In your works, you deal with psychological and physical traumas; they are filled with pain and negatively charged information – emotions that strongly affect a person. How do you cope with this volume of heavy experiences reflected in your artwork?
AM:
Through my artistic expression, I find a way to process and reflect the pain and negativity that surrounds us. It is a coping mechanism that helps me navigate through difficult situations and understand the world around me.
Can we say that your art is expressed through traumas: personal, genetic, and social?
AM: My work is influenced by a variety of factors, including personal experiences, societal issues, and my innate sense of empathy. It’s challenging to pinpoint specific events that have shaped my creative expression, but an underlying pervasive sense of sadness forms a significant part of what I do. This sadness is intertwined with who I am and how I perceive the world, permeating my work in various dimensions and aesthetics, often manifesting in stories that explore themes of trauma and violence.
Where were you in 2014 when the war started in the East of Ukraine, and what were you feeling at that time?
AM: In 2014, when the war started in the East, I was in Kharkiv. I remember that everything was changing rapidly, and it was not easy; I was analyzing what to do with my life next. I planned to apply to the Kharkiv Academy of Arts, and at that time, it was essential for me. As aspiring artists, we always try to understand what we identify with. My first exhibition experience was with projects in the medium of printmaking. At that time, I didn’t fully grasp the gravity of the situation around me. However, through interactions with my acquaintances and internally displaced people from Luhansk and Donetsk regions, I began comprehending the war’s reality. A critical historical moment for me was when the Lenin sculpture in Kharkiv was toppled. It is impossible to describe the full range of emotions I felt then, but I knew I had to channel those feelings into my work and find a way to acknowledge the pain of those who suffered from the war.”
The harmful narrative that portrays Kharkiv as a pro-Russian city based on its geographical proximity to Russia and the widespread use of the Russian language oversimplifies the complexities of the region’s history. However, this is the result of harsh colonization, and in reality, this part of Ukraine has suffered the most from Soviet repressions, the Holodomor, and, historically, in general. Now, I think a lot and read about why exactly it happened. Previously, I didn’t ask myself why it was such an experience. Kharkiv has work to be done and changes to be implemented, but we are not the “Kharkiv National Republic.” This trauma has deeply imprinted itself and changed the cultural and social landscape.
In that period, I had my first project in Poland, in a small town called Klementowice, near Lublin. The residency occurred at the ‘Fundacja ZPK’ in a school where children who fled from Donetsk and Luhansk regions attended classes as displaced individuals. During this residency, I created a series of printmaking works titled ‘School Diary.’ I was invited to participate in this project by the curators of the Municipal Gallery. At the end of the residency, I left one artwork featuring handprints of the children and their teacher at the institution. This aspect also plays a significant role as the teacher imparts their ideas, narratives, and knowledge to the children.
I remember going on various excursions with the school, including visits to the Polish military cemetery, a tradition of Polish upbringing. Now, you understand that it is an essential aspect of memory culture. I especially think about my acquaintances who perished, and I don’t want them to be forgotten after the victory.
You have gone through a challenging period of personal growth, self-discovery, and finding your creative expression. When looking at your creative journey, a part of your focus has always been connected to wars. This work with the ‘Fundacja ZPK,’ as well as your previous works, such as the art book Bomb, where you continued the poetry of Allen Ginsberg, all represent your reflection on wars. You faced it in 2022 during the first year of a full-scale invasion of Russian forces into Ukraine. Where exactly were you at that time, and what did you feel?
AM: On the eve of the full-scale war, I was in Kyiv and had plans to travel to Mariupol for a residency on the 22nd of February. I had a bad feeling about it and discussed it with my friends. During the initial days of the full-scale invasion, I was still in Kyiv and leaving was extremely difficult. I traveled alone on an evacuation train, and it was unclear what to do and where to go next.
I arrived outside the city, and it was very difficult to leave as there was a curfew, and I could constantly hear gunshots nearby. While driving through villages and forests, I witnessed places where recent battles had taken place, and the land was devastated. Somehow, miraculously, I managed to call a taxi, which hadn’t been working before. I travelled to Uzhhorod and then to Slovakia before eventually settling in Berlin.
