Reflecting On The Power and Purpose of Art During Times Of War

The invasion of Ukraine has affected me on a cellular level. It took me several weeks to begin to process it all. Everything, including my art practice, felt irrelevant, disrespectful to the suffering and just indulgent. I sort of froze for 5 days, staring wide-eyed at the news and consuming podcasts to understand what was happening in Ukraine, to Ukrainians and my extended family there. I am going to save the topic of inherited trauma and my grandparents’ war stories for another post.

I received a flurry of heartfelt messages (here’s a sampling, minus all the emojis):

“Thinking of you.”

“Hope you’re family is doing well, in light of events in Ukraine.”

“Hey Melanka! Been thinking about you a lot these days as I’ve been watching the dreaded progression of the invasion. Do you still have family in Ukraine?”

“It’s been both heartening and heartbreaking seeing the Ukrainian’s response to this madness. I am wishing the best for you, your family and Ukraine.”

“It’s all so horrible, praying for them. We’re raising money with the egg decorating class at our church.”

“I’d like to donate. I’m hoping you can help suggest a few organizations you know of personally, that are collecting for our friends in Ukraine”.

“Continued prayers for peace in Ukraine.”

“Considering everything going on , I hope you’re doing well.”

“I don’t know if you knew Melanka I’m from Latvia.” [I knew] “I’m a mess over what is going on in Ukraine…hope this evil will be over soon.”

“It’s such a horrible situation. Nothing anyone should have to endure. I hope you and the fam are good all considering.”

“I think of you and your people daily! My kids wear blue and yellow. Hungary is right there. We know Russia. Made my father an orphan.”

You get the idea…

I found (and still find) myself bursting into tears throughout each day, then wiping the tears, taking a deep breath and collecting myself so I can be a functioning parent of three boys. I hear the Ukrainian anthem, my response: tears. I see images of families sheltering in the nooks and crannies of Soviet era subways: more tears. I come across videos of children making their way to Poland alone: I’m ugly crying. I hear Zelensky proclaim martial law that men and boys must remain in Ukraine and are forbidden to leave: I’m bawling at the images of families being ripped apart at the crowded train station, distraught over the possibility they will never see each other again.

The steady stream of horrific stories does not let up. The footage of civilians blatantly targeted and shot at protests or attempting to take safe passage out of terrorized areas; the maternity hospital attacked when bringing new life into this world, the husband who learned via a haunting twitter image his whole family was murdered trying to leave their home, neighborhoods gathering to make molotov cocktails to defend their homes, the sharp words of the elderly who survived Holodomor and World War II re-traumatized but still resisting; I’m sobbing. I feel their despair and anger in my core. It is a list of accounts that goes on and on, becomes longer each hour, each day. It’s heavy. My heart hurts.

I was also confused over my reaction. My grief and pain seemed excessive to me. I am safe and sound, miles away from the raging war zone; my experience pales in comparison to the trauma, emotions, decisions and atrocities facing Ukrainians. I was waking up in the middle of the night, with anxiety at a level 10, nauseous, feeling the need to vomit. My husband would put his arms around me; which was comforting but also evoked feelings of some form of survivor’s guilt. If I had been born to the child of my grandfather’s brother (who, by the way is 94, still alive, in Ukraine)…that would be me fighting or fleeing. The most abstract thoughts continued to swirl continuously the first days of the war. I wish I could do a printout of my brain activity and read it back. For example, if my grandparents didn’t survive the atrocities of their time, there are 27 people, including me, who wouldn’t exist (I did the math). How many future generations won’t exist now because of this invasion?

Why was I surprised, shocked even, after months of KNOWING the Russian military was getting ready on the border of Ukraine? After witnessing what happened in 2014, I should have known better. I was hopeful all of this military “posturing” was an attempt to intimidate and nothing more. Now I realize, like most of the west, I was in denial. I was naive in believing all people are inherently good and sometimes make bad decisions.

My thoughts were like a runaway train. This is 2022! How could this happen? How can we allow another genocide of Ukrainians, especially with technology connecting all of us the way it does? How can we just be bystanders? Everything is recorded and shared instantly with a click and finger tap!

This is rhetorical; I’m well aware that the pendulum has swung from lack of shared information and evidence in the days of Holodomor to our current situation of deep fakes, misinformation and wild propaganda laced with shocking how-can-anyone-believe-that lies. I still can’t wrap my head around the idea that mothers and fathers in Russia don’t believe the testimony of their children, who are eyewitnesses to and soldiers (participants of!) the aggression.

I was unable to power down my brain.

Since we share DNA and basically the same childhood experience, I checked in with my brother. He is a man of few words (unlike me), especially when talking about his emotions. There is usually a shrug of the shoulders, the head tilts a bit, palms turned up and I get a dismissive “eh, you know”; basically an indication there are bigger fish to fry than to discuss our mental health, or that it is just too complicated to summarize in a sentence.

But this time was different. He said something like “this is affecting me more than I would have expected or realized. I went to the beach, looked out over the ocean, and belted out Shche Ne Vmerla Ukraina [Ukraine’s National Anthem]. I should have taken a video.” That last part made me laugh so hard; mostly because our family isn’t known for our singing voices, if you know what I mean. But also, when I visualized the scene of him standing at the edge of the Atlantic Ocean facing Europe, that big lump in my throat, signaling tears are coming, got so big I could barely breathe. I recovered myself and my subsequent thought was, phew! What a relief! I thought it was just me spiraling.

That conversation with my brother snapped me out of an under-productive state of paralysis and back into my normal (for me) stress response of being over-productive. Over the next few days I observed other first and second generation Ukrainian-Americans like me having the same experience, a visceral punch-in-the-gut response to this invasion of Ukraine. So many said the same thing: I am so glad my grandparents aren’t alive to see this.

I went into overdrive messaging family in Ukraine to see the best way to help, collecting/ buying/ boxing items for transport to both Poland and Ukraine, sharing posts, retweeting, responding to messages from people wanting to help, etc. Even though it “felt good” to take action and buy items for refugees and the defensive efforts, I kept circling back to helplessness and the idea my efforts are futile…is it really making a difference, my Home Depot boxes with an assortment of things like sleeping bags, walkie talkies, toothbrushes, diapers and such?

My brother, with his engineer brain (“engi-nerd”, I playfully call him), reminded me every small decision and choice has an effect, and sent me a YouTube video called “The Domino Effect”: https://youtu.be/y97rBdSYbkg . The video illustrates how a domino can knock over another domino that is one and a half times larger than itself. The chain reaction means a tiny domino, only 5 mm x 1 mm, can take down a 1 meter tall domino weighing 100 pounds… this is an illustration of the ripple effect of small acts. It does matter, every small act. I choose to believe a chain reaction is in play and we need to keep it going.

I realized at that point I hadn’t fed the hungry beast that is Instagram, so I inked a piece of art featuring a tryzub (trident), Ukraine’s symbol of freedom. The support online has been tremendous (although it is still not nearly enough). It makes me hopeful to hear the Ukrainian National Anthem sung all over the world, witness landmarks lit up in blue (RGB 0 87 184) and gold (RGB 254 221 0), see protestors around the world wave the Ukrainian flag in droves, share Ukrainian-themed art, and so much more.

So finally, I am getting to the art part.

Art is a rally cry. Some people not able to take up guns in defense of Ukraine, have taken up art as a weapon for peace and preservation. Art is not a sidebar in this war. For thirty years, Ukraine has been an independent, free country. The rich culture of Ukraine reaches back to the year 750. Artists are putting a spotlight on this fact. Creating more art while museums with national treasures are being attacked is an important part of resisting occupation.

Some people, instead of fleeing as shelling goes on relentlessly, are surrounding statues with sandbags, bubble wrapping priceless treasures and moving them underground to a safer place. More on that here: ‘All art must go underground:’ Ukraine scrambles to shelter its cultural heritage

They are preserving not only the object itself, but what the object represents. It is evident every Ukrainian has a deep connection to its history and fights for both the tangible and the intangible. As an antidote to war, they care for the things that will carry the legacy forward in the face of death. When it is time to rebuild, it will be possible because of the efforts of those that stayed and guarded history. The art is a part of the evidence needed for future generations to revive and replenish all that has been lost.

An example of this antidote to war and deep connection to Ukrainian heritage is what occurred at the museum in Ivankiv, near Kyiv, and the response of Ukrainians. Many of the works of renowned 20th century artist Maria Prymachenko were sadly destroyed in a targeted attack. A few canvases were saved. A man risked his life, ran into the burning building! Locals took them into hiding to protect the work and help prevent looting by Russian soldiers. Photographs of her works are now displayed in Warsaw, Poland in an open air exhibition. You can take the object, but not what it represents. More on the attack on the Museum of Local History in Ivankiv here: Ukraine’s Best Loved Artist ‘Once Again a Symbol of Survival in the Midst of a Dictator’s War’

I started noticing the outpouring of support via visual art. It is a monumental quantity of art, and that is an understatement. I discover an endless stream of beautiful artwork online related to Ukraine and the invasion, and it is flowing like a released dam. I’m overwhelmed in a good way, with my heart melting at the expression of pure love for Ukraine, its people, peace and freedom. I’m overwhelmed in a not-so-great way, feeling “late to the game” and creatively inadequate to express myself as quickly and as well as other, more seasoned (or organized, anyway) artists.

I am consuming all the protest art, murals, graffiti, photography, paintings, drawings, illustrations, and memes (yes, I consider most memes a form of visual art). Sunflowers, the national flower of Ukraine, is a popular theme flooding everyone’s feeds. It perforates the darkness and brings some light as I doom scroll through social media. People are rediscovering Ukrainian artists of yesteryear and sharing their legacy with the world. Once again, I am reminded the joy and light art brings to the world, even in the ugliest of circumstances.

I spent a lot more time the last three weeks reflecting on the power and purpose of art during times of war than I did creating anything. For the first time in a long time, I became more of an observer than a creator. It has been an emotional roller coaster of: viewing art evoking hope, a sense of calm and peace, feeling angry or devastated when an image perfectly depicts the injustices of war and human suffering, dissecting the psychology behind art by children passing the time in bomb shelters, even laughing at the more irreverent, cheeky images…and so much more.

Here is a side note on the appropriateness versus inappropriateness of humorous war art, propaganda, and protest art: I don’t remember where I watched or heard this, but a Ukrainian woman in a bomb shelter was being interviewed and she said her young daughter asked her something to the effect of, “How can you make jokes, smile and laugh when we are being attacked and bombed?” The mother’s response was a perfect summation of Ukrainian spirit, bravery, determination and resilience, a connection to ancestors who fought the same fight, and surviving for the greater good than for oneself. She said something like, “Well, when we can’t smile and laugh anymore, that’s what makes us truly dead.” Mic drop.

Art has the power to displace the unwelcome toxic hatred one may accumulate in the body when witnessing (and absorbing) the senseless suffering of family, friends and community.

I noticed artists auctioning Ukrainian-themed paintings and prints to benefit charities. Musicians are holding concerts with proceeds from ticket sales going towards humanitarian efforts. Digital art is being utilized in ways we haven’t seen on this scale before: free downloadable art bundles with right-to-use copyright licenses both online and print, NFTs being sold to raise money for Ukraine, social media accounts aggregating the creative output of artists making anti-war messaging and disseminating to millions of people around the world.

What is the true purpose of creating and sharing art during times of war? What is the end game? What do we hope to gain or lose? Does it compel a change in behavior on the individual level, community level? Does it put pressure on our leaders? Does it influence state/ country/ alliance decisions? Does it unearth and expose false information? Does it shine light on the truth?

Does art in all its forms have enough power to make a positive difference, and move the needle of this invasion from destruction to revitalization?

Yes, I think it does. Remember the domino effect. There are strength in numbers and art moves, like really MOVES people. Art is more than eye candy. Art feeds the soul.

Art also informs. Photojournalists deserve worldwide recognition for their important work during times of war. They risk their lives to record, and show the truth. They witness and communicate moments in a way that is impossible for the rest of us. Split second decisions on when and what to capture can change the narrative and tone of a moment. It requires sensitivity, connection to the subject and a strong moral compass. Cameras can be used as weapons of destruction or peace. Photojournalists are instrumental in a victory for Ukraine. Photographs will also be used to honor the heroes, the fallen, innocent victims, the destruction of revered places and the experiences of millions of people. I am already visualizing and mentally walking through this gallery of beautiful photographs of a not-beautiful time in Ukrainian history. How must it feel for a photojournalist, I wonder, to capture this tragedy in such a profound, beautiful medium?

I will never forget the interview with photojournalist Lynsey Addario, who recounts the shelling in Irpin, as civilians attempted to gain safe passage out of town. Listen here: The Story Behind a Defining War Photo

She witnessed and captured the murder of a mother with her two children and an acquaintance (whom she originally thought was the father). She later spoke with the father who was not in Irpin at the time of the shelling. She said how sorry she was that her photo of his deceased family was distributed via the New York Times. He told her he would have given her permission if he had the opportunity to do so. It’s important to document the war crimes, he said. These records and images will be used to prosecute war crimes. We can’t look away at the most graphic images. I personally exhale (cry) and whisper, “I see you. I won’t forget.”.

With no end in sight at the moment, I want to reflect on one last thought. What makes a country victorious? Not a military occupation of Ukraine. Like all the generations before them, Ukrainians desire independence and freedom, and will resist. They know their children’s and Ukraine’s future depends on their willingness to set aside fears and being willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. Victory is Ukraine’s, regardless of what happens militarily. Victory is in the soul.

Art is one element keeping the spirit of Ukrainians high. They need to know each day we have their back, we support them, and help inspire Ukrainians to stay strong. Keep creating for Ukraine and for peace!

Slava Ukraini! Heroyam Slava!

Glory to Ukraine! Glory to the heroes!

Interested in learning more information about how you can help the humanitarian effort in Ukraine?