The project highlights hidden forms of resistance, particularly opposition to assimilation, and creates a space for reflection. The exhibition brings together artists from Crimea and across Ukraine, many of whom have lost their homes due to the occupation, and their works become acts of solidarity. An important element is the inclusion of Crimean Tatar artists who explore their own identity and cultural heritage.
An invisible, unseen resistance—the kind they don’t discuss on TV or write about in the open sources.
This exhibition is about those who resist assimilation—people who remain under occupation in Crimea and strive to preserve their identity, language, and culture for future generations. This is a resistance that works its way through personal gestures and internal decisions, a resistance that lives in the shadows.
You will learn about this resistance from artists who were forced to leave their homes. A special place in the exhibition is held by Crimean Tatar artists whose works reflect on the loss of home. They are trying to preserve memory of their home here, in mainland Ukraine, and abroad, just like those who remain under occupation, by keeping this memory alive.
Family memories and artistic expressions help us trace historical continuity. This can be an intergenerational connection in a Crimean Tatar artist family—for example, between a grandfather and a granddaughter—or an invisible yet strong thread from teacher to student in the artistic community. They engage with Crimean Tatar culture in different ways, reinterpreting it through contemporary media while preserving its essence.
The theme of preserving memory will also be reflected upon by mainland Ukraine artists whose native lands were occupied by Russia after 2014. A work by a young artist from Kherson Oblast whose hometown is also under occupation engages memory through the metaphor of concealed seeds that will sprout once they reach their native soil.
Bringing together artists from different regions of Ukraine, this exhibition speaks to the shared experience of trauma and unity around the dream of seeing Crimea free. In this way, we underline the unification idea, with personal stories and artistic expressions becoming testaments to our common struggle and resilience.
The exhibition does not merely speak to the viewer through works of art; it tells the stories of the artists themselves. After all, the full-scale invasion made it even clearer how important culture is in the fight against the enemy. It is not only a way to preserve our identity, but also a powerful weapon that shapes narratives, unites people, and becomes the voice of resistance.
What do you think of when you read shadow of water ? Where does your imagination take you? What sounds surround you? What time of day is it? Are you alone? What kind of water is it: plenty or a glassful, a river or just raindrops?
And what comes to mind when you read shadow of water in this room as we speak of Crimea’s resistance to Russian occupation?
Take a moment to imagine.
We look not only at events but also at what they leave behind: landscapes that remember even when people are gone, memories that harbor voices, shadows that preserve the outlines of light. We turn to memory.
Memory resists oblivion and becomes the foundation for the future. A solid ground beneath our feet. For all of us.
This exhibition is an act of remembrance and recollection. It dissolves the boundaries between past and future, reminding us: memory is resistance, memory is effort, memory is an unending presence—even where they are trying to wipe us out.
It is memory that guards identity and shields against assimilation. Remembering who you are. Even silently. After all, silence, too, can be a form of resistance.
Every gesture and every line here is a form resisting the threat. Not a scream, but a quiet and stubborn presence. Not a monument, but a living sign showing that history continues.
The past is already fragmented – scattered particles that have broken away from the whole. We want to preserve them in the frozen state in which they existed, as if we could collect dust in our palms and make it remain motionless.
Memory is not frozen. Tradition does not remain confined to what has been. It expands in what it can become.
There are no fixed forms in this whirlpool – only possibility, where particles do not disintegrate but dissolve in motion, looking for a place to grow, preparing for a new existence.
Stars are formed from dust – the next form that continues and changes.
About the artist:
The artist decided not to reveal her identity in order to protect her relatives who are in Crimea.
This work is based on the memories of a trip to Crimea in my early childhood, how I was looking with my parents for the bath of youth in a large canyon, about the bath itself and how my father bathed in it. Later we got lost when it got dark. It's about finding your way in the light and finding your way in the dark.
About the artist:
Sana Şahmuradova Tanska (born in 1996, Odesa, Ukraine) spent much of her childhood in rural Podillia, among rivers and forests. In 2014, she immigrated to Toronto, where she received a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology from York University. Having worked in graphic design, she later decided to turn to painting. In 2020, she finally decided to move to the city that had inspired her all along – Kyiv. To create graphic design on paper or canvas, Sana uses ink and brush, and sometimes pastels. For painting, she uses old burlap or canvas and oil. As an artist, she searches for the little-explored roots of her origins through collective and personal archetypes. Her selected exhibitions include: “Tree after a tree”, Asortymentna Kimnata, Ivano-Frankivsk (2023), “Czarnoziem” (to the 90th anniversary of the Holodomor – the Great Famine), curated by Ivana Berchak, Galeria Dim, Warsaw (2022), “Like in a film... ”, ArtSvit Gallery, Dnipro (2022), “If there is no war today, it does not mean there is no war”, Galeria Institut Goethe, Goethe Institut, Soniakh, Krakow (2022), “APOKALIPSYS”, Diogenes gallery, Lviv (2022), “The Waxing Crescent Myth”, Experimental Centre Museon, Odesa (2021), etc.
For those who have experienced deportations, expulsions, or are forced to live in exile, memories of their native landscape become one of the main sources of connection with home. This horizon consists of details etched in memory: outlines of mountains, colors of the sky, texture of the soil, warm light, and the sea.
The exhibition brings together artists from different parts of Ukraine who reflect on the theme of memory and resistance in various ways.
This unity is important because we all share a common political, historical, and cultural reality even if our traumatic experiences are different. The temporary occupation of Crimea is a tragedy equally affecting both Crimean Tatars and Ukrainians from mainland Ukraine. And although our dreams, memories, and visions of Crimea’s return may differ, this exhibition emphasizes the importance of solidarity. Solidarity that does not divide the peninsula’s trauma into "theirs" and "ours, " but jointly seeks ways to understand it.
This painting was created with paint made by the artist Katya Buchatska herself. The work belongs to a long series of monochromes, the pigments for which are earth, sand, and silt from different parts of Ukraine. Buchatska started the series after several Ukrainian paint production facilities were destroyed in 2022, and in this way – by making paint herself from pigments from a particular land – she creates a kind of manifesto for defining territory.
The silt from Lake Chokrak, a found home reserve of therapeutic mud, is an ideal fine pigment, as well as a biogenic sulphide mud that has been impossible to access for 11 years.
Mud treatment is contraindicated for certain diseases. For example, heart disease. The artist says: “Crimea is my heart failure. I think that’s why it was especially painful to make Chokrak black”.
About the artist:
Katya Buchatska is an artist living and working in Kyiv. In her practice, she forms a new ontology through personal experience, often using irony and tactics of “soft” intervention in the environment (gallery, museum or natural space). She is a member of the initiative group to preserve the photographic heritage of the Hutsul artist Paraska Plytka-Horytsvit. Since 2016, she has been working with neurodiverse people at the inclusive art studio Workshop of Opportunities in Kyiv. She has exhibited at the Kunstmuseum Stuttgart (Germany), the Museum Folkwang (Essen, Germany), the Art & History Museum in Brussels (Belgium), the Albertinum (Dresden, Germany), the Museum de Fundatie (Zwolle, the Netherlands), and the MUSA: Museo de las Artes de la Universidad de Guadalajara (Guadalajara, Mexico). Personal projects include “Izium – Liverpool” at Liverpool Cathedral (Liverpool, 2023), “You Will See This Light on the Sunniest Day” at hunt kastner gallery (Prague, 2023), “A Very Personal Exhibition” at The Naked Room (Kyiv, 2020).
In 2024, she presented the project “Sincere Congratulations” at the Ukrainian Pavilion at the Venice Biennale.
Poppy Glaucium flavum Crantz (G. luteum Scop. ) – the idea to create a series of works dedicated to the specific flora of Crimean coast came to me back in 2014. Then, after the occupation of Crimea, when I came to my grandfather's village of Kuru-Ozen, I began to notice the plants that cover the dry and rocky soil. These are mostly succulents and thorns that have adapted to the scorching sun and the dry and hot subtropical climate. Plants similar to Poppy have usually dull, ashy green leaves. They are flat growing, clinging deeply to the rocky soil with their roots, so that it is difficult for the wind to pull them out. They have strong and elastic leaves. I was struck by the severity and asceticism of these plants and their strong connection to their native land through their deep roots. Despite the dryness and harshness, the small yellow flowers look fragile, giving hope for continued life.
About the artist:
Elmira Shemsedinova was born in Kyiv in 1989. She graduated with a Master’s degree from the National Academy of Visual Arts and Architecture in 2017. She is an artist, teacher, and art researcher. She has been exhibiting since 2009 and became a member of the National Union of Artists of Ukraine in 2013. With a solid academic background and a deep understanding of art principles from the Renaissance to Modernism, Elmira is skilled in a wide range of techniques. Elmira draws inspiration from the masters of classical art while also innovating by blending this inspiration with modern knowledge to create an authentic, personal language of expression. One of her signature achievements is a technique she developed to imitate the delicate translucency of watercolor using oil paints. Her process is continually evolving as she remains committed to exploring new approaches and ideas. Her approach, rooted in contemplative existentialism, seeks to engage viewers through empathy and compassion. She believes that beauty lies in the everyday and speaks directly to the soul through its unique forms.
She has held 6 solo exhibitions and participated in more than 37 collective projects, auctions, and art fairs in Ukraine and abroad. Her artworks are part of various collections in Europe, the USA, and China. Elmira is also an active participant in competitions, international art residencies, and contemporary art symposiums. She is currently based in Graz, Austria.
The Encyclopedia of Amazing Facts series. Fact No. 117.
“Crimean peninsula is home to the endemic plant Adenophora taurica, which rarely grows in greenhouses of botanical gardens and cannot be grown at home. ”
Initially, for this project, I wanted to depict the Red Book Crimean plant Aspicilia vagans. It looks more distinctive and is rarer in distribution compared to Crimean Ladybells. However, metaphorically and literally, I really want Crimean Tatars and other Crimean residents to never wander the world again and return home to their land as soon as possible. That’s why I chose Crimean Ladybells, in the hope that the international community will hear the voice of Ukraine and all those who were forced to leave their homes due to Russia’s illegal annexation of Crimea.
About the artist:
Born in 1979 ( Sokyriany, Chernivtsi region, Ukraine)
Artist, photography researcher, curator of art projects.
Graduated from Sokyriany Art School, studied at the Faculty of Design of the Lviv National Academy of Arts and at the FotoDepartament Institute (St. Petersburg), where in 2012 he wrote the work “Theory and Practice of Photography 2000-2010”. Co-founder of the BOOKSHA publishing house, ideologist and editor-in-chief of the anthology of contemporary Ukrainian photography “UPHA Made in Ukraine” (BOOKSHA publishing, 2021). In 2016, he initiated the creation of UIPH (Ukrainian Institute of Photography). Since 2017, he has been the coordinator of the UPHA (Ukrainian Photographic Alternative) association.
As an artist, he explores myth-making processes and their impact on society. In addition to photography, he works with drawing, collage, installation and sculpture.
I am connected to Crimea by my childhood memories and a strong reflection on the culture of Crimean Tatars. My mother tongue and first language is Azerbaijani, which is a member of the Turkic group of languages, as well as Crimean Tatar and Karaite. For this reason, I was able to understand Crimean Tatar songs and literature since childhood, which undoubtedly only strengthened my desire to get to know this cultural phenomenon. For me, every trip to Crimea was associated with incredible adventures in a fantasy world, because everything seemed new, unusual, but surprisingly interesting.
The presented work “Capture” is an image of Crimean Comperia, an endangered plant of the Orchid family. I was interested in this plant because it has a fictional appearance. Comperia seems to combine bionic elements from animals, plants and fungi at the same time. It is an endangered plant mainly because of the decrease in soil moisture.
About the artist:
Works in the field of sculpture, installation, land art, and graphics.
Explores the themes of human connection with nature, memory and spontaneity.
Has participated in projects such as “Internally Displaced Landscape” in Sarzhyn Yar in Kharkiv, opened a solo exhibition “Reclamation” at the Kharkiv Municipal Gallery, the RYSOWAC competition and the exhibition “Personnel” in Torun, Poland, etc.
Lives and works in Kharkiv.
In this project of nine monotypes, I explore the phenomenon of “wandering”, which combines natural processes and historical experience. The central element of the series is the Aspicilia vagans plant, which seems to move from one leaf to another with its unusual, wandering body. This visual technique has become a metaphor for constant movement.
The format of the series reinforces the sense of fragmentation: each print acts as an autonomous unit, while at the same time forming part of a larger whole. This reflects the experience of forced displacement: people and cultures become divided, scattered in space and time. But at the same time, they all form a common history, as the individual works of the series are combined into a single work.
Over the centuries, Crimean Tatars have been forced to look for new places to live, suffered losses, and were forced to “wander” in search of safety. Their history is a testament to their incredible ability to adapt, preserve their identity and resilience in the face of external challenges.
Monotyping is a technique that itself has an element of unpredictability. It allows you to create images that seem to dissolve, leaving only traces. This correlates with the way the history of forced displacement leaves imprints on people's experiences.
For me personally, as a person who has been living between Ukraine and Germany for the past two years, the concept of wandering takes on a special meaning. Modern Ukraine is going through a similar process: people, like this plant, are forced to adapt to new realities.
About the artist:
Sofiya Golubeva is an interdisciplinary artist from Odesa who lives and works between Berlin and Odesa.
She graduated from the Grekov Odesa Art School (2015), took a course in Contemporary Art at KAMA (2019) and received her BA (2019) and MA (2021) at the National Academy of Visual Arts and Architecture. Since 2024, she has been a student at the Berlin University of the Arts on a scholarship from the German government.
Works with painting, graphics, performance, installation, video and mosaic. She explores topics such as memory, the impact of war on life and landscape, and the role of painting in the digital age.
She has participated in international exhibitions, residencies and festivals in Ukraine and abroad. Her work has been published in Tagesspiegel, Frankfurter Allgemeine, Mitec, NWZ, Monopol, TAZ, MorgenPost, etc…
This work depicts a lady’s-slipper orchid, a rare plant listed in the Red Book of Ukraine that grows in Crimea. Its delicate shape is combined with the image of a human hand holding this vulnerable plant. This gesture emphasises the fragility and at the same time the strength of life, which needs protection and care.
The lady’s-slipper orchid become a symbol of resilience and renewal, and the hand is a metaphor for human responsibility for nature.
In this work, the artist depicted a branch of juniper, another plant from the Red Book of Ukraine that is found in Crimea. It is combined with the image of a human figure holding this branch, creating a symbolic connection between the body and nature.
A branch of juniper, strong and stable, in the hands of a person becomes a sign of hope, strength and renewal. The figures in these works are not only witnesses, but also participants in the story of a life that continues despite any obstacles.
About the artist:
She was born in 1999 in Sievierodonetsk, Luhansk region. In 2019, she graduated from the Kharkiv Art School majoring as a Painting Teacher, and in 2023, she received a bachelor’s degree from the National Academy of Visual Arts and Architecture, majoring in Easel and Monumental Painting. She currently lives and works in Kyiv.
In her practice, she works with painting, collage, animation and embroidery. In her works, she depicts architectural structures and constructions, as well as landscapes, focusing on the emptiness, hollowness and decay of these spaces and objects. However, the architectural elements themselves in the artist’s works appear as the scenery of the urban space. At the same time, the thematically and figuratively significant place in the centre of the works is occupied by the disclosure of human feelings, emotional states and social aspects of life.
The artist's works are presented in the second edition of the Ukrainian part of the Secondary Archive, as well as in the archival projects “The Sky Is Open. Voices From Ukraine” and “Ukraine on Fire” (from the Small Gallery of the Mystetskyi Arsenal). She participated in the recent group exhibitions ‘Secondary Archive: Women Artists in War’ (Galeria Labirynt, Lublin), “Sense of Security” (YermilovCentre, Kharkiv), and personal exhibitions “It is impossible to restore cracks in a dried layer” (Galeria Labirynt, Lublin). Residencies “Ukrainian Ecologies” (by IZOLYATSIA and the Ukrainian Network of Environmental Humanities), Residence for Ukrainian feminist artists organised by the Martin Roth Initiative and others.
Personally, I would call this flower the Kerch Knapweed, because it is endemic – it grows only on the coasts of my peninsula. But, despite everything, it managed to spread a little further – to the coast of Port Caucasus – to the other side of the Kerch Strait and a little further. To the place where I used to walk around all the slopes and hollows, collecting healing herbs together with my grandmother, a shamanic plant protector.
This simple and seemingly ordinary flower somehow holds my heart: it is my parents’ favourite flower.
Looking at its thin pink and sometimes purple petals, fragile stem and leaves like soft needles, I seem to feel an invisible door opening to my home.
I can smell the delicate aroma of warm steppe grasses and salt that has emerged from the landslides of salt marshes and red ore.
I can hear the gentle sound of waves on the warm, fish-rich Sea of Azov.
I see wild horses that have been running all day through these steppe flower bushes, as if on scattered colourful gems that shimmer under the scorching sun.
I hear myself.
I feel myself.
I am alive.
My home is inside me.
It is fragile.
A home that is forever present in memories and endless metaphors of signs, echoes of memory, in small things, in the colours of pictures on the Internet and the wavy streets of Google Maps...
- Grandma, what are these strange bulbs? They look unusual... small and colourful. Can I try them in a salad?
- You know, they are really very special. There are almost no more of them left. Can you imagine, these bulbs are the roots of a magical flower, which has huge purple-blue petals with crimson-yellow-red pistils and stamens? Just think how ruthless and cruel we humans are... we have almost destroyed these beautiful flowers, and now they are almost gone in nature. This is the Bieberstein’s crocus – an endemic, it grows exclusively in special places on our peninsula. Can you imagine, these bulbs can produce beautiful flowers, which, unlike most plants and their relatives, wake up in autumn. Such a fresh autumn flower, similar to a crocus, is only more special, even more beautiful and refined, it gives spring hope when all nature “falls asleep” – in autumn. Let’s plant these bulbs in our secret greenhouse right now. And then, when they are stronger and there are at least a little more of them, we will go on a trip to the mountains and plant them there. And let’s also send our friends a few bulbs by post so that they can plant them on the mountain slopes too. Can you imagine, our whole Crimea will bloom with the most beautiful flowers when all nature begins to plunge into autumn melancholy and “fall asleep”?
- Grandma, are they healing?
- Yes, little one, this flower is very special. It is incredibly vulnerable and fragile, but inside it is so strong that it can slow down aging.
- And death?... Oh! I have an idea! Let’s grow lots and lots of Bieberstein’s crocus bulbs, and then plant them everywhere we can get to. And we’ll send them to all your friends – psychics, agronomists and yogis. We’ll write them instructions on how to reproduce and grow Bieberstein’s crocus, so that they can plant this miracle flower on all the slopes and coasts, in all the parks and lawns. So that no one would ever “fall asleep” again...
About the artist:
Mariya Kulikovska is a multimedia/hybrid artist, architect, action artist, researcher and lecturer. She was born in 1988 in Kerch, on Crimean peninsula, Ukraine. After the annexation of Crimea by the russian federation, she lived and worked in Kyiv and in the EU as a refugee and internally displaced person. After the occupation of Crimean peninsula in spring 2014, the artist never returned to her hometown.
Mariya holds a Master’s degree from the National Academy of Fine Arts and Architecture (2007-2013) in Kyiv, Ukraine (MA in Architecture of Buildings and Structures) and a second Master’s degree in Fine Arts from Konstfack University, Stockholm, Sweden. She is currently invited to conduct doctoral research in drama, performance, gender studies and displacement at De Montfort University, Leicester, the UK.
The artist founded the international art group and open feminist art platform Flowers of Democracy in 2015. Later, in 2017, together with Oleh Vinnichenko, she founded the School of Political Performance, a cultural platform for independent art. The second half of 2016 was the beginning of Mariia Kulikovska's collaboration with Oleh Vinnichenko, and March 8, 2017 is considered the official date of the foundation of MK+OV studio.
Creating this painting, I was thinking about the eternal struggle between two opposites – preservation and destruction. The painstaking work of research, collecting and gardening can take years, while it can take only a moment to destroy this work. In this case, we no longer know the fate of the rare plant in the occupied territory, but it was very important for me to recreate its appearance at least from a photo. Over the barely visible image of the flower, I applied perforations that resemble a metal fence.
About the artist:
Born in 2000 in Kyiv. Temporarily lives and works in Vienna, Austria. Graduated from the National Academy of Fine Arts and Architecture, specialising in monumental painting, Master’s degree. She is currently studying at the University of Applied Arts die Angewandte in Vienna, Austria, Department of Painting. Co-founder of the artist-run space “arka arka” (Vienna).
In her work, she reflects on such topics as memories and collective memory, the relationship between humans and the environment. Works with such media as painting, sculpture, and sound.
I have been to Crimea twice, I think. And each time we stayed in Yevpatoria. For me, this is a semi-mythical place. Most of my ideas were formed or continue to be formed from memories and descriptions of friends and acquaintances. So I chose something common and something subtle. The Stipa borysthenica has become rare in the places I also call home, but now, every time I find it, I will think of Crimea.
About the artist:
Tamara Turlyun (born in 1995, Pavlivka village, Cherkasy region) is a Ukrainian artist who works with graphics, painting, video, mosaics and sculpture, and also teaches. She lives and works in Kyiv. In 2016 she graduated from the Faculty of Fine Arts of the Dnipro Theatre and Art College (DTAC). In 2019, she graduated from the Department of Painting at the Monumental Art Studio of the National Academy of Visual Arts and Architecture of Ukraine and the KAMA programme in 2021. Co-founder of the self-organised space Depot12_59. Co-founder and member of kein Kaffee, keine Blumen, kein Fisch, kein Fleisch.
Participant in numerous residency programmes and group and solo exhibitions.
A video immersion into the events of February 26, 2014 in Simferopol. Returning to the last image of the sea – a crowd of protesters inside the building of the Supreme Council of Crimea.
On that day, I was in the courtyard of the Supreme Council. I was dragged to a corner of the atrium and watched the event as if from the outside: thousands of winter jackets and hats were raging inside and deafening waves of whistling.
It was the fifth day after the victory of the Maidan, and I was afraid for Crimea amid the statements of the pro-Russian authorities on the peninsula. On February 26, in the midst of a huge crowd, there was a sense of victory for the second time. On February 27, Russian troops entered, and Russian special forces occupied and blocked the building of the Supreme Council of Crimea.
On February 26, my personal countdown of events began. A day I remember very well, because it started a series of events that have been going on to this day. There is an irreversibility that connects that day and the present, which is 11 years of war. It's hard for me not to think about what would have happened if. Several thousand people gathered near the Verkhovna Rada in Simferopol, what would have happened if we hadn’t left? The very next morning, the building was seized, what would have happened if we had stayed overnight? The next day, the Russian army was in the city, what would have happened if we had known about it a few hours earlier? The imagination generates a scenario where the war stopped at that moment, never having started.
About the artist:
An artist from Crimea (Aqmescit) who works on the theme of loss of home and forgetting.
Svitlana Konoplyova moved to Kyiv from her native Crimea during the Maidan. She is an urbanist, worked at the General Plan Institute and Agents of Change.
In my artistic practice, I explore the lyricism of the landscape, its decline, memory and biomes. As I am interested in both history and natural sciences, the scientific component is the basis for my research and work.
I became interested in the topic of refugia – areas where certain species, mostly plants in my works, survive in unfavourable conditions (climatic, economic, historical, etc. ). I became interested in this topic when I lived in the Kherson region and became more acute during the occupation of the South.
An expressive embodiment of such natural capsules are the mounds common to my region and Crimea. Mounds preserve the original flora of the region in their soil. Even after excavations and surrounded by artificial landscapes, they contain seeds and roots of plants that grew there thousands of years ago. Nowadays, when information about the occupied regions is fragmented, the existence of refugia as islands of local memory is a meditative and inspiring phenomenon.
Working with this topic, I study the historical and environmental context of the region during and after the full-scale invasion.
The refugium can be perceived as a state of numbness/waiting/internal tension from which we will one day emerge. For me, it is partly a metaphor for returning to the de-occupied lands from the relatively safe place I am currently living in. Or maybe it’s just a real ecological scenario where organisms can reclaim their natural territories.
About the artist:
In her practice, she explores the memory of place, the lyrics of the landscape and works with the historical context of her region. Her works balance on the edge of fiction and reality, the common and the personal.
Works with installation, graphics and found objects.
A reflection of the future in children’s eyes that have long since lost their carefree nature. The painting conveys the internal struggle between the past and the future: dark strokes are the imprint of the past, light shades are glimpses of hope. It is a look through an experience that changes but does not deprive of dreams.
About the artist:
The artist decided not to reveal her identity in order to protect her relatives who are in Crimea.
I notice how entire pieces of the map get wiped out of my memory. Some routes won't load — I can't reproduce them. Blind spots appear in my imaginary walks around the city.
It is one of the symptoms of helplessness, prolonged despondency, “infection” with reality, which replaces the initial shock. The works from the series “A Guide Before Confession” are imprints of states that are felt almost physically. They cannot be ignored, cannot be eradicated, they require a reaction. The title of the series hints at the sinfulness of these feelings, the need for purification. But is confession possible in a space where the boundary between past and present is broken?
Infinit return is one of the states identified “between farewell and return”. It is about a life that disintegrates between the hyperbole of the past and the deprivation of the present. A wandering figure, losing itself in the constant repetition of stories, events, feelings. An idler is faceless, or someone who walks in circles, unable to stop their own restlessness.
Crimea is also a story of endless return. A story of exile, deportation, return and exile again. It is a memory that clings to every fragment of space. Again and again.
About the artist:
She was born in 1999 in Odesa. Graduated from the Grekov Odesa Art School, Department of Painting (2018). She entered the National Academy of Fine Arts and Architecture, Department of Graphic Arts (free form); from 2019 to 2023 she transferred to the Faculty of Art Theory and History for part-time studies. In her practice, she works with a total installation, creating a “situation”, which the artist identifies as “co-existence”, “co-event”, using various media, where the main and central element is the author's personal diary-notebook. In 2020-2022, she was a participant and co-founder of the creative community at OSRZ-2 (an abandoned shipyard in Odesa), which influenced and developed the theme of situational, fragile art in the context of “coexistence” with the other.
Travelling around Crimea (2006-2015), I always tried to visit the places my grandfather painted, to see and photograph those old houses I remembered from my childhood, or what unfortunately remained of them.
By comparing these photos with my grandfather’s works, one can really see how the face of Crimea changed in the second half of the 20th and early 21st centuries. The wild resort business of the Soviet era and the 90s and the staggering degradation after the annexation of Crimea, over the past 11 years of Russian rule, have left a terrible mark on the once flourishing, original land.
Nowadays, most of the picturesque authentic corners have either disappeared forever or are extremely distorted, only vaguely resembling the landscapes immortalised in the works of my father and grandfather.
About the artist:
Irfan Shemsedinov was born in 1919 in Yevpatoria (Kezlev) to the family of the artist Gafar Shemsedinov.
He graduated from the Kharkiv Institute of Municipal Construction Engineers, Faculty of Architecture (now the O. M. Beketov National University of Urban Economy in Kharkiv).
He taught at the National Academy of Fine Arts and Architecture in Kyiv, was a professor and dean of the Faculty of Architecture.
His designs were used to build facilities in Kyiv and Crimea.
About the artist:
Irfanovych Shemsedinov was born in Kyiv in 1952 and became an architect. He loved travelling around Crimea, exploring its places and landscapes. He also painted many Crimean motifs. He studied autochthonous toponymy and knew mountain silhouettes and authentic place names perfectly. He painted many of his works during his own travels in Crimea, and in particular alongside his father.
On the first map, I marked the place where I lived in the first years after my birth: a dormitory in Uzbekistan, the city of Kirguli (or Kirgili). I have a good memory, I clearly remember myself from the age of 4 and flashes, years when I didn’t even walk yet, I remember my thoughts... My dad is the same way.
I consider Crimea to be my homeland, I am a Crimean Tatar. It was in this small town in Uzbekistan, thanks to conversations with my father, communication with my parents, that I felt this desire to settle in Crimea one day, I felt that I needed Crimea. It is interesting that it was in Kirguli that I first gained experience of war. The events of 1989 are correctly called the Fergana Massacre, and we called them war among ourselves. I was 7, I saw attacks on people from the window, we had a curfew from 9 p. m., buildings and cars were burnt on the streets. I have 2 younger sisters, and every night some men would knock on the door and want to take my dad away. The feeling of fear for my loved ones was constant, and at night I could not sleep until I said a fictional childhood prayer to God. It was the beginning of the journey to Crimea.
The red clay map shows the first place where we settled in Crimea. A village with unpaved roads in the steppe Crimea, with one school for 5 villages. The summer was beautiful, warm, with the aromas of herbs, the Salgir River, and wild cherries. The children at school were different from those in Uzbekistan: it was very important what your nationality was. They used to scare each other with Crimean Tatars... When I told them I was a Crimean Tatar, they were surprised that I didn't seem to be like what their parents told them.
About the artist:
Leonora Yanko started her active exhibition activity in 2021 with the series “UFO. Too Gentle Object” and “BUDALI” series. Individual works and the UFO series are dedicated to the topic of the temporarily occupied Crimea, reflections on the autobiographical facts of Crimean Tatar people’s resilience.
The works have been presented at more than 20 solo and group exhibitions in museums and galleries in Ukraine, and have also been part of exhibition projects in Italy, Switzerland, and Germany. Some of her works are in museum collections.
In parallel with her artistic activity, since 2014, she has been engaged in documentary research projects on the Russian-Ukrainian war and the stories of the heroic resistance of the Ukrainian people. Some of the projects are embodied in the permanent exhibition of the Berlin Wall Museum Mauermuseum – Museum Haus am Checkpoint Charlie (Berlin, Germany).
In order to draw attention to Crimean resistance and Crimean political prisoners, in 2023, an art project was implemented to spread street art objects by the brother of Kremlin political prisoners Bohdan Ziza on the streets of Kyiv and Berlin, including a fragment of the Berlin Wall.
I am a Tulip
I was born among patterns, in a world where everyone had their place, where lines intertwined in a cyclical unity of harmony, absorbing dreams of the future. I grew up in this pattern, feeling the warmth of the colours, listening to the whispers of others like me. We are all a part of this single canvas.
My path is not easy. The wind of change lifts me up, throws me into the unknown, but I do not resist. I carry the memory of my origins, and the ornament imprinted in my petals protects me. I know that my path continues, the space I have vacated becomes a place for those who come after me. I stay close, on the border between what has been and what is yet to be created.
This has always been the case. It will continue to be so. The knowledge will not fade away because it will be picked up by others.
I am a traveller.
I am a Tulip.
About the artist:
Rustem Skybin was born on April 6, 1976 in Samarkand, Uzbekistan. He is one of the most famous contemporary Crimean Tatar ceramists, potters, traditional and contemporary artists, ethnographers, ornamentalists, graphic designers and interior designers. Rustem is also a teacher.
As the initiator and curator of the largest projects on Crimean culture in Ukraine, he focuses on research, preservation and restoration of authentic art, as well as the development of contemporary Crimean Tatar culture.
Rustem Skybin actively promotes Crimean Tatar culture in Ukraine, the EU, the UK, the USA, Canada, as well as in the Middle East and Asia-Pacific. He is a member of the International Foundation of Masters of Decorative and Applied Arts “Michelangelo” (2021) and Honoured Master of Folk Art of Ukraine (2020).
Rustem’s works are kept in the collections of national and world museums, including the collections of the White House in the United States and the British Parliament in the United Kingdom.
that which exists beyond words
in a space where words carry a threat
silence does not mean consent
refusal does not mean absence
the unspoken does not mean nonexistent
a worldview that cannot be voiced exists inside
Basement is a place where secrets are hidden and the biggest treasures are kept. Where voices sometimes get silent. Since 2014, silence has become familiar to many.
But what if this basement becomes a place where people tell stories and share memories, where we reclaim our right to speak about the past and the future? It's safe here.
The dialogue will be started by two artists in different remembrance positions. She is a Crimean Tatar whose family survived deportation and a return home. Which is what the artist herself now dreams of. He has been to Crimea only once.
They speak in a whisper. We need to listen closely.
First, Stanislav will take the floor. Or rather, he will encourage us to speak up. To envision, fantasize, imagine, and see dreams about Crimea.
Whereas Sevilâ's work will become the light at the end of the tunnel. But this is not the end of this story.
Those who live in Ukraine can be divided into two types: those who have been to Crimea or not.
I belong to those who have been, once. Back in 2010. It was not for studying or memorising, because at that time I did not think that returning or visiting Crimea would be complicated by the annexation and war.
How can I return to Crimea now? Now? I think to myself.
To do this, I return to an old idea. To the laboratory of dreams about Crimea.
Dreams can take those who have been there and those who have never been there to Crimea.
They can be real or fantasy.
You may never dream about Crimea, but it is possible to dream about it. Our laboratory is working on this challenge through an experiment.
About the artist:
Stanislav Turina is an artist and poet from Ukraine, born in 1988 in Makiivka, Donetsk region. In his practice he works with various media: graphics, performance, land art, installation, contextual painting, etc. He has been a freelance artist since 2011, co-founder and co-curator of several non-profit galleries in Lviv, and a participant in international projects such as the 58th Venice Biennale.
He is also a co-founder and curator of the Atelier Normale in Kyiv (2021 – present).
Where words carry the risk of distortion.
Where THEY listen to your every intention, and the danger is inscribed in the landscape, the rhythm of life and movement algorithms. THEY change perceptions, turning them into sensors that continuously pick up signs: a look that lasts too long, a shadow moving in the “wrong” direction, a sound that shouldn’t be there. Every statement can be interpreted, distorted, used against you.
Where silence becomes a choice to speak and a parallel dimension of communication that exists outside the power of THOSE who try to fit you into the framework of their interpretation. Words hide in intonations, in gestures that seem random; they wake up in night conversations when silence becomes more reliable than sound. It is an action that uses the space between sounds instead of the space between them.
Where silence lingers, it grows into new forms. The longer you hold it, the more it expands, gaining shape, becoming the architecture of the hidden – where every curve holds a whole universe of ineffable things.
About the artist:
The artist decided not to reveal her identity in order to protect her relatives who are in Crimea.
