We are sitting on a bench in Ivan Franko Park in Lviv. The leaves on the trees shimmer like sequins, reflecting the midsummer sun, the shade provides relief from the heat, as do the iced drinks we are sipping. We have spoken about family, about politics, about the war, about the future. We talk about our parents and how my mum and my uncle S have aged since they were here last. H says, ‘Do you know my Tato still prunes his trees the way S told him how to when he visited in 2012.’ I laugh, this epitomises my family, how to prune is as vital a skill as how to collect and store firewood. Essentials for survival that we hold onto. H says, ‘Not only is he pruning his trees that way but now he has the whole village pruning that way.’ I laugh even harder. The unique method S uses is one that his Tato had taught him. I sit in comfort, knowing that this particular process of cutting buds and branches to encourage more growth came from Halychyna and travelled to regional Victoria and then some sixty years later returned home to Halychyna.
In July 2024 UNESCO published a list of 431 cultural sites verified as having been damaged or destroyed by Russia since 24 February 2022.[1] The list includes museums, monuments, libraries, religious sites and other buildings of cultural and historical significance. This list is expected to grow and does not include what was destroyed in the first stage of war, between 2014 - 2022.
We sat on little stools and we were eating cheap vanilla ice cream with fresh blueberries from plastic cups. I listened for familiar words, laughed when others laughed, smiled and sighed, mimicking body language to show my willingness to communicate, even though my Ukrainian is limited. For a moment you could forget that we were surrounded by camouflage, which was being prepared to send to the front, as well as mortar and munition shells that had been sent back from the front in gratitude for the huge mass of camouflage this group produced each day. The man who had a little English put a song on his phone, everyone started humming and singing. The man to the right of me turned to me and spoke quickly; I grasped a few words and looked in the direction of the man with the phone. He held it up to show me the band and said ‘From Canada, during Soviet times this music was banned; those in Canada could play it. We listen now to remember those hard times.’
A list of Ukrainian museums outside Ukraine:[2]
Ukrainian Museum of Australia, Naarm/Melbourne, Australia
Ukrainian Museum South Australia, Tarntanya/Adelaide, Australia
Museo Y Centro Cultural Ucraniano Apóstoles, Misiones Province, Argentina
Ukrainian Memorial, Curitiba, Brazil
Ukrainian National Museum of Chicago, Chicago, USA
Ukrainian Institute of Modern Art, Chicago, USA
The Ukrainian Museum, Lenapehoking/New York, USA
Ukrainian Institute of America, Lenapehoking/New York, USA
Ukrainian American Archives & Museum, Waawiyatanong/Detroit, USA
Ukrainian Museum-Archives, Ohio, USA
Ukrainian Museum and Library, Connecticut, USA
Ukrainian History and Education Center of NJ, Lenapehoking/New Jersey, USA
Ukrainian Museum of Canada, Alberta Branch, Amiskwaciy Waskahikan/Alberta, Canada
Ukrainian Museum of Canada, Calgary Collection, Moh'kinstsis/Calgary, Canada
Ukrainian Museum of Canada, Manitoba Branch, Canada
Ukrainian Museum of Canada, Ontario Branch, Tkaronto/Toronto, Canada
Ukrainian Museum of Canada, Saskatoon, Canada
Back on the park bench, H comments on how amazing it is that my family and I in Australia make писанка. ‘When did you learn?’ she asks. ‘I actually don’t know,’ I respond. For as long as I remember each Easter the dining table would be covered in newspaper, dyes would be prepared and the smell of melting beeswax would drift through the house. I do have an early memory, maybe I was four or five and I couldn’t yet hold a kистка but instead I would melt crayons and drop the wax onto the egg. H says that she never got to learn but her daughter C really wants to. I say, ‘well that's not surprising, when you were a child you would not have been allowed to make them under Soviet occupation.’ I say, ‘next Easter let's video-call and I will teach C.’
In 2023 at the University of Technology Sydney, visiting researcher Daryna Zhyvohliadova gave a presentation outlining the evolving and complex process of evacuating and storing artwork across Ukraine. Since 2014, close to half a million artworks have been removed from galleries and museums to be safe-guarded. This process is meticulously documented in an online database through the Ukrainian government and Ministry for Culture.[3] High-security measures have been applied to the database so the artworks can not be located by Russian intelligence. Conservators in Ukraine are fast becoming the most adept in the field as they prepare works to go into storage indefinitely and in locations not originally built for the long-term storage of artworks but which are now necessary to protect the work from missile attack.[4]
Ukraine’s Ministry for Culture claims that over 480,000 artworks have been stolen and looted by Russia.
In Naarm, E and I are working on an exhibition at the Ukrainian Museum of Australia. The museum contains over 10,000 items, either created by the diaspora or collected and brought over from Ukraine. One day at the museum a group of people come through. I am later informed that they are recent refugees. E and I are sorting Pушник, considering what to include in the exhibition. A woman from the group inspects the pile we had put aside. She checks for the craftsmanship by turning over each piece to look at the back — the proof of good embroidery is in the back. ‘These,’ she says in Ukrainian, 'are rare, it’s hard to find pieces like this in Ukraine, here in Australia you have so many.’
In 2022 the Ivankiv Historical and Local History Museum in Kyiv Oblast was targeted and burnt, destroying twenty-five paintings of one of Ukraine’s most recognised folk painters, Maria Prymachenko.[5] In March 2024 the Mykhailo Boichuk Kyiv State Academy of Decorative and Applied Arts and Design was hit in a Russian air strike.[6] The destruction of artworks of historical and cultural significance, along with the targeting of an art school producing the next generation of Ukrainian artists, exemplifies Russia’s objective of genocide, including the erasure of Ukrainian art and culture.
I have returned from Ukraine. E and I are finalising preparations for our show at the museum. Each object we have chosen to exhibit holds so much weight; we try to give each piece the respect it deserves, and the respect the volunteers who care for the collection deserve. Each object contains history and its journey. Even when undocumented and no provenance is known, it holds a story of culture, of leaving, of survival, of preservation.
[1]UNESCO, ‘Damaged Cultural Sites in Ukraine verified by UNESCO’, 2024, https://www.unesco.org/en/articles/damaged-cultural-sites-ukraine-verified-unesco (accessed 22 October 2024).
[2]Traditional place names have been included where they could be identified at time of publishing.
[3] This database is private, with access only given to approved personnel.
[4]The Economist, ‘Inside the Hunt for Ukraine’s Stolen Art,’ 5 January 2024, https://www.economist.com/culture/2024/01/05/inside-the-hunt-for-ukraines-stolen-art (accessed 22 October 2024).
[5]The Kyiv Independent, ‘Russian forces burn museum with paintings of Maria Prymachenko’, 30 January 2022, https://kyivindependent.com/russian-forces-burn-museum-with-paintings-of-maria-prymachenko/ (accessed 22 October 2024).
[6] The Kyiv Independent, ‘Missiles hit Kyiv seconds after air raid alert, leaving people no time to shelter’, 25 March 2024, https://kyivindependent.com/todays-attack-on-kyiv/
Kiera Brew Kurec lives and works on Gadigal land. In her practice she uses ritual as a framework for performance-making, presenting and archiving. Her work includes live performance, photography, video, installation and textiles. Brew Kurec often references her Ukrainian heritage, using ritual actions, cultural iconography and symbology to create transformative environments.