What are the three mottos you live by — the phrases that best describe your philosophy of life?

Love. Live. Cherish what you have — and be grateful for everything life has given you.

If you had to introduce Jelena without mentioning your surname, profession, family or achievements, who would you say you are?

I am a creation of God and of my amazing parents. I think that, in itself, says more than enough about who I am.

You were born from a rather unconventional love story. What did your parents teach you about love and partnership?

I witnessed an extraordinary amount of love between my parents. Yet when it came to my own life, I still had to discover love for myself.

When I met my husband, I understood something very clearly: meeting the right person isn’t the happy ending. It is the Happy Beginning.

Your father, Mikhail Zadornov, was an iconic personality for millions. What was he like when he was simply Dad, away from the stage and public attention?

At home, he was simply my father. The fact that millions of people knew and admired him belonged to another part of his life.

One of the stories I remain particularly proud of happened on New Year’s Eve in 1991, when my father unexpectedly found himself addressing the country on television. He spoke live, went beyond the scheduled time, and the broadcast of the Kremlin chimes had to be delayed. There are many humorous stories surrounding the circumstances of that evening — exactly the sort of situation my father could turn into history.

How could I not be proud of him?

Your mother naturally remained less visible to the public. What has she given you as a woman, and which of her qualities do you recognise in yourself today?

My mother is simply the best in the world. She is an incredible woman and now the most wonderful babushka — though I still think she is far too young to be a grandmother of three!

I certainly gave her quite a job.

How did Malta first enter your life? Was moving here a conscious plan or an unexpected turn of fate?

Malta entered my life in a rather unexpected way.

When I was around twelve, I became involved in KVN — something close to what people today might call comedy or stand-up — and started spending a lot of time on performances and projects. At one point I became so absorbed in it that school was receiving considerably less attention than it should have.

My father’s solution was simple: boarding school, somewhere far enough away that I would actually attend my lessons.

He chose Malta. He had always been fascinated by the island and its history. So at thirteen, I arrived at Malta Crown in Marsaskala — and that decision changed my life.

Do you remember the moment when Malta stopped being simply a place where you lived and became home?

For me, Malta never really had to become home. I arrived here at thirteen and fell in love with the island almost instantly.

From the very beginning, it felt like somewhere I belonged.

What has living in Malta changed in you — as a woman, artist and mother?

In many ways, nothing — I am still completely myself.

I simply love Malta. It has been part of my life since I was very young, so my connection with the island feels natural rather than something I had to acquire later.

I am a Dame of the Order of St John, which makes that historical connection with Malta particularly meaningful to me.

You studied anthropology, paint and write poetry. Which part of you usually speaks first — the observer, the artist or the poet?

The poet, of course!

Painting, though, has given me some beautiful experiences too. During an exhibition at Casey’s Bar, my works found homes with people from many different countries — including the United States, France, Germany, England, Colombia, Brazil, Ireland, Finland and Sweden.

There is something wonderful about creating something deeply personal and then watching it travel somewhere you may never have expected.

Where does a poem usually begin for you: with an emotion, an image, a person, a sentence or something you have witnessed?

It begins in my heart and soul.

I was fortunate, through my father, to meet the great poet Yevgeny Yevtushenko when I was a little girl. He had known Picasso personally, which means that, technically, Picasso and I are only one handshake apart.

I rather like that thought.