THE REVIVAL PROJECT

Recently, my friends and I discussed whether the fact that we were born in Ukraine impacted our characters and who we’ve become. What if I were born in Europe? Would I be a photographer then? Because everything is different abroad: culture, education, lifestyle. I realized that our country is constantly giving us the strength to move on. Ukrainians are always on their A game in order to get noticed, whether in Mykolaiv, Ukraine, or abroad in general.

I have lived in Mykolaiv for 30 years and have many memories of the city. For instance, there’s a park with a fountain near the Regional State Administration – a very popular and ambient place where people come with their children. Even before my university years, when my friends and I were into certain subcultures, we hung out there all the time. In recent years, I have often gone there with my child. We used to run around, play with a ball and toy cars, throw toy airplanes, and have a great time together.

I found out that the administration was attacked early in the morning. The explosion was so intense that it smashed the windows of the buildings one block away. My friend’s aunt worked there. When the missile hit the building, she had gone to another wing to make herself some tea. That’s how she survived. When looking at the debris left, you can’t believe it because the Regional State Administration is a tourist attraction and one of the city’s symbols in the heart of Mykolaiv. However, there’s a huge hole in the center of this building now.

My mom is a folk craft artist; that is why Ukrainian traditional art, the rich beauty of its heritage, and the elegance of crafting techniques greatly influenced me. Since childhood, we’ve been going to plein air sessions and traveling together to participate in various exhibitions, festivals, and workshops. Now, I realize that these deep ethnic roots greatly influence the identity of Ukrainians, making us strong and unique.

I was born in Mykolaiv, a relatively small town where in the ‘90s and ‘00s, it was inappropriate to stand out somehow. It’s strange to recollect such memories, but at that time, people often laughed if you wore red slim-fit pants and colorful bracelets. To dye your hair in bright colors was the ultimate taboo. We collected magazines about foreign cultures and sought the self-expression we were reading about. However, there was neither the internet nor stores where you could buy anything interesting. So, we had no choice but to come up with our own outfit ideas and then bravely demonstrate them on the streets.

The area around the Regional State Administration was a place of subculture gatherings in Mykolaiv and an unofficial skateboard ground. I also used to skateboard, but skater boys gathered there as a separate community. My female friends and I used to go ‘spy’ on them and listen to music we didn’t have on our cassettes.

I found out about the destruction of the administration building, one of the coziest places in downtown Mykolaiv, through Instagram. I felt a lot of pain, but even more so, I had an acute feeling that things would never be the same again. For me, Mykolaiv has always been a place where nothing ever changed. Whenever I visited, I knew I would see the same woman at a newspaper stall who had been working there for 25 years; I would certainly take bus #31 with neon lights and music – everything was well-known to me there. But now, things will change. And I believe that everything will be reconstructed and we will have a better life.

My creative work is greatly influenced by the history of Ukrainian art, including all the folklore, the twentieth century with its Executed Renaissance, Maria Prymachenko, Hanna Sobachko-Shostak, and other artists. People born in Ukraine, including me, are fighters. You have to fight for your piece of bread, stand up for your ideas, and break boundaries. Because if not me, then who?

I spent my student years in Kharkiv, where I studied monumental painting at the Academy of Design and Fine Arts – one of the best in our country. We have three of them – in Kyiv, Lviv, and Kharkiv. I visited each of them, but chose Kharkiv because at that time, Viktor Gontarov worked there. He didn’t take first-year students, but I eventually persuaded him to allow me to join the course in exchange for cleaning the studio, mopping the floor, and throwing away bottles left after parties. His studio was located not far from Freedom Square. Every time I had to bring my works there, I crossed the entire square.

The paintings were big, so I asked my coursemates to help me. One artwork was 1,5х5m. Early in the morning, two of my fellow students — like caterpillars, one in front and one behind — were carrying these paintings across the square, and I was telling them whether cars were driving or not. This is one of the most vivid memories related to Kharkiv. It’s even somewhat symbolic to carry your artworks across Freedom Square to the Academy for review. Now, the once splendid square has turned into a pile of bricks. It is a great pain and a serious trauma for me, because to restore everything, it will take at least five years.

It seems to me that a love for freedom is the very trait that distinguishes all Ukrainians. We are very strong-willed, freedom-loving, and open. When it comes to Mariupol, there is a strong influence from it being a port city. There’s an openness to everything new in a broad sense: to foreigners, other cultures, languages, interactions with the unknown. The port essence of this city has had a very profound influence on the people who grew up there. People admire the region. There are a lot of local urban legends, stories, and anecdotes. You always want to come back and try some local dishes. People are proud of Mariupol. Everyone has their favorite places: certain city districts, parks, recreation areas, and buildings.

For example, I have so many memories associated with the drama theater. The spire building I grew up in is across the street. Our windows faced Teatralna Square. As a child, I liked to visit the theater, where great classical music concerts were held. I also had my graduation prom in 2006 there. All of us were very beautiful. Events like this take place for the first and last time in your life, so everybody dresses up, goes to a beauty salon, gets unusual hairstyles, and buys an outfit that will never be worn again. This picture is stuck in my memory: it’s of us sitting in the drama theater, being called up on stage to sing songs and dance, and the school principal awarding us diplomas afterwards. The day before, my parents had just given me my first mobile phone — a Nokia with a built-in camera — as a gift. So, the countdown to my entire photo archive started with my graduation prom.

The tragedy in the drama theater, with such an unbelievable number of victims, is unspeakable pain. In my opinion, it has to become a site of commemoration in the course of reconstruction, because it will be even more painful to see it demolished and rebuilt into something new.

A Love of freedom and justice is what I have felt since childhood. I don’t know whether it’s nature or nurture; if it’s a natural trait because I am Ukrainian, or if it developed due to the environment I grew up in. I remember a story that took place in fourth or fifth grade. My friends and I liked going to the grocery store during our break, but we were usually not allowed to take our coats from the cloakroom until all school classes were over. That’s when we found the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and tried to persuade the cloakroom worker that she had no right to do so. These were absurd things, but for some reason, I remember that love for freedom and justice. 

Also, since childhood, my family and I used to go to the stadium. My mom used to jog, and I used to ride a bicycle around her. Also, there were stands, and if you went up two stairs at a time, you could build some great leg muscles. Once, my parents and I bet that I would manage to go upstairs ten times. I won, but I still remember having muscle cramps for an entire week.

When missiles hit the stadium, my parents were in Chernihiv, so they heard everything. I was extremely worried about them and about everything that was happening there. I checked the news every hour. Later, my parents told me they walked past the stadium, but instead of the field and stands, there was a massive crater after the missile strike.

I was born in a small town with almost nothing to do. That’s why my friends and I invented improvised activities and games, which helped me develop creative skills and ingenuity. We had no money for amusement parks, nor any amusement parks to spend on. We looked for exciting places and imagined that garages were spaceports. Such childhood episodes have influenced specific features of my imagination: I don’t need a lot to create and have fun. 

If I were born in a Western country with no acute economic crises, I would likely grow up and live a predictable life, study what my parents had chosen, and have an ordinary job. My grandma always dreamed that I would become a senior waiter, but I wanted to be a street cleaner as a child.

Our family had a tradition of seeing the Christmas tree downtown on New Year's eve, though it always rains in Kremenchuk on this night. Since childhood, I remember rumors about the supposed end of the world, the apocalypse – it was even in the news, but for a child, it was frightening to hear such things. That day, I received a toy helmet and rifle as a New Year gift from my dad, dressed up as Santa, and we headed off downtown. It was raining hail, and small pieces of ice were hitting me; I was running around the Christmas tree wearing my helmet and shooting from my plastic toy rifle. It felt like the end of the world. 

Now, every time I see that missiles have hit Kremenchuk on the news, I immediately text my family. That is how I found out about the attack on the shopping mall. My grandma lives nearby, and my sister was planning to go to this mall then. Kremenchuk is a relatively small city, so almost everyone knows at least one person who died there. It’s unbearably hard to hear such news about your hometown, which seemed to be the safest place in the world.

To have freedom of expression and never give up – these traits are innate to all Ukrainians. Since I’ve been an artist all my life, I know it is an internal need, not only an ambition. When Dior offered to work on their fashion show setting design in early April, the project’s curator Solomia Savchuk told me that the sketches need to be life-asserting and optimistic. My first reaction was quite serious: “Listen, do they know what is happening in Ukraine?”. “Yes, they know, and they believe in our victory,” Solomia replied. I realized that I had to think of something that could convey a desire to live, while expressing the emotionally challenging period of our country. That’s why I deliberately kept a feeling of anxiety and uncertainty in my artworks. I didn’t use any sunny landscapes or bright colors; I made it as I felt, and Dior liked it.

Overall, the cooperation with Dior is quite a surrealistic story. The last time there were explosions on Lukyanivka, I was in the area. I was sitting in a corridor listening to missiles flying over my house while texting with the brand representatives about Ukrainian art. It was like being simultaneously in two parallel dimensions, which have to intersect in your mind somehow.

When I drive past Lukyanivka now, it’s excruciating to see it like this. I lived with my Mom in the neighborhood. I spent all my childhood and student days there. It’s also a historical center in Kyiv. After Dior’s couture show in Paris, I was asked, “Is it true that Putin can strike Kyiv-Pechersk Lavra?” Solomia and I exchanged looks and said, “Anything is possible.” Unfortunately, we're not insured from anything. This war unveils so many terrible things, you can’t be sure any sites will be saved. Everything that’s happening is a barbaric act not motivated by anything.

I was born in Okhtyrka during Soviet times. Memories about this town, as well as colonial patterns, have been imprinted in my DNA. 

Since the Ukrainian people were deprived of their independence, exterminated with purposeful famines, and led to the public acceptance of their inferiority – these ideas were built into my genetic memory. And 10 years ago, I felt that what our nation went through should not cause a victim complex but, on the contrary, give strength. After all, we are the blessed descendants of those who survived.

In the US, I asked people, “What is your identity?”. Many said they feel like philosophers, artists, or scientists. But my power is being Ukrainian. And this part of my identity – not professional, social, or philosophical – is so vivid that it distinguishes me from others. I am acutely aware of who I am, and this is because I was born in Ukraine.

For me, one of the most important places in Okhtyrka is the Municipal Local History Museum. I spent my childhood, and many years later, held a personal exhibition there. I always talk about it both with devout respect and humor. It was a museum where you could find mammoth bones, jewelry, historical documents, and materials about the Okhtyrka Slobodian Cossack regiment. The Municipal Local History Museum is like a treasure chest. When children dip their hands into it, they pull out something boring or unique and valuable. These very memories of the museum are the most lively and vivid.

During the first days of the war, I kept hearing that russians were destroying Okhtyrka, and at the beginning, I was only scared for the people there. Then, I saw an interview with the museum’s director who said it was ruined. It’s terrible because the only thing left are bare walls. And this is very symbolic because a ruined museum symbolizes how russia destroyed and has been destroying our culture. But if this damage was mostly intangible before, now, we see physical evidence that I hope nobody will deny anymore.

I was born in the late ’90s and have shown courage since childhood. Though certain dangers were always around, I had the strength to overcome them: to turn any situation into a game or to think of it as entertainment. My family is quite large, but as kids, I was the only one with the guts to tell Mom about the trouble we were getting into. So, this is the family that gives me my courage. Braveness seems to be encoded into all Ukrainians, and we are proving this by fighting for our freedom today. As if we are all one big family. 

I also notice that I have been showing and developing even more courage in my life. I remember my first date. My boyfriend and I went to the now-damaged Chernihiv cinema to watch an action film. Since I belong to the category of girls who go on dates without any expectations, I enjoy the moment and don’t plan the future. However, I needed some courage afterwards when I had to turn down a second date. The cinema had an authentic atmosphere, and I was impressed by the might of this building. That day, I fell in love with cinematography, the tradition of watching films on a big screen, and the feeling of novelty and a certain uniqueness. At that moment, I became motivated to actively change my life for the better toward complete perfection. I admitted that the date turned out to be significant not in terms of love and relationships, but my becoming.

I learned about the rocket attack on the cinema through the mayor's social media. First, I felt pain because Chernihiv sustained such losses for the second time in history. The first time was in 1941. This news greatly affected me. Once again, I realized how important it is to preserve Ukraine's architectural and cultural heritage, and tell the world more about it.

2014 was an important year for my generation and many others. It was the period when I realized that I was Ukrainian. At that time, I worked at the Docudays UA festival for several years and saw how our cultural environment was changing. There was a dramatic increase in Ukrainian-language projects. It was important to be present and gain a foothold on this process of self-awareness. We realized that we influence our state and culture. We felt our power, and now it cannot be taken away from us. It is our unique feature and source of energy. 

I grew up in the center of Odesa on Kanatnaya Street near the sea, which is my place of power. As a child, I used to go to the dance school at the now-damaged Vorontsov Palace. There was a moment when my mother asked me, "Who do you want to become when you grow up?" and I said, "Ballet dancer!". That's how I got into the Vorontsov Palace; it was the best dance school at that time. My mother remembers that I was amazed by the grand stairs and the lions. We always walked home along Primorsky Boulevard. I met one of my friends there; our mothers also were close friends, and they still keep in touch.

In our teenage years, we constantly hung out near the Vorontsov Palace and on The Colonnade. There were always many interesting things: lots of tourists, someone skating, dancing tango, and more. My youth was spent taking night walks in the city center, which ended at sea, where we watched the sunrise. We always had the same route, and it's the best teenage memory. 

The Vorontsov Palace is the former house of the count, a historical building and an architectural monument in the city's heart. For any Odesa resident, the Vorontsovsky Palace, as well as The Colonnade and Derybasivska Street, is the personification of Odesa and the Odesa spirit.

My parents still live in Odesa. We have been constantly in touch since the beginning of the invasion. They refused to evacuate, even though they heard loud explosions nearby. We want to believe that Odesa and its historical center will definitely be preserved. After all, if it were destroyed, I would have a feeling that a large part of me no longer exists.

I grew up in the small mining town of Ternivka, but the desire to reveal my potential and escape to a metropolis guided me through a stream of right and wrong decisions. I was always interested in learning something new from those with more experience and knowledge. I had older friends who shared modern music or interesting magazines with me. This relentless drive to achieve something, the context I grew up in, and curiosity helped me become who I am today.

My mother was a photographer and traveled to Dnipro to develop photographs because it was the nearest city with the necessary equipment. When my sister and I were taken to Dnipro for the first time, it was a significant moment in my becoming. We arrived at a huge market in the city center, one that sold everything from underwear to firecrackers. There were also many people of different nationalities, just like in a real metropolis. I walked around the market open-mouthed the whole time.

In Dnipro, I also went to a nightclub for the first time. It was in eighth grade. My friend, who was in the company of hipsters of the 2000s, asked: "Do you want to go to a Detsl concert?" I asked my parents if I could and went to the big city for one day. It was a fantastic concert, after which we went to another underground club. It was the first time I saw an entire wall covered in graffiti, which made a huge impression on me.

Later, I studied at a university in Dnipro, so I know the city well. I have also been to almost all the places that were shelled recently. I even saw two missiles shot down. I was not far from town, working in the yard, and heard several loud explosions. I raised my head, and there were two dark clouds of smoke in the sky. I quickly went into the house to avoid the debris. But the shelling continued.

When the first explosions happened on February 24, I was in Kyiv. I woke up from all my messages and felt a strong fear. I was confused at first, but pulled myself together and decided to go see my parents and Dnipro - the coziest city with the most beautiful sunsets - because I feel at home there.