An additional layer within the performance is the historical context of the location. The ruins of the monastery on the slopes of Varatojo near Torres Vedras have, at different periods, served not only as a place of prayer and solitude, but also as a refuge—a space of protection for those in need of shelter and support. For centuries, human actions and decisions have shaped an environment where vulnerability was not concealed, but accepted as part of the human experience.

Today, having lost its original function, this space retains its memory. Through artistic reinterpretation, it acquires new meaning, transforming into a site of a contemporary ritual. Proshkovska’s performance activates this continuity: the act of monotonous creation and erasure becomes a secular form of collective prayer, a gesture of attentiveness to pain and to hope, which is never entirely lost. A sonnet carved into the wall of the chapel Ermida de Santa Margarida, describing the transformation of cold stone into living flesh through an unextinguished inner fire, becomes a conceptual parallel to the performance: transformation here is understood not as destruction, but as a process in which a trace does not disappear, but shifts into another state.

An important element of the performance is the invitation extended to the Ukrainian community in Portugal, many of whom arrived in search of refuge, carrying with them experiences of forced displacement, broken ties, and rebuilding life from ashes in a new place. At the same time, the local community— for whom this space forms part of the everyday landscape of memory—will also be engaged. Together, they become not only spectators but co-authors of the performance, as carriers of memory—living archives for whom erasure and return, forgetting and remembering, are part of daily existence.

Through interaction with a community united by shared experience, the former monastery space reactivates its historical function. For the artist, working with local context becomes a way of creating a sensitive dialogue between different experiences of trauma and survival. Through memory—both personal and collective—the performance restores hope as a shared, ongoing, and open process, in which traces do not vanish but transform.

Outcome: a process-oriented, long-duration performative practice, an object, video documentation, and a sound recording. In her practice, Proshkovska often engages with the ideas of the invisible, the vanished, the durational, and the displaced. Each subsequent performance in a new location will add a newly recorded sound, gradually forming a multilayered audio work as a testimony to an ongoing process. The first sound, recorded in the ruins of the Portuguese monastery on the slopes of Varatojo, will become the foundation of a new long-term project in the artist’s practice, while the location itself will act as a full co-author of the artwork.

This exhibition engages with what usually escapes our field of vision, yet remains vital. These are intermediate micro-movements that do not claim importance, but precisely through them we gain access to deeper processes. “It is a state of ожидание (waiting), filled with inactivity and emptiness. People seem to understand that they need to act, yet at the same time avoid responsibility for making decisions,” the artist notes.

The exhibition brings together works from different periods, forming a kind of mini-retrospective of the artist’s practice. It allows us to delve into the multilayered meanings that overlap and gradually reveal themselves—to us and to the artist herself—within this specific constellation assembled in one space at this particular moment. Among the key works are drawings on paper from the Kyiv Diary (2013–2015) and the Lviv Diary (2022–ongoing). These series of visual notes were created from the beginning of the Maidan and throughout the Russian-Ukrainian war. It is no coincidence that Ralko works with this form of testimony: fragmented images, texts, and gestures on A4 drawings allow her to capture experience in the moment—an experience of fragility, fear, and endurance—transforming personal memory into a collective archive of trauma.

At the center of the exhibition, large-scale paintings loom above the viewers with surreal spatial compositions, from which fragments of life—disappearing in time—seem to spill out. They are almost painful to look at, as fragments of bodies, faces, and gestures coexist without ever forming a whole. They exist as residues of intensities that the artist records during this enforced pause, yet does not integrate. Despite first impressions, these fragments do not represent trauma; rather, they function as its residual form. The viewer is invited to engage independently—to question, reflect, think, and meditate.

In works from the 2017–2018 project Reserve, Ralko begins to reflect on war from multiple perspectives: as a moment, a beginning, a point of departure, and as duration—a slow infiltration into everyday life, a shift in perception that occurs almost imperceptibly.

“Reserve is, on the one hand, what we keep just in case, and on the other, a protected space—what we preserve as untouched. This untouched reserve becomes an urgent question today—in a critical situation where decisions must be made quickly, often without time for careful consideration,” the artist remarks. War did not arrive suddenly but was composed of countless signals that went unread. Only in retrospect does it become clear that they had always been pointing toward it. Today, Ralko’s Reserve acquires new meanings essential to our reading: we look back at our own past and are struck by our own stillness in the face of the future. “And here an important question arises: do we have enough inner resources to endure this situation? What is the cost of this endurance? How ready are we to pay it?”

It is therefore no coincidence that in “As If I Am Not There”, Ralko returns to her poem “War”, written in 2020, which today resonates even more strongly, revealing the scale of the war:

She comes to visit
But she will not catch us by surprise
She has long been welcomed everywhere
And treated as a guest

The artist introduces this poem into the exhibition as a reminder of a state of anxious uncertainty that should not have become a background condition. At the core of the work lies an experience of splitting: physical presence in a safe space—whether in the rear or abroad—combined with an internal presence in a country at war, creates a state of duality in which reality and unreality overlap. Time becomes distorted: it seems to stop, stretch, and lose its linearity. Outside—silence; inside—tension. In the video, the artist’s mouth speaks, repeats, asks, prays in a silent recitation of the poem “War.” This is not merely a psychological effect, but a new mode of existence.

At the same time, Ralko returns to the theme of signs—as a system of orientation in life. Signs guide us, like road markers in the dark, yet we see them only when we focus our attention on them. “That is why they appear on a black background—as flashes, as moments of sudden realization,” the artist explains. This line in the exhibition concludes with two paintings from the 2008 series Signs.

The exhibition continues to unfold through precisely placed objects from the 2025–2026 project Not My Room. At first glance, these are items associated with the experience of losing one’s home: pillows, blankets, icons. Usually confined to the intimate and private sphere, they become carriers of memory here.

These are not metaphors—they are traces, often traumatic, like scars. These objects seem to hold fear, displacement, survival, bodily presence, insomnia. They absorb everything that cannot be archived otherwise.

Through these objects, another line of tension emerges—between the human and the animal. It is stitched with black threads on white, like an unstable boundary. In critical conditions, this boundary becomes fragile: a person may act against the instinct for survival or fully submit to it. Questions arise: what is justice? does truth exist? what makes us human? Within this oscillation lies the temptation to doubt and lose faith.

The answer is almost outlined as a zone of risk through the presentation of the 2003 work Ordinary Person. Here, the artist addresses violence not as an extraordinary phenomenon but as something that gradually enters everyday life. The normalization of violence is one of the most dangerous processes because it happens imperceptibly. This exhibition attempts to restore our capacity to feel—to recover a sensitivity that has become dulled. At the same time, it resists another extreme—nihilism. In a situation of war, where everything can lose meaning in an instant, preserving belief in truth and justice becomes not an abstract stance, but a condition of humanity.

Curator: Maryna Hutz

The project Words Slightly Louder than Night reflects the continuous and unyielding development of life, its endurance and resilience over time, despite war. Dimov draws our attention to humanity’s and society’s ability to persist, overcoming challenges, fears, and losses while preserving values and essence. It’s vital to maintain the continuity of cultural and social existence.

The very title of the project layers deep meanings. The “word” in the biblical sense is a stream of thought, unstoppable and serving as a source for creating the new. Thought is the beginning of life. A thought resonates like the night. But we also sense a prohibition or fear—or both—of the thought becoming expressive, loud, and clear. Silence, darkness, rustling, and cold fill our lungs and give rise to restless thoughts at night. Here, the night serves as a metaphor for a challenging life period, into which the war and its inevitable gloom have plunged us.

The title comes from a line in the artist’s poetry:
Words slightly louder than night.
Between “words” and “night” lies all the tension, resonance, and potential of language, which Dimov employs in both his artistic practice and poetry. Poetry and photography in Oleg Dimov’s work exist as parallel dimensions of the personal, needing to be made public for the art to take place:

Only when I cover my face,
Words slightly louder than night.
Help me, God…

The project Words Slightly Louder than Night encompasses several series created between 2022 and 2024: Another Landscape, Night, Morning, Stains, and The Time When I Am Not Home. These works are characterized by nuanced complexity. Dimov demonstrates a unique ability to capture the mood of place and time, making his artistic practice both relevant and deeply resonant. His landscapes are introspective and reflective, inviting us to delve into the emotional depth of contemporary Ukrainian life, thereby portraying a universal human state during wartime.

The Another Landscape series, with its beachscapes, evokes mixed and anxious feelings at first glance. Dimov skillfully crafts moments of existential solitude using small architectural elements, contrasting shadows, vividly colored skies, and intentionally removing the sea. The emptiness and stillness of these seascapes—without the sea—hint at narratives beyond the visible, prompting critical reflection. The sharply defined horizons in Another Landscape deliberately create tension and unease. “Another Landscape depicts motifs from Odesa’s beaches, and as an Odesa-based artist, this is my attempt to comment on the dangers coming from the sea,” the artist notes. “In this series, the removal of the sea was intentional. In each landscape, I erased the sea as stains that don’t exist.”

In the subsequent series, Oleg Dimov continues to provoke thoughts about the perception and impact of the environment during war. Night is a cycle of photographs imbued with a sense of inevitability and anxiety. Here, Dimov combines images of urban landscapes with and without people. In scenes with figures, they seem cut out from their surroundings, disconnected despite their proximity, creating an atmosphere of alienation. These photographs encourage reflections on the individual’s place in modernity and the search for personal identity.

The urban spatial landscapes, featuring buildings with completely dark, empty windows, amplify these feelings. Through the imagery of homes, Dimov explores the painful theme of home for Ukrainians today. The steadfastness of the buildings symbolizes the resilience and courage we need to face ever-new challenges.

Night. Absence of wind.
Rain in a frozen time.
Choose what I’ll recall first in the morning.

In Night, Dimov intentionally creates expressive but restrained tension. The photographs were taken during the day, when the city was bathed in light. Yet through his unique editing, the artist creates a liminal state where the aesthetics of morning and night overlap. “Morning as a continuation of the night. This reflects the variability of our states. These are, essentially, different yet very similar periods of time,” notes the artist.

After night always comes morning. Morning is a special time of day. Unlike the night, morning symbolizes awakening, renewal, and beginnings. The world fills with soft light, gradually revealing its colors. Dimov photographs trees but leaves these images unedited, preserving their “untouched” quality. Morning represents the transition from night to day: from darkness to light, from silence to noise, from stillness to motion. The energy of this transition is what the artist conveys. Oleg reminds us of life’s cycles, emphasizing that each day is worth becoming part of our personal story of being.

Places were yielded
To distant whispers
By silent trees.

A sense of confinement, pressure, and lack of air—feelings that catch us off guard among trees bathed in soft morning light—are evoked when viewing the photographs from the Morning series. “I feel that these trees I keep photographing, their roots, these night houses, and their foundations—they represent what holds us back from simply leaving. Again, it’s this abstractness of words, their vague meanings, but they resonate with the complexities of life in Ukraine today. Can we yield space? Can a tree leave the country? What happens then to its roots?” the artist explains, urging an internal dialogue through his symbolic work.

Dimov’s lyricism peaks in his Stains series, which narrates the “story of light,” highlighting fragments pulled into focus at random. Whether it’s a lit patch of early spring greenery, bright red tulips, or grass scorched by a Russian shell—light stains with ash—the artist masterfully centers compositions around these luminous details. Here, light serves as a symbol of revelation. “I remember February, the unbearable winter, and then suddenly spring began. The first spring after the invasion. The city was empty. We often walked in the park near my home, and grass began to grow there, wildly as if it sensed its last chance to grow before destruction,” the artist recalls.

In the The Time When I Am Not Home series, Dimov touches on nostalgia for the past and what has been lost. Through his lens, we peer into an empty room. But is it truly emptiness? Everything continues—time flows organically, sunlight shifts across the windowsill, lands in stripes on the tabletop, dips into a coffee cup, and gleams on the curtains. Here, the interplay of light and shadow intensifies the silence of solitude and the intimate nature of the setting. These works reflect a longing for time past and missed opportunities, highlighting the impermanence of human experience.

Oleg Dimov dares to speak about time—its continuity—without smoothing over images or concealing symbols. He speaks of time when its value equals the value of life. In Words Slightly Louder than Night, the artist invites us into a conversation: about political time, the time of community consolidation, as well as the time of sorrow, awakening, and forgetfulness. For me, Oleg Dimov is an artist who provokes honesty with ourselves, authenticity, and the expansion of personal boundaries despite external circumstances. “The intuitive allows for instantaneous creation from within,” Oleg notes in our conversation. In these words, I hear a creative freedom that provides insight into how the artist captures and expresses the unique Ukrainian experience, making it accessible and comprehensible to a broad audience.

Marina Shcherbenko
Curator of the project

Political Anatomy. Version. is a complex dialogue between the artist, her creativity, and the viewer, in which she offers a profound analysis of the war’s impact on individual fates and collective memory, building bridges to understanding and empathy. Through her works, Ralko not only highlights the theme of war but also questions common views on its necessity and inevitability, opening a discourse on responsibility, choice, and human agency.

In her artistic practice, Vlada Ralko continues to explore the question, «What does it mean to be human?», which becomes particularly acute and relevant during the war. She focuses our attention on internal dialogue, on conscience, which she believes are the factors of human language that allow for political discourse, which in turn defines one as a human being. «Language is political, thus art as a way of expression is political,» says the artist.

The Lviv Diary plays an important role in shaping both the concept and the exposition of the exhibition. These are works from a series that the artist began in Lviv in February 2022, having temporarily fled the shelling in her native city of Kyiv. The artist chose the diary format not accidentally but out of necessity because its format allows her to quickly respond to and reflect on the condition induced by the war and its impact on the human psyche and society. Currently, the series comprises over 1000 A4 pages, on which the author narrates the war through art using accessible mediums like ballpoint pen and watercolor.

Where to find the answer to the question: How to continue living and being when genocide is happening in your country? After all, the numbness from shock and pain brought by the war has been our feature since February 24, 2022, the start of another cycle of war. Ukrainians protected and helped each other, but essentially could neither speak, write, nor create, overwhelmed by unspeakable weight and sorrow.

However, over time, the realization that the artist’s voice could and should be heard brought her back to practice. The experience of keeping the Kyiv Diary, a series of works created by Ralko during the events of 2014 in Ukraine, namely the Revolution of Dignity, the annexation of Crimea, and the invasion of eastern Ukraine by russians, came in handy. The Lviv Diary is a logical continuation of the Kyiv Diary, a way to speak again through art, not only a means of self-expression but also a tool for mentally processing and confronting the brutal reality of war. These diaries have become a testament to the evolution of Ralko’s inner world, transitioning from silence to words, from desperation to seeking answers.

Vlada Ralko’s practice is distinguished by the idea that language and meaning are deeply intertwined with context, and that they are never fixed or entirely stable. The meanings of the expressions created by the artist, both on the surfaces of her canvases and in the pages of her diaries, do not merely reflect thought but construct a dialogue through the complex interaction of words, contexts, symbols, and their various interpretations. The artist emphasizes language not as a clear conduit of meaning, but rather suggesting that meaning is always in flux and formed under the influence of various factors. Her approach challenges traditional views on art representation as a whole.

Thus, Vlada Ralko’s exhibition Political Anatomy. Version. in Frankfurt becomes a means of reflecting the invisible aspects of war and its impact on human life. This exhibition opens a space for reflection, prompts internal dialogue, and serves as a memorial to those who lost their lives, health, or homes due to war.

Through her art, Vlada Ralko not only reflects the realities of the contemporary world but also points to the potential of the language of art, which can provide direct access to truth or reality constructed through the interaction of signs and context. This project encourages a more critical and responsible attitude towards language, recognizing its potential to shape understanding and interpretation.

Maryna Shcherbenko, curator

The project «Struggle» by the Shcherbenko Art Centre at the Vilnius Art Fair 2023 can be roughly divided into two parts, corresponding to the materials used: ceramics and paper. Both of these fragile materials allow artists to convey and depict their experiences and thoughts about the strongest feeling within us – the determination to continue the struggle.

This way, Vlada Ralko transforms, or rather, turns upside down, the traditionally stable image of a caryatid – a subjugated woman destined to support a structural element of a building. And now, Ralko’s caryatid acquires a subversive power in its ability to plunge into the abyss. Volodymyr Say has depicted in ceramics the symbol of death, which inevitably awaits everyone and each one of us. This symbol is frightening, but at the same time, it encourages reflection on the meaning of life. Aliona Naumenko, on the other hand, depicts life itself – fragile sprouts that appear surprisingly resilient. They sprout from means of destruction thrown into the ground instead of seeds, proclaiming that even from death, life will still be born, and it is worth fighting for this.

For Olha Kuzyura, a paper serves as a carrier of memory, spirituality, and sacred knowledge, providing strength. Ruslan, on the other hand, compressed paper to depict the realization of his identity and to stand firmly on his own two feet. Zhenia Laptii printed photographs of picturesque landscapes of Eastern Ukraine on paper. However, these are also front-line territories, littered with mines: they are impossible not to admire, but at the same time, they are impossible to traverse. It’s the homeland that beckons like a magnet and is a forbidden fruit, estranged by the enemy. And this estrangement of the most desired does not allow the struggle to stop.

A significant place in the exhibition is occupied by the extensive work on canvas by the artist Vasyl Savchenko, which helps him comprehend the process of struggle, its meaning, and essence.

The fourteenth fair in Vilnius took place from October 13th to October 15th, 2023 at the Lithuanian Exhibition and Congress Centre Litexpo (Parodų g. 1, 04133 Vilnius, Lithuania). The project “Struggle” is produced with the financial assistance of the European Union. The views expressed herein can in no way be taken to reflect the official opinion of the European Union. The project is taking place upon the invitation of the Art Vilnius team, director Diana Stomiene, and coordinator Gabija Tarabilda.

Throughout all the 32 years of independence we’ve been standing together for our sovereignty. We, Ukrainians, have been filling such notions as ‘democracy’, ‘fight for freedom’, ‘sacrifice’ and ‘self-sacrifice’ with actual meaning – not just by words, but by deeds and civic resolve. We’ve come to realize the high cost of our liberty. We’ve been paying for it in blood, sweat, tears and sleepless nights. Over the past 571 days Ukrainians have reached an unprecedented level of self-awareness, unity and compassion.

What does our independence mean for us? What are we actually fighting for? What are we hoping to build? And what do the words ‘independence’, ‘freedom’, ‘will’, ‘strength of resistance’, and ‘right to life’ stand for? The ‘Motherland’ project is an attempt to find answers to these existential questions through social video art.

In her work ‘Forest, Forest’, Maria Stoianova explores and uncovers the roots of our resistance in a regular Ukrainian family. The historical continuity and the strength of family ties are found in the home videos made by a father who captures his children growing up. The everyday life of family relationships, the society’s reactions to political events, the symbols that we have created and that we now know and recognize — isn’t that where one can discover a myriad of explanations for the most unimaginable turn of events? Why did we resist? After all, our extraordinary resistive force has become evident very early on — in the first weeks of the full-scale russian invasion.

Who, or rather, what is it? What was the face of the aggressor that we saw? In the very first days we realized that this was a war of annihilation. An outright attempt at genocide. And we have no choice! If we want to survive, we must fight and defend ourselves! In this war, Ukrainians are fighting not just for independence — it is a fight for life, for existence, for future.

Lena Kovach is looking for answers in the Soviet past. In her work ‘Bad Games, or Swan Song’, the artist reminds us of the fatal concealment of the truth about crimes and intentional imperialistic distortion of history by the russians — whether it was the explosion at the Chornobyl nuclear power plant or the coup in Moscow, when actual news on TV were replaced with ballet.

What do russians see on their TV today? What makes them so hungry for violence?

Bucha, Irpin, Mariupol, Bakhmut…

Torture, humiliation, destruction, rape…

Images of the horrific consequences of the occupation of Ukrainian flash quickly in Vlada Ralko’s work ‘Lviv Diaries’. The flickering of pictures, colors, lines, words, and symbols leaves no time to focus, but evoke the feeling of immense pain and loss that emerge from the depths of our consciousness.

If we want to be, we must prevail! After all, our enemy attaches no value to human life. We hear them broadcast their evil desires for us to disappear, to perish, to die. Yet, they do not value their own lives either. Continuous violence is sweeping across russia. We’ve encountered a society that has normalized violence everywhere: in their homes, among friends, in their workplaces, in prisons, in the army! Our reluctance to fall into the russian paradigm urges us to fight. We are ready to face any challenge, but we are determined to keep our dignity even at times of war. Maryna Talutto’s work ‘Letters’ is dedicated to the traumatic experience of being separated from her family, witnessing her regular life being ruined, and being forced to live in exile with her young daughter. Maryna also reflects on the choice of her husband, who changed his artistic activity to military service in the early days of invasion to protect his family and his Motherland.

The play ‘Inconvenient People’ by Alyona Naumenko and Maryna Talutto tells the story of Ukrainian women living in exile because of the war, their longing for homeland, and the severity of their unbearable loss. The hardships that we encounter because of the war do not make us victims, but rather provoke the formation of new boundaries of perception of the world — both for Ukrainians in forced emigration and for Europeans, who welcomed us. The quintessence of russian society scares us all. In russia, everyone is a nobody with no freedom or will. The threat of being a part of that horde accelerates the changes in us, and we start speaking Ukrainian, immerse ourselves in Ukrainian history, feel the urge to preserve Ukrainian culture.

On the contrary, the feeling of impunity provokes the aggressors to commit more and more crimes. They loot and destroy everything in their path. The Kherson Museum of Local Lore, looted by the russian occupiers, startles us with its empty exhibition halls in the video ‘Explosions Near the Museum’ by Yarema Mashashchuk and Roman Khimei. The museum used to contain the largest and the oldest collection of antiquities in Southern Ukraine. It featured more than 173,000 items spanning over seven millennia — from Scythian gold to World War II weaponry. Two weeks before the liberation of Kherson by the Ukrainian forces, the russian occupiers committed a strategic theft, stealing centuries of Ukrainian history from the museum and thus from our nation. Since the beginning of russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the occupiers have stolen artifacts from nearly 40 Ukrainian museums.

In the video documentation of Maria Kulikovska’s performances entitled ‘Lustration / Ablution’, which the artist has been repeating since her forced emigration from Crimea after its annexation in 2014, the author lustrates herself by washing off her casts made of soap from her face, hair, and body. This way she seems to free herself from the trauma. The soap, which became the basis for the artist’s body cast sculptures, is a metaphorically conflicted material. It is used in the military industry for testing weapons of mass destruction because it has the same density as the human body and is also translucent, making it an ideal platform for testing the most efficient tools for murder. The metaphorical nature of the performance is simply striking.

We have already seen that the broken link between crime and punishment is ingrained in the russian mentality. They have no barriers, they are brutal rapists, they are thieves, they are callous killers. And we’ve already had this experience so many times in the past. How could we forget it? How could we dull our sensitivity to the danger of the enemy? Maria Proshkovska’s performance of ‘No Title Ritual’ focuses on the importance of working with experience, the consistency and planning of this process, and emphasizes the fact that it is an integral part of every path. Grinding dust into a finer fraction between a pair of millstones is a rather absurd, yet physically demanding action that we unconsciously want to postpone. But everyone has to turn their personal runner stone to move on. To remember. To never forget.

How will we remember this war? How will we pass our experience on to the new generations? How will we feel when we tell our stories to our children and grandchildren? In his video work, ‘How Will We Remember’, Piotr Armianovski is already forcing us to step out of the flow of war and think about the importance of preserving memory. So that history does not repeat itself.

Curator of the exhibition Maryna Shcherbenko

Throughout all the 32 years of independence we’ve been standing together for our sovereignty. We, Ukrainians, have been filling such notions as ‘democracy’, ‘fight for freedom’, ‘sacrifice’ and ‘self-sacrifice’ with actual meaning – not just by words, but by deeds and civic resolve. We’ve come to realize the high cost of our liberty. We’ve been paying for it in blood, sweat, tears and sleepless nights. Over the past 549 days Ukrainians have reached an unprecedented level of self-awareness, unity and compassion.

What does our independence mean for us? What are we actually fighting for? What are we hoping to build? And what do the words ‘independence’, ‘freedom’, ‘will’, ‘strength of resistance’, and ‘right to life’ stand for? The ‘Motherland’ project is an attempt to find answers to these existential questions through social video art.

In her work ‘Forest, Forest’, Maria Stoianova explores and uncovers the roots of our resistance in a regular Ukrainian family. The historical continuity and the strength of family ties are found in the home videos made by a father who captures his children growing up. The everyday life of family relationships, the society’s reactions to political events, the symbols that we have created and that we now know and recognize — isn’t that where one can discover a myriad of explanations for the most unimaginable turn of events? Why did we resist? After all, our extraordinary resistive force has become evident very early on — in the first weeks of the full-scale russian invasion.

Who, or rather, what is it? What was the face of the aggressor that we saw? In the very first days we realized that this was a war of annihilation. An outright attempt at genocide. And we have no choice! If we want to survive, we must fight and defend ourselves! In this war, Ukrainians are fighting not just for independence — it is a fight for life, for existence, for future.

Lena Kovach is looking for answers in the Soviet past. In her work ‘Bad Games, or Swan Song’, the artist reminds us of the fatal concealment of the truth about crimes and intentional imperialistic distortion of history by the russians — whether it was the explosion at the Chornobyl nuclear power plant or the coup in Moscow, when actual news on TV were replaced with ballet.

What do russians see on their TV today? What makes them so hungry for violence?

Bucha, Irpin, Mariupol, Bakhmut…

Torture, humiliation, destruction, rape…

Images of the horrific consequences of the occupation of Ukrainian flash quickly in Vlada Ralko’s work ‘Lviv Diaries’. The flickering of pictures, colors, lines, words, and symbols leaves no time to focus, but evoke the feeling of immense pain and loss that emerge from the depths of our consciousness.

If we want to be, we must prevail! After all, our enemy attaches no value to human life. We hear them broadcast their evil desires for us to disappear, to perish, to die. Yet, they do not value their own lives either. Continuous violence is sweeping across russia. We’ve encountered a society that has normalized violence everywhere: in their homes, among friends, in their workplaces, in prisons, in the army! Our reluctance to fall into the russian paradigm urges us to fight. We are ready to face any challenge, but we are determined to keep our dignity even at times of war. Maryna Talutto’s work ‘Letters’ is dedicated to the traumatic experience of being separated from her family, witnessing her regular life being ruined, and being forced to live in exile with her young daughter. Maryna also reflects on the choice of her husband, who changed his artistic activity to military service in the early days of invasion to protect his family and his Motherland.

The play ‘Inconvenient People’ by Alyona Naumenko and Maryna Talutto tells the story of Ukrainian women living in exile because of the war, their longing for homeland, and the severity of their unbearable loss. The hardships that we encounter because of the war do not make us victims, but rather provoke the formation of new boundaries of perception of the world — both for Ukrainians in forced emigration and for Europeans, who welcomed us. The quintessence of russian society scares us all. In russia, everyone is a nobody with no freedom or will. The threat of being a part of that horde accelerates the changes in us, and we start speaking Ukrainian, immerse ourselves in Ukrainian history, feel the urge to preserve Ukrainian culture.

On the contrary, the feeling of impunity provokes the aggressors to commit more and more crimes. They loot and destroy everything in their path. The Kherson Museum of Local Lore, looted by the russian occupiers, startles us with its empty exhibition halls in the video ‘Explosions Near the Museum’ by Yarema Mashashchuk and Roman Khimei. The museum used to contain the largest and the oldest collection of antiquities in Southern Ukraine. It featured more than 173,000 items spanning over seven millennia — from Scythian gold to World War II weaponry. Two weeks before the liberation of Kherson by the Ukrainian forces, the russian occupiers committed a strategic theft, stealing centuries of Ukrainian history from the museum and thus from our nation. Since the beginning of russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the occupiers have stolen artifacts from nearly 40 Ukrainian museums.

In the video documentation of Maria Kulikovska’s performances entitled ‘Lustration / Ablution’, which the artist has been repeating since her forced emigration from Crimea after its annexation in 2014, the author lustrates herself by washing off her casts made of soap from her face, hair, and body. This way she seems to free herself from the trauma. The soap, which became the basis for the artist’s body cast sculptures, is a metaphorically conflicted material. It is used in the military industry for testing weapons of mass destruction because it has the same density as the human body and is also translucent, making it an ideal platform for testing the most efficient tools for murder. The metaphorical nature of the performance is simply striking.

We have already seen that the broken link between crime and punishment is ingrained in the russian mentality. They have no barriers, they are brutal rapists, they are thieves, they are callous killers. And we’ve already had this experience so many times in the past. How could we forget it? How could we dull our sensitivity to the danger of the enemy? Maria Proshkovska’s performance of ‘No Title Ritual’ focuses on the importance of working with experience, the consistency and planning of this process, and emphasizes the fact that it is an integral part of every path. Grinding dust into a finer fraction between a pair of millstones is a rather absurd, yet physically demanding action that we unconsciously want to postpone. But everyone has to turn their personal runner stone to move on. To remember. To never forget.

How will we remember this war? How will we pass our experience on to the new generations? How will we feel when we tell our stories to our children and grandchildren? In his video work, ‘How Will We Remember’, Piotr Armianovski is already forcing us to step out of the flow of war and think about the importance of preserving memory. So that history does not repeat itself.

Curator of the exhibition Maryna Shcherbenko

The flooded minefields and drifting mines pose a significant danger. The water overtook the initial line of defense established by the Russian occupiers, which included mine-explosive barricades. Even during the flooding, Russian troops continued to shell cities in the region, further endangering the lives of people who were urgently evacuated. Throughout the year and a half of the full-scale war, the attackers committed numerous war crimes on Ukrainian soil, and the scale and consequences of this particular terrorist act are catastrophic.

In response to the ecocide in the Kherson region, Lviv artist Kinder Album created a piece called «Russian Ecocide in Ukraine.» The artist expressed surprise at the sunny weather and carefree atmosphere depicted in videos and photos showcasing the aftermath of the disaster. Scenes such as the partially submerged Nova Kakhovka Palace of Culture and swans swimming nearby reminded the artist of a Sorrentino film. However, the cheerful weather contrasted starkly with the feeling of despair caused by the news of animal deaths, sunken houses, and the other yet unknown but undoubtedly terrible consequences of Russia’s actions. The artist drew inspiration from Carroll’s «Alice» and the lake of tears, depicting the animals seen in the Nova Kakhovka videos and a girl swimming ahead of them as if indicating the way. The artwork aims to convey both the sunny weather and the apocalyptic nature of the flood.

«We specifically offered this Kinder Album project for the exhibition at the Window Gallery of the Czech Center in order to not only draw the viewer’s attention to the immense-scale horrific catastrophe with humanitarian and environmental consequences caused by Russian military criminals in Ukraine but also to highlight the growing issue of emotional resilience to horrors and losses experienced by Ukrainians throughout the ongoing war. It aims to shed light on the emerging tendency of perceiving news as a detached reality, devoid of deep emotional engagement and empathy.—added the curator Maryna Shcherbenko.

From the beginning of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the Czech Centre Sofia has expressed support for the cultural community and all the people of Ukraine. On May 12, the banner with words of support for the Ukrainian people was ripped down by vandals from the Centre’s window, which was the catalyst for the idea of opening a new ‘Window Gallery’.

The Ambassador of the Czech Republic in Sofia, Lukas Kautsky, visited the exhibition during its opening, emphasizing the importance of international cooperation.

The bloody war has been ongoing for over a year, during which the Ukrainian people have demonstrated their best and strongest qualities of resilience and bravery. Ukrainian women, in particular, exhibit exceptional heroism and courage. They defend the country on the battlefield, rescue their children and loved ones from Russian rockets by evacuating and leaving the occupied territories, organize volunteer movements and organizations, and provide medical assistance, among other things. However, we must now address the problems that arise from the war because historical experience warns us of the risks of regression and violations of women’s rights during and after the war. «I see the need to talk about different women’s experiences, to make women visible because during the war, stereotypical views of masculinity and femininity are reinforced. Men are expected to be strong, brave, those who fight and protect, while women are supposed to be vulnerable and weak, staying at home with children and in need of protection. The focus in society shifts towards the heroization of men, creating expectations of masculine behavior regardless of circumstances. However, the reality is that during this most difficult period for our country, women are a significant part of the armed resistance. And in the cultural environment, it is women who have taken on the entire burden of work both in Ukraine and beyond,» said project curator Maryna Shcherbenko.

The exhibition «Sun, Sun, Illuminate the Shadows!» brought together female artists who share the common experience of surviving war. They all have their unique stories: photographer Zhenya Laptii was in the Kharkiv region during the Russian invasion, which was later occupied. To return to Ukraine, she had to make a circle through Russia, Latvia, Germany, Austria, and Poland. Maryna Talutto, Alyona Naumenko, Maria Proshkovska, and Maria Kulikovska are women with small children who, during the first weeks of the war, hid in bomb shelters with the sole thought of saving their own and their child’s life until they decided to leave Ukraine. They went through the extremely difficult experience of evacuation, leaving the country, getting temporary protection, and adapting to new living conditions in foreign countries. Despite all the difficulties, deprivations, fears, and stresses, they continue to work, create new works, projects, maintain dialogue with international audiences, and draw attention to the war. The duo of graphic artists etchingroom1, Anna Khodkova and Kristina Yarosh, had to work separately during the first months of the war. Anna stayed in Kyiv and combined volunteer activities with artistic practice, while Kristina moved to Lviv, where she also worked and volunteered. Artist Vlada Ralko first moved to Lviv, then participated in international residencies for a year, during which she highlighted the theme of war, drawing attention to the atrocities of Russian troops. Vlada captures the flow of the war in the series «Lviv Diary,» the pages of which impress with their brutal truth. Alevtina Kakhidze remains in the village of Muzhychi (Kyiv region) and continues to work and document the course of the war. She shares her experience, works, and projects with the Western world, visiting residencies, lectures, and participating in exhibition projects. Film director and artist Zoia Laktionova in her works share the experience of being in a state of two realities: living in Ukraine during the war and working abroad in peace and tranquility. Mariia Stoianova remains in Ukraine and explores the roots of the Ukrainian resistance today, turning to the family archives of Ukrainian families.

This year of war has changed all of us. We have become stronger, more united, and resilient. We have demonstrated our tolerance and sensitivity towards each other. Furthermore, we have more clearly defined our most important life values. Our land unites us, the longing for home, and the desire to protect and liberate our country from invaders. «I say farewell to my native land in silence, in pious silence… Sun, sun, illuminate the shadows! Don’t set; wait a minute! I once more in your shining look around at my fatherland.» — Lina Kostenko.