a singular purpose: to understand people and translate their inner lives into compelling, resonant narratives.
During Cannes 2026, she was presented with the Creative Excellence Award from the French Riviera Film Festival, and the Longevity Through Art Award at the Longevity Code Gala Dinner.
You are a journalist, novelist, singer, filmmaker, and visual artist. Which version of Eva do you feel closest to today?
Always the filmmaker. Not only because I make films, but because a filmmaker connects different worlds. Throughout my life, I have changed tools—sometimes a camera, sometimes a brush, sometimes words—but the purpose has always remained the same: to understand people and tell their stories.
Your work often moves between reality and imagination. Where do you draw the line between documentary truth and artistic truth?
Documentary truth answers the question, “What happened?” Artistic truth answers, “What did it mean?” Sometimes facts can be completely accurate and still fail to convey the essence of an experience. Art allows us to approach emotional truth, which can be far deeper than the events themselves.
What is the most courageous decision you have made in your creative life?
To continue creating new projects when it would have been easier to stop. Rejection in the film industry is a normal part of the path to success. Discipline and patience matter most. People often think courage is about dramatic actions; for me, it is about preserving the ability to dream after disappointment and starting over when no outcome is guaranteed.
If you could spend one evening speaking with any artist from history, who would it be, and what would you ask them?
Probably Leonardo da Vinci. I would not ask him about his paintings—I would ask how he dealt with the feeling that one lifetime is not enough for all the ideas that can exist in a single mind.
Which city has left the deepest artistic mark on you, and why?
Paris. Not only because it is beautiful, but because culture is treated there as part of everyday life. In Paris, art does not feel like a luxury—it feels like a necessity, part of reality itself.
Do you believe art can genuinely change society, or does it primarily change individuals?
Every change in society begins with one person. That is why I believe art changes individuals first. Sometimes, however, changing one person is enough to change history.
What subject do you still feel compelled to explore that you have not yet fully expressed in your work?
Memory. I am interested not only in what we remember, but also in what we choose to forget—family memory, collective memory, the memory of cities and nations.
In recent years, I have become increasingly fascinated by the connection between memory and scent. Smell is the shortest path to memory. A single fragrance can instantly bring someone back to childhood, a first love, or a home that no longer exists. Perhaps that is why I became so fascinated by perfumery—its history and the mechanisms through which it affects us.
Perfume is not simply a product; it is a way of preserving an emotion, a moment in time, a fragment of personal history. I have a feeling that memory and scent will become the central theme of my next film.
Was there a failure or disappointment that unexpectedly became a gift in your career?
Yes. Some projects that never happened made space for much more important things. When we are young, we see a closed door as a defeat. Later, we realize it can be a sign pointing us toward a different path.
How do you know when a film or artwork is finished?
When the desire to explain it disappears. If a work can exist on its own and ask questions without my help, then it is finished.
If your life were turned into a film, what would the final scene look like?
Of course, I have to admit that a beautiful red carpet and the applause of an audience remain a very tempting image.
As a child, I spent a great deal of time planning the future, and discipline was always my greatest driving force. Today, I am learning to live each day as if it were the final scene of the most important film of my life—to be present and to appreciate the here and now.
Every Friday, my entire family gathers for dinner. The ability to share that time, to sit around one table and simply be together, is a beautiful reality in itself.
Perhaps the final scene would not be about achievement at all. It would be about gratitude—for the people I love, the stories I was able to tell, and the privilege of having lived fully in the present moment.
https://www.instagram.com/evalanska/
– Virág Vida –
