Art and War: Artists’ Resilience at Nahirna22

It’s hardly controversial to point out that the war between Russia and Ukraine has become one of the most critical geopolitical touch points of the 2020s. For many Westerners, especially those born after the Cold War, it marks the first time we have witnessed the specter of war so close to home. The Russo-Ukrainian conflict is as much a testing ground for new modes of violence in an increasingly disembodied, technology-driven society as it is a fight for the region’s right to self-determination – and with social media constantly at our disposal, we are all watching anxiously to see how the last several decades of innovation might manifest on the battlefield.

But amid the barrage of images highlighting calloused attacks and grueling conditions that have played such a key role in shaping our modern view of – and, thankfully, general distaste for – warfare, there is another trend I’ve noticed. Maybe I’ve seen too many movies, but I’ve always pictured war as a consistently dark and terrible reality, where sources of hope are as few and far between as glimpses of sunlight in a clouded sky. When journalists praise survivors for their “resilience,” I picture figures trudging through months and years of scarcity and toil, desperate for nothing more than to reach the next day.

Ruslan Ivashenko's painting with cracks.

For many caught in conflicts around the world, that has undoubtedly been the experience. But it is not the only kind of resilience.

The war in Ukraine follows the unfortunate trend of treating civilians as legitimate targets for wartime violence. While official numbers are difficult to ascertain, the consensus is that civilians represent a significant proportion of casualties, whether they are directly attacked, caught in the crossfire of battle, or affected by assaults on key infrastructure and even relief services, which aim to weaken Ukraine’s united strength and resolve.

With all this going on, you’d think time might slow down a little in Ukraine, to give everyone time to catch their breath and regroup. When I think about how complicated life is already – career, family, friends, pets, religious practices, cooking and cleaning, doctor visits, budgeting, hobbies – I’d say we already have enough to keep us occupied without the threat of being bombed. But time hasn’t slowed down for anyone yet. And it doesn’t seem like Ukrainians have, either.

Ruslan Ivashenko's damaged painting.

I was recently alerted that the Art Workshops of the Kyiv Institute of Automation, commonly known as nahirna22, was bombed in a Russian attack at the end of August. The building, named after its location on 22 Nahirna St., suffered extensive damage, including a gaping hole in the exterior wall. Responding to commenters on their Instagram account, Nahirna22 explains the state of the building (translation provided via Google):

Windows were mainly blown out in the workshops, which damaged the works of the artists. Yuriy Bolsa, Yulia Holub, Viktoriya Yanovskaya, Maria Burlachenkova, Renata Asanova, Vladislav Ryaboshtan, Natalia Kurnosova, Ruslan Ivashchenko. These are workshops that have no windows at all. In other workshops, there is also cracked glass in the windows in places.

Natalya Kurnosova's vytynanka with glass.

In these workshops, many pieces of art have been damaged not only from the initial blow but from the harsh conditions brought about by sudden exposure to the elements. The team captured images of artwork impaled by glass, covered in debris, knocked over, and torn. But, by their own assessment, the most pressing issue is protecting the art by ensuring the building is closed off again before the famous steppe winter sets in. In August and September, temperatures can fluctuate between highs of 77ºF/25ºC and lows of 57ºF/14ºC – already quite a range. But night temperatures will drop below freezing by November, and winds will pick up.

The hole on the wall in Ruslan Ivashenko's workshop.

Adding to the conundrum is the fact that the Ukrainian government will not be assisting in the building’s reconstruction, leaving the artists themselves to pick up the pieces in time to save their work. The clock is ticking for a community that has already faced significant disruptions to their craft, between conscriptions of young artists, supply chain disruptions, constant threats to their safety, and simply the shadow of war that now hangs over them and all their creative endeavors.

And yet, what struck me about the images I saw from Nahirna22 was a kind of resilience that doesn’t often occur to me until I’m confronted with it. The pictures were taken on a bright, sunny summer day – hardly the gray, war-torn wasteland of my Hollywood imagination. The artists were angry, as they should be, but their focus seemed to shift almost immediately from grieving what was lost to considering what could be found within it. Nahirna22 is accepting donations to assist in their rebuilding efforts; they are selling art and have already promised another Day of Open Studios on the horizon. Several people on social media referred to it as their “favorite place in Kyiv,” and they are determined to return it to its former status as a place for youthful, artistic expression.

Yuliia Holub, Viktoriia Yanovska, Maria Burlachenkova's workshop.

Regardless of this attack, the artists of Nahirna22 are talented; however, many have expressed the hope that this attack may serve not only to bolster their resolve and tighten their community but also to set their work before a larger audience. We can certainly debate the pros and cons of advertising art through its circumstances rather than its merits (just look at what happened to the Mona Lisa). However, the fact remains that what happens to a piece of art can often be as meaningful a part of its story as the act of its creation.

What strikes me about the artists of Nahirna22 – not to mention those throughout Ukraine and other areas in crisis – is not so much what they have endured as how they have made tragedy a part of their triumph. Watching Ukrainian artists continue to produce excellent work and define themselves on a global stage has given new depth to my understanding of resilience. It is a willingness to work with suffering rather than to rail against it. By cooperating with the circumstances outside of their control – circumstances that could so easily lead to crippling fear – they can harness them to craft messages that transcend anything they could create on their own.

The view of the building.

Very few of us have the capacity to shape the future of geopolitical conflict. Perhaps we should keep our eyes on these trailblazers on the ground, rather than the giants fighting overhead.

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