I heard this from Slava, a 30-year-old man from Ivankiv, a town occupied by the Russians early in the invasion (and liberated on the 1st of April). Slava is still in Ukraine; I have had several WhatsApp conversations with him lately and he has told me about his traumatic experiences. Before the war, he worked in a tech repair shop as a phone technician. When the Russians entered the town, his wife and son were in a village approximately 30 kilometres away. A few days into the occupation, Slava got on a bike and set off to see his family, accompanied by a friend who also wanted to see his relatives. On the way there, they were stopped at a roadblock by Russian soldiers, who detained them and accused them of being spies “out for reconnaissance”. They were taken to an abandoned school building and kept there during the following days.
“There were maybe four Russian soldiers and an officer. Their ‘chief’, he was the most disgusting and brutal of them,” Slava remembers with a halting voice. “But something happened, I’m not sure what, and the chief disappeared, then the others didn’t know what to do. So they released us and continued on their way. If that guy had come back, we’d definitely be dead now. Apart from the shock I experienced and all that violence, I can say I’ve had a revelation of sorts about people… in general. Maybe I’m a little naive, but I wouldn’t have imagined that human beings can be so evil at heart, that people can do things like that. And I’m not saying this out of hatred for the Russians or anything, I actually had a lot of Russian friends and family in Moscow. But this experience shook me completely, it’s been more than I can describe.”
The day Ivankiv was freed, people went out into the streets and hugged. Slava’s wife and child were able to come home, and now they are together, trying to put their lives back together. ‘Yes, we’re more or less alright now, it’s all quiet… for now. The problem is many of us – including a lot of young people – have lost their jobs. Times are really hard.’
Like others in Ivankiv, Slava tried to document the situation there after the Russians had left. He took dozens of photos – a whole record of ruins and disaster. Among the places he photographed is the Ivankiv History Museum, which held the most important collection of artworks by Maria Primachenko (1909-1997). A fascinating, world-class artist with whom the locals have always prided themselves. 25 of her paintings have been completely destroyed in the bombing. In Slava’s words, ‘I’m no huge art fan, but I don’t get it… why destroy a museum?!’ I will give more information on Maria Primachenko and the fate of the museum in a future post.
PART II
In a previous post, I was telling you about Slava, a 30-year old man in Ivankiv (Ukraine) who was held captive by Russian soldiers in an abandoned school in the neighbouring village (with other civilians in the area). He was released after a few days, and a week later the Ukrainian army recaptured Ivankiv. Slava told me that, though still traumatised, his first instinct was to photograph the aftermath. This, of course, happened after the Russians had withdrawn.
‘It’s not like I’m some huge aficionado or know much about art, but I was shocked that the Russians bombed our museum,’ Slava told me. ‘What was even sadder was that the bombing destroyed many artworks by Maria Primachenko, an artist we are very proud of here in Ivankiv.’
Maria Primacenko (1909-1997) is a fascinating figure in Ukrainian art. Born to a peasant family, she made a name for herself as a self-taught artist and went through several stages in her creative development: first naïve art (rich in folklore motifs and animal allegories), followed – after a two-decade break – by a fantasy phase with psychedelic touches, inspired by her dreams (in which, however, folklore remains a constant theme). There would be much to say about Primachenko, including the fact that artists like Picasso and Chagall declared themselves impressed with her style. In the current context, her art is the very opposite of war: luminous, colourful, optimistic. It wasn’t by chance that her works have become symbols of peace in the last months.
I keep imagining Slava, still stunned by his experience as a prisoner, making his way among the ruins in Ivankiv and the burnt walls of the museum, holding his phone, trying to document all he could. According to several international publications, 25 of Maria Primachenko’s works have been destroyed. Ten others have been saved by a local, who managed to get them out in time.
Testimony collected by Ionuț Sociu for the Musem of Abandonment, as a part of the Abandonment Baggage campaign. This project is financed by CARE through the Sera Foundation, Care France, and FONPC.
