"When you feel embarrassed or feel yourself repelled by some things, that's when you know you should do it," says Olya Marko, describing her philosophy on making art. Sometimes what she creates makes people uncomfortable, even angry.

"I don't give a shit... I have so many ideas that I can't stand still for what others think. I am concerned only with my ideas. I am very self-centered, narcissitic," she says.

Marko is in Toronto to open an exhibit put on by herself and associate Halia Stolar, the Shoom Sisters as they bill themselves. The name comes from a verse of a poem by Stolar "...this shoom in my head..." The show, which opened on September 13 in Toronto's Ukrainian Canadian Art Foundation runs until September 30.

Though the two artists inspire each others' work, their styles are far from similar.

"We hadn't seen each other's art until we unpacked," says Stolar. But the two are constantly discussing the future, planning new shows, providing support for each other. "We talk art, we dialogue, but we don't make art ogether," says Olya.

The most controversial piece of the show would seem to be Marko's "The Fluid That Goes To The Heart."

"It's the first time I used my own bodily fluids," says Marko. She is refering to the row of used tampons that are strung along the bottom of the work.

The painting embodies the artist's own perception of her place in this world. She seems to be saying that the past continues to course through our veins even if portions of it are periodically expelled, discarded, left outside the body to shrivel up.

But controversy is rarely found where one actively seeks it. At this show, the audience seems to react more to the fact that Marko's work is in large part computer generated, than to Marko's deeply personal decision to display her own bodily fluids. At the post-opening party a few guests, painters of an older generation, were overheard questioning the whole idea of creating with the aid of computers.

And in the past, the Shoom sisters have sometimes garnered more attention for the titles of their shows than for the contents thereof. Previous shows "It's not easy being Ukrainian" and "Woman Gives Birth to Two-headed Ukrainian" have attracted some irate callers.

"It's like you can't have a title unless they (the community) approve it," says Halia.

Though both artists draw on their experiences as Ukrainian Canadians in their works, both claim a desire to break away from the things Ukrainian.

"My subconscious is haunted by the place my father was born in...," says Marko. "I'm sick and tired of this Ukrainian stuff. I wish it would just leave my head. But the farther you go, the closer you get to your archetype ancestor."

"The more you try to get away from it, the more it pursues you," adds Stolar.

Stolar seems to be more stuck in her Ukrainian roots than Marko. She draws heavily on her family's Hutsul background in a number of her works. Some her works have a kitschy quality, such as the Toronto Series, which consists of four gaudy, lace and bead icon-like images. The two "Women of History" paintings reminded me of something that one would normally see hanging in the halls of a Ukrainian Saturday school.

It's where Stolar reaches into the personal experiences of her forebears, rather than solely into their "cultural heritage" that she succeeds in evoking response from her audience. "S. S. Samaria Crossing 1949" is a work inspired by a wooden suitcase full of documents left by her father. The work is deceptively antiseptic, a collage of memories from a trip taken long ago. But the documents incorporated into the piece hide a story of dislocation and the pain caused by leaving behind what is dear.

One of the letters is signed IY. Akych (Chykay backwards) a cryptic warning from an uncle to her father not to return to Ukraine.

Marko's style is less obviously influenced by Ukrainian motifs, though the odd pysanka and vyshyvka pattern do appear here and there. (Perhaps the two artists are right, one just can't run away from one's heritage.) Many of Marko's works have a fluid quality to their narrative. Marko employs dimensional and perceptional tricks which allow the viewer to discover new elements within the works on each visit. One work in particular, "Lunation" is so hauntingly mesmerising, I found it difficult to avoid the piece. I kept coming back to stare into it's depths, hoping I would discover something therein.

A particularly moving piece is entitled "It could have been Mars." The banner sized work follows the experience of Anela Brus (Marko's mother) from the 30s, through the forties as an Osterbeiter, refugee and DP and up to the 80s. The work is accompanied by Anela's gritty memoirs of the war period, presented in a 13 page booklet.

On the whole, the show was throughly enjoyable. In the four hours I spent in the gallery I didn't manage to fully exhaust my interest in both Marko's and Stolar's works. 1