I really want Russians to see these works

The situation in the occupied territory has changed drastically compared to the beginning of the war. New soldiers have arrived, including those who’d been near Kyiv and in Bucha. They’re all very depressed, angry, as if cornered.

In March and April, there were active protests and rallies in Kherson. Now there are no rallies at all. It’s dangerous. The streets are pure '90s — total lawlessness.

Traffic lights don’t work, there are loads of wrecked cars. Grocery stores are open, selling only basic products like flour and grains. There’s no more looting, because there’s nothing left to loot. Shops that sold appliances or clothing were ransacked long ago, shut and boarded up.

No theaters, no cinemas, no galleries are operating. All I can do is post my work online.

War forces people to grow up. Many weren’t prepared for such emotional upheaval. Neither was I. Everything I did was more focused on myself, on my own ambitions. Now it’s become obvious that personal goals are absolutely secondary to what’s happening around us. I no longer believe that art can exist detached from society and its suffering.

I’ve seen artists whom the war has broken. Who are only now making their first attempts to return to work. When you live under constant stress, there’s simply no energy for creative work.

In ordinary life, an artist is a colorful parrot screaming and preening, doing anything to stand out. Before, you had to chase after gallerists, prove to people that your art could matter. Now art has regained a power it hasn’t had in a long time. My works mobilize people — they allow the expression of feelings that have no other outlet.

Before the war, far less time went into the creative process itself than now. During the war, the art itself has moved to the foreground. And there are those who’ve abandoned their craft and gone to the front. Traded brushes and canvases for rifles.

I see a lot of disturbing things — some of them coming from the Russian soldiers who’ve settled in the city. [My] feelings are best conveyed through bodily imagery. Severed legs, for instance. A fairly common occurrence wherever there’s artillery shelling. War is all about legs, really.

Perhaps for Ukrainians who remain in the country, my work isn’t as relevant right now. Everyone here already sees all the horror. But it can be relevant for Europeans, Americans. They’ve long since grown tired of this war, while for me it’s still reality. I see it every day. And this is my choice. My works are a reminder that the war continues.

I would very much want Russians to see these works. They’re told that they came here to save us. But in the past six months, they haven’t saved us — they’ve dragged us to rock bottom. Russian soldiers brought it here.

I think Russians aren’t ready to look at severed limbs. It’s easier for them to perceive this as a special operation conducted with long-range weaponry.

Through my work, I’m also trying to express why people support this war. In my view, they want to experience the same feelings a fan has at a football match. Your team is winning, you feel pride. Post-Soviet society in the '90s, after the collapse of the Soviet Union, suddenly realized that its entire life was a soap bubble, an illusion. There was a feeling of shame — Russians are still troubled by it.

If you don’t feel pride in yourself, you try to feel pride in something else — so you don’t feel fear. That’s why Russians turn to the TV. There you can feel your unity with the football team, with the armed forces that, as the TV tells you, dictate their rules to the rest of the world.

At the same time, I believe the war can change Russian society for the better. Give individuals the freedom that would allow them to develop. But to gain freedom, you have to try, to overcome fear.

Safety is a value that’s understood only by comparison. That’s why I stay and post my work from Ukraine. I don’t want to spend my life being afraid and running.