What did you do before February 24, 2022?
Before February 24, 2022, I was primarily focused on illustration, specializing in web design and application interfaces. I also had some experience illustrating children’s books. I graduated from the Faculty of Monumental Art, and alongside my studies, I created various works, including collages. I even had my own small workshop where I could bring my artistic visions to life.
Can you describe your day of February 24?
I wasn’t prepared for what happened. I hadn’t been following the news closely, and I didn’t believe a full-scale war could actually begin. I packed my go-bag only after hearing the explosions. We left Kyiv on February 25. We gathered all our friends — there were eight of us in the car, along with birds and cats. In the chaos, I didn’t think to bring my paints or sketchbook, but I did take my tablet and laptop.
When we arrived at my parents’ place in Novohrad-Volynskyi, my morale was terribly low. The only thing that distracted me was drawing on the tablet.
It wasn’t an escape from reality; it was an attempt to work with that reality and to somehow accumulate myself.
We lived in a constant “groundhog day” — we woke up, ate our food, read the news, went to the bomb shelter — all the days were the same, and the only thing that helped me feel productive was drawing.
How has the full-scale war affected your work?
When I was in Novohrad, I could see how active the volunteer movement was in Kyiv. It was active in Novohrad as well, and I wanted to do something, but there were not so many options where I could be useful. Once I came to a place where people were weaving camouflage nets. There were already many people there, and they told me to come next time. Then I was volunteering at the information centre, answering calls from displaced people or people who wanted to help them. I worked there every other day, so I wasn’t busy all the time.
When Artists Against War approached me, I was happy to have an opportunity to create something visual — to keep that thread between the past and the present, and still be useful and relevant. After that, thanks to this project, some musicians started writing to me with a request to use my illustrations for track covers. Additionally, some people from the Kyiv Independent media wrote to me saying that they wanted me to draw an illustration for them.
So, before February 24 you were drawing things that people ordered from you, and after that—on a volunteer basis?
Yes, I don’t remember any active commercial projects after February 24. The thing is that before the New Year most of my projects were finished, there was only one active commercial project. After February 24, everything turned into volunteering. But it was okay for me. I accepted that it was bound to happen, and I was glad that in such a terrible state I could somehow be useful.
The things you drew, was it a reflection or rather a way to distract yourself?
It was definitely a reflection. I didn’t want to draw something literal, such as broken tanks or victims lying on the ground, because we have all seen those pictures anyway, and they are traumatizing. When I took my tablet, I was drawing not those pictures but the feelings they evoked: fear, anxiety, pain — they seemed to be hanging in the air, and I could do nothing with them but draw and visualize.
In your opinion, what is the role of art in a war?
Before the full-scale invasion, it seemed to me that I was in search of myself, because I was earning my living doing one thing, and my soul was striving for other things — painting pictures, making abstractions and collages. And it seemed that because of the lack of commercial success I couldn’t find my niche.
But after February 24, I realized that I don’t care about the things that had stopped me before, and about self-criticism — that something isn’t worth anyone’s attention or is drawn in a way that isn’t cool enough.
All this disappeared, because I understand that art is a large part of culture that self-identifies the nation.
When the enemy comes and says that you do not exist as a nation, that your art does not exist, that your culture does not exist—this art becomes yet another driving force and a pillar of self-identification.
I studied at the Mykhailo Boichuk Kyiv State Academy of Decorative Applied Arts and Design, where our professors talked about the repressions. We understood everything, but we never could have thought that we would face it ourselves. And for those who had doubts in themselves before — now, if you are a Ukrainian artist and you do something, you already are a part of culture. No matter what it is; it is important that you enrich culture, therefore you join the resistance and the defence of your nation.
Have you noticed the interest of people from other countries on your page?
Yes, I have got acquainted with a few people. I am now friends with one British woman, her name is Sue, and we communicate regularly. She texted me on my creative account, though I am not quite active there. Sue said that she had bought two of my posters, and then she made a post on her profile saying that she is supporting Ukraine. She tagged me and Artists Against War, and showed these posters on her wall. This is a really important moment for an artist, especially when you work in a digital format and you don’t understand what happens to your works afterwards. When you see that a person got the posters, framed them, and hung them on the wall — it’s nice.
You can feel that she was awed by these works. I think she is around 60 years old. She is also involved in other projects. You can see that this person knows the context; she knows when we have Independence Day or Vyshyvanka Day. And though I understand that the British people probably can already feel the economic consequences of the Russian invasion, still, this does not affect their support for Ukraine.
Original version published on September 15, 2022 in collaboration with Online media outlet Svidomi.