This Blog, My Research, and Their Raisons D'être
Grycja Erde, 2009. Collage, courtesy of the artist.
What you are about to read is the conclusion to my Master’s Degree in Visual Arts “Ukrainian Art Under Siege: A Century of Identity, Trauma and Resistance”. I am bad at concluding academic research because I never feel like I have finished it. These are the statements about the very reason why I chose this field of study, giving a peek into the research itself. I also truly believe that those who do not know me can get to see me a little better.
The first statement is about belonging.
As a social species, humans are born into a community that is inevitably going to affect them in many ways, both positive and negative, whether they wish to be affected or not. A big part of everyone’s childhood is about trying to fit in, sort of sampling different identities and communities, trying to understand what fits best. Quite often, nothing feels right, so there is a multitude of tools created by the centuries of social coexistence that help individuals integrate: local communities or crafts, hobbies or religion. Or art. Art is a good fit for many, it is a versatile dress that can be worn inside out, or backwards and still look right. One of its most important qualities is the low demand from its adepts. Generally, nobody here is required to be one way or another. So, belonging to an art movement gives a strong sense of identity to an individual, reinforcing their very intimate image of self. This is where all the passion in the art world comes from: every artist fighting for their point of view is largely fighting for who they are, causing scandals, breaking up groups and movements, revolutionising their communities and their artistic practice, pushing the history of art forward. The history of art itself stands on the sense of belonging of separate individuals, who decided to be a part of something and contribute to it.
Yet often the very first question is “Where are you from?”. The answer can be complex and depend on the situation, like in my case. Born in Ukraine, precisely in Lugansk, which is the last city to the east of the country in the Donbas region, bordering Russia, having studied art from another side of the country, in Lviv, having moved to Italy later, this question can be a tricky one, so over the years the perfect answer has crystalized: “I am Ukrainian.”. I am certain that it means slightly different things to different people, but it does give a strong point of reference and enters a dimension of collective identity. The enquiring party immediately feels like there is something they already know about the other person. Coming from somewhere means sharing values, history (both ancient and the most recent), culture, art and its visual markers, and many other factors. But mostly, what the enquiring party is going to know about the person in front of them equals exactly what they know about that place of provenance. This is why belonging often comes with accountability for what or where we belong to.
Being Ukrainian is not an easy walk. Moreover, being able to call oneself Ukrainian has not always been an option, as it was frowned upon, or even straight-up dangerous. Thus, belonging to this nationality, and being able to research its cultural and political heritage today feels like a privilege. A privilege that is being taken away, once more. For Ukrainian artists, it is quite tough. Their main marker of identification is tied to art, but their sense of belonging to a nation such as Ukraine makes them messengers and places an important responsibility on them for the collective identity.
This work has been written out of the very sense of belonging and responsibility, with heart and with scientific rigorousness. It tackles many prominent topics that are being discussed in academic circles today, like decolonisation, testimonial injustice, the connections between culture and politics, the impact of wars, and institutional dilemmas. All these themes are being applied to the Ukrainian dimension since the full-scale Russian invasion has put many aspects into the international spotlight. It takes a closer look at the causes and effects of multiple occupations, totalitarian rules, prohibitions of culture and language, as well as more ancient matters like folk art and history. Thus basically, this work explains something more about those who call themselves Ukrainians, and namely, Ukrainian artists.
The second statement is about the multifaceted power of art.
After the initial awe in front of the prehistorical cave drawings, it becomes clear that at some point someone felt that it was of absolute, vital importance to portray that animal on the cave wall and leave a signature in the form of a hand. Multiple, non-connected cases of cave art are documented around the world. Whatever the purpose of these prehistoric drawings, they clearly served to illustrate, to tell a story, to give some sort of a visual marker to those who were looking, to convey a message.
Since then, art has been a means of commemoration and worship. It was not even considered art at the time, but rather a craft that was somehow essential for the community. The Egyptian one, for instance, went through a drastic formal and ideological change across the many dynasties. Yes, every reigning family adapted art to their needs, influencing colour, proportion and genre of it. Globally, the temples were adorned with sculptures and drawings portraying deities and rituals in an elaborate guide for the humble and naive human soul on its sacred journey. In fact, most of the gems of European Medieval art come from the religious domain.
Then the authorship came along, and some crafts stopped being considered as such and acquired the status of art. The identity of an artist was born, and with it, the personal obsessions, movements tied to personalities, whole schools named after one brilliant master, the intrigues of authorship and counterfeit. The art market officially became omnipresent. The conflicts around public and private funds forged the dilemma of what is art and what is not. Art and artists served kings, bishops, communities, religious institutions, education, propaganda, warfare, and politics. It became a statement in itself, and any action taken in relation to art is a separate matter, conceptual, ideological or philosophical.
“Having appeared as one of the first things humankind applied itself to, art possesses a unique ability to penetrate mind and soul at the same time, calling out to the most primitive and simple emotions and feelings, that eventually turn out to be the most powerful.”
In Ukraine, art was all that. However, this work discusses art as a means of protest, as a way of resistance, and as a tool to elaborate a trauma that is constantly being inflicted. Here are the artists who take on the role of communicators, treating their work as an intricate riddle the audience is compelled to resolve. Importantly, the spiritual one is not the only value of the pieces they create. A good number of contemporary Ukrainian artists monetize their practice to satisfy the humanitarian or military needs of a country that is facing an atrocious war. In other, simpler words, they sell the artwork and donate their income to the current initiatives, because when it comes to the defence, the help can never be in excess.
In another instance, the power of communication art possesses can and will make it easier for propaganda to get to its target audience and affect it just in the right way. Cultural appropriation and looting of art (whether they are tangible artwork, intangible music, literature concepts or philosophical endeavours) are now centuries-old warfare methods. From another side of the barricade, the colonized and the oppressed employ art as a weapon of soft power on the international diplomatic scene.
Having appeared as one of the first things humankind applied itself to, art possesses a unique ability to penetrate mind and soul at the same time, calling out to the most primitive and simple emotions and feelings, that eventually turn out to be the most powerful. The messages it conveys are agile and fast, travelling like arrows towards the aim. Ukrainian artists, curators, writers, and other kinds of cultural actors have been working hard these past years to overcome the colonial perspective of the country and communicate about the current human condition. The cultural projects connected to Ukraine became visual storytelling devices. One of the latest instances that comes to mind is Alevtina Kakhidze’s participation in the Malta Biennale. Her comprehensive and visually appealing way of narrating braids together the history of her family with the one of Ukraine’s. Using transparent panels, she created a sort of scrapbook of her memories, including family photographs, written facts and messages, organized in the form of mind maps. It is hard to think of a more direct way to say: “Look how many generations have suffered from the same oppressor. It is time to stop it”.
The third and the last statement is about war.
There are a few things one learns when faced with it. First and foremost, nobody can ever be fully prepared for the atrocity of the war. Some things that happened in the occupied territories of Ukraine were not only painful to see, but simply to think of. Everyone thought that the shock of the events in Bucha and Irpin in March 2022 could toughen one’s spirit. But the more news came in, the more it became impossible to get used to it. Nobody can be prepared for the helpless rage that comes along with the occupants and the hybrid war waged in the media through false statements and manipulations. And, of course, nobody is prepared to take weapons in their hands, to spend months in the cold and damp trenches, to the physical and mental trauma of being a war prisoner.
“Perhaps, the most heartbreaking thing about the war is that it takes away everything: the past, the present, and the future. Someone steps outside their home in a rush, not knowing they are not coming back there ever again.”
The second thing one can learn is rather curious. It is possible to live a war in many different ways, but primarily in two: theoretical and fully practical. Those who experience the war in theory are those not directly affected by it. They did not lose a home due to occupation or missile attack; their friends and family are not on the frontline at almost 100% risk of perishing. However, they feel a strong empathic connection with the victims of the atrocities and suffer from the inability to effectively influence the situation. They do their best to help and offer support to the less fortunate, but nothing ever feels enough. On the other hand, some wake up in their bed to the sound of an air raid and the buzzing of the guided missiles. They pass long dark winters because the infrastructure is compromised and spend every bit of their spirit to hold on to the hope that this is going to end any time soon. They are often ought to attend a funeral per week. Those who moved away from the country or for any reason had to be away during the war suffer from what psychology calls “the syndrome of a survivor” — a profound feeling of guilt and alienation because they are not experiencing every bit of war in person, but through the eyes and mind of their families and friends, desperately looking for a mission of their own, to try and help with means available to them.
Perhaps, the most heartbreaking thing about the war is that it takes away everything: the past, the present, and the future. Someone steps outside their home in a rush, not knowing they are not coming back there ever again. Their home will be occupied, or their town will be erased off the face of the Earth with missiles, together with their past, the community they helped build, and their childhood memories of the place that will become ever fainter and more oneiric. The present is compromised because the state of military emergency that lasts for years (for a decade, in the case of Ukraine) does not allow for any planning. Moreover, it takes away the possibility of any other conversation that does not involve the war. The omnipresent war penetrates every moment of every day, sucking the joy out of activities, replacing it with fear, guilt, and anger. The future, well, it is rather obvious. War is a life-changing event. Nothing is ever going to be the same way it was before. And frankly, for those whose war started more than a decade ago, it is complicated to determine what it even was like. Young people in Ukraine do not remember peaceful times, and this is going to cause yet another generational trauma this society will have to deal with.
For art, this war will be a bitter font of inspiration. For the artists, it is a moment to decide whether their identity has more to do with their artistic research or their citizenship.
Therefore, now that the three statements have been laid out, it is quite clear that the motivation for this research is born, first and foremost, from the sheer fascination with the phenomenon of art, the sense of belonging to a national culture, the feeling of responsibility as its messenger, and the most sincere of the attempts to do one’s part in this fight.
Thus, I would like to dedicate it to those who abandoned their art ateliers for the trenches, and their brushes for weapons. None of them were “born for the war”, but their superhuman effort makes research like this even possible. There are also those, who pursued their academic career before deciding to join the military forces, pushing forward the science, art history, and cultural research. None of their lives will be the same, and they are unlikely to continue their careers. However, their choice is to make sure the next generation will be able to finish what they started. Without these brave men and women, there would be no art to write about. It is thanks to them that today we can take a closer look at Ukrainian culture and its cultural and artistic means of resistance.
