Wound
2022

I started a series of 75 graphic works in the first days of Russia’s full­scale invasion of Ukraine, in an improvised bomb shelter in an art center in Kharkiv. The world had changed, and the new conditions left me no choice but to use the simple materials I had packed in my emergency backpack. There was a need to react instantly, and drawing became a key action to memorize. The series served as a diary, recording the experience, which laid the groundwork for further understanding of the events we found ourselves in and became a part of. This experience revealed the power of an intuitive choice of material and form, and showed me how to speak the ineffable.
I continued drawing on the evacuation train. It traveled non­stop for a day to Lviv, where I continued to work on the series for a year. This variable, unstable, painful, and lossy process weaved its chronos into this series.
Among my tools were only a black ballpoint pen and a notebook with yellow paper, small enough to take with me, easy to hold on your lap and quickly hide in case of a threat. On my way to a sense of security, I changed my notebooks and pens, just as my path itself changed.
At that time, the ballpoint pen became especially dear and clear to me. The images were simple, emotional, unrestrained, and sensual, reflecting both external and internal changes. It was impossible to distance oneself from the events, not to witness, not to act — to ignore. If a pencil has the ability to be in three planes of time — drawing the “now,” erasing the “past,” adding the “future” — a pen works only with the “now.” It reveals reality only in the moment. At this point, I learned to exist anew. The pen helped me to fixate, and the paper reflected the impermanence. This influenced the character of the drawing. The dashes turned out to be wild, unpredictable, sharp, unconscious, flying apart, filling the white sheet to blackness. A black dash. The black drew all the attention to itself, as if it were absorbing the air, leaving nothing but darkness. The white was like a hope that appeared and disappeared on and off. My actions were a continuation of my fears, doubts, and devastation.
During the year when I created the series, everything around me changed, but the ability to reach for a ballpoint pen and paper remained consistent, as they became a place of safety.
Each line on the paper became a moment — a wound.