MEMENTO ODESA combines classical orchestral music with jazz: the orchestra plays from a score, while Studnitzky, the drummer, and the bassist have separate sections of the compositions for improvisation.

Ahead of the Kyiv concert on August 28, in a Q&A with DTF Magazine, Anastasiia Pokaz talks about how she first met Studnitzky, working on MEMENTO ODESA, and the project’s first concert at the Odesa Philharmonic

More about the project 

— Why did you decide to explore the intersection of jazz and neoclassical music?

— I have always been a jazz singer — it is my natural element, where I feel like myself. Neoclassical music came into my life thanks to Sebastian. His music had been written before we met, but when the idea of recording with an orchestra came up, I suggested going to Odesa and recording with the Odesa Chamber Philharmonic Orchestra.

He agreed without hesitation, and there was so much openness in that decision, such a genuine desire to get to know the country, the musicians, and the people. Not just to record the music, but to engage with the context.

It really surprised me and won me over. That was when this genre appeared in my life — neoclassical music at the intersection of jazz. And I have to say, singing with an orchestra is something truly out of this world. The scale and depth of the sound are unlike anything else. It makes me genuinely happy.

— Tell us more about your collaboration with Sebastian. How did your partnership come about? 

— When the full-scale war began, I was invited to a jazz conference in Barcelona as a Ukrainian jazz producer and cultural curator. I spoke about Ukraine, the full-scale invasion, and how important it was to engage the jazz community in supporting Ukrainian artists. After my speech, Sebastian approached me. He recognized me — a few years earlier, before the COVID-19 pandemic, we had talked about bringing XJAZZ! to Odesa.

But first came COVID, and then the war, so the idea remained unrealized. But we met again — at the most dramatic moment of my life, after I had left Ukraine.

Sebastian became more than just a professional partner to me. He became a close person, a friend, part of my family. Almost all the projects I work on now, I do together with him. He’s an incredible person, a true artist. I love people like that.

— Why is the project called MEMENTO ODESA? And how would you describe its concept as a show?

— At first, the project was called Memento. But after we recorded the music with the Odesa Chamber Philharmonic Orchestra, it became Memento Odesa. The music was released, received a strong response from audiences, and Sebastian organized a European tour — starting with cities in Germany. The name became permanent because it had become inseparable from the essence of the project.

Memento Odesa means ‘remember Odesa’. It’s about always staying connected to the context, not forgetting. Plus, the musicians on stage are incredibly virtuosic orchestral players representing Odesa. And this music, in the form it exists in today, was born there. You can’t separate one from the other.

— What should listeners know about your project?

— First and foremost, it’s a charity project. It has not only a cultural but also a humanitarian mission: 100% of the proceeds from concerts in Ukraine will be donated to the Nebaiduzhyi Odesyt foundation, with which we have been cooperating for four years.

Memento Odesa does not exist separately from the context of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine and the ongoing war. It brings this context to European audiences, raises funds, and promotes an important idea: art cannot be separated from the social and political realities of the world.

About the music of MEMENTO ODESA

— How would you describe the mood of the music? What did you want to reflect in it? 

— This music is a journey. It’s personal for everyone, but there’s also a sense of collective consciousness. I’m sure that everyone in the audience experiences their own stories, but they all exist within the same shared context.

The mood is difficult to describe in a single word because it’s a dramaturgical journey that develops and evolves from the beginning to the end of the concert. But, in short, it’s about each person’s individual experiences and what unites us all.

— What does the orchestra bring to the sound of your and Sebastian's music?

— It’s difficult to say what the orchestra ‘brings’ because this music was written for an orchestra from the very beginning. Sebastian, the rhythm section, and I are one ensemble where there are no separate sounds. It’s one big living sound. The orchestra is neither accompaniment nor background. It’s the heart of everything.

— What distinguishes jazz improvisation fused with neoclassicism from its combination with other genres?

— Jazz is a very free musical form. Yes, it has its own rules, but jazz is capable of blending organically with any kind of music. Because it’s an art of negotiation.

And well-prepared improvisation performed with an orchestra is that very agreement between the musicians on stage, which at the same time sounds completely free and cohesive. Just like with any other genre.

The first presentation and future plans

—  Tell us where exactly you have already presented MEMENTO ODESA. Which concert became the most memorable?

— The most important and memorable was the first concert at the Odesa Philharmonic in 2023. The night before, there had been a terrible attack: Russian terrorists struck a residential building. We were thinking of canceling the concert. But at the audience's request, we went ahead and held it anyway.

It was probably the most emotional moment of my life. Everyone in the audience was crying — but these weren’t tears of despair. It was the experience of collective trauma through a sense of hope. Through a sense of light.

After the concert, we all realized that for those two hours, everyone had been able to disconnect from the horrors of everyday life. It was impossible to put into words.

— What emotions do you personally experience when performing with MEMENTO ODESA?

— Very different ones. I cry. I laugh. I experience every single note sounding at the concert with every cell of my body. And, honestly, I’ve listened to this concert dozens, maybe even a hundred times, and I’ve never gotten tired of it. Because every time, it resonates with my inner state. I experience it differently each time. But one thing never changes — I feel alive.

— Do you plan to continue the project? In what format?

— Sure. For the fourth year in a row, we’re doing a major German tour in the autumn — 24 concerts this time.

Next year, we plan to expand geographically and introduce new material. We’re constantly bringing in new partners, interesting brands are joining us, and we’re expanding our communications. The project is gaining momentum and social connections — and that won't let it stop.

And there’s one more big ambition: to hold the XJAZZ! Festival in Ukraine. It’s no longer just an idea — it’s already in development. So stay tuned for an international jazz festival across Ukraine.

The concert will take place on August 28 at 6:00 PM at the Kyiv National Academic Operetta Theatre. You can buy tickets via the link.

The artists recorded the single ‘mirage’ during an improvised jam session at 20ft Radio, which took place in December 2025, a few days after Mirage Camp ended. Kvitka was responsible for the music, while zhvavo wrote the lyrics.

The mastering of ‘mirage’ was handled by electronic musician and producer Native Outsider.

The single is available on other streaming platforms via this link.

About the project’s concept

zhvavo: It all started with an attempt to jam together — we had no idea where it would lead us and had no expectations. Once we were sure we would release the track on Iriy Records, we shared what we had been working on with Mariana Klochko. She asked what our band would be called, which prompted a counter-question from me: why aren't we a band yet?

After that, I actively processed this information subconsciously. And right after the promo photo shoot for our debut track, the question of what the cover would look like and whether we are actually a band came up again. Nastia (Kvitka) and I talked it over and realized that we were serious about choosing collaboration. Besides, our next release is already in the works.

Accepting this fact, the name ‘dykorosy’ was born in my head. It felt as though I had always known it — very naturally and easily.

Kvitka: Like everything best in life — it happened by chance.

About the project’s musical concept

zhvavo: In our collaboration, we nurture the living energy of voluntarism and experimentation. dykorosy is about a bold female expression — wild and honest in its nature.

Kvitka: For now, we don't limit ourselves to genres or a specific style, we freely experiment and enjoy the process.

About the name ‘dykorosy’

The name ‘dykorosy’, which is used in Ukrainian to refer to wild-growing plants, is described by the artists as ‘a kind of manifesto’: ‘These are wild plants that cannot be tamed. They grow in their own authentic flow, without cultivation or control’.

About working on the debut single ‘mirage’

Kvitka: just returned from Mirage Camp, filled with communication with people who love music just as much as I do, got a good night's sleep, opened Ableton, and wrote a mantric, trippy sound. We decided not to wait long and gathered to jam on 20ft Radio. We went to the studio and invited Illia nevtoma (a musician and also a participant of Mirage Camp 2025. — Note by DTF Magazine) to join us. We had some fun, and that’s where we recorded the vocals and worked out the track's structure.

zhvavo: I met Nastia at Mirage Camp Special 2025. I immediately felt that she had a really nice vibe, and later I remembered that I had a few of her sets liked on SoundCloud.

The evening before we were assigned to bands and recorded the track at the camp, I told her that I was extra nervous because my knowledge of sound production was very basic: I was just a songwriter and artist, while the camp was full of professionals who already had a strong background. At the time, I had only one self-released track. But Nastia reminded me every time that in creativity there are no limits until you define them. That’s when I first felt the desire to collaborate with her.

And just a few days after the camp, we had an improvised jam session at 20ft Radio — and suddenly we had a finished track. Kvitka brought her sounds, I brought my lyrics, nevtoma showed us a couple of vocal tricks, and we recorded what you can hear now on the second try. In fact, we probably spent more time setting up the equipment than actually recording.

About future plans

Kvitka: It’s interesting to see where this will take us. For now, we’re at a stage of active experimentation, exploring what emerges from our interaction.

zhvavo: dykorosy is definitely a long-term project. We’re here to empower each other.

If the first track's flow reminds me of a snake's body movement — wave-like, continuous, with the shimmer of scales overlapping one another — then the next one sounds as if a big cat has gone out for a night hunt, making soft and confident steps with its powerful paws as it cuts through sandy landscapes.

About other Iriy Records releases

In April 2025, Kyiv-based electronic musician human margareeta released her debut album on Iriy Records. On ‘Broken’, the producer explores personal states through ‘anxiety, fragility, and fragmentation’.

The seven tracks of the release, written during the full-scale invasion, convey a sense of uncertainty ‘that has become a background feeling since 2022’. However, according to the artist herself, the album ‘is not about a reaction to external events — it is about internal transformation, about how the experience of war changes the body, rhythm, and way of thinking’.

In December of the same year, the label released the compilation album ‘Nyzovyna’, which brought together two years of their work with experimental Ukrainian bass music. The release features 17 tracks spanning four bass music genres.

‘Match in a Haystack’ was directed by American filmmaker and journalist Joe Hill. Its protagonists are Ukrainian artists working on the independent movement-based theater performance ‘Kosachka’, dedicated to Ukrainian women serving in the military.

For seven years, Hill worked at VICE News, covering armed conflicts around the world. War still remains central to the themes he explores, but now he is more interested in examining what happens to people who try to find the strength and meaning to continue creating culture and art while the world around them is collapsing.

The film’s stage director was Yuliia Lopata, while the choreography was created by independent choreographer Halyna Pekha, founder of the contemporary dance group Procontemporary. The costumes were designed by artist Asia Sutiahina (‘Homeward’, ‘Luxembourg, Luxembourg’). The film was produced by American ballerina Misty Copeland and Stefanie Noll, who was born in Ukraine and works in London.

The Ukrainian premiere of ‘Match in a Haystack’ took place at the Odesa International Film Festival in 2025. Though it bypassed a traditional cinema run, you can now find it on the MEGOGO streaming platform. Specifically for DTF Magazine, Joe Hill and Hala Pekha talk about the making of the film and how they find the strength to keep creating

— Joe, before bringing the film to the Odesa International Film Festival, you released it in a limited theatrical run in the U.S. How did people there react to it?

— Joe Hill: We held the film’s theatrical premiere in New York’s Ukrainian Village. It was important for us to screen the film there first, and we felt that this was exactly where we would find the right audience for ‘Match in a Haystack’.

The day before the premiere, I came to the cinema to help set up the sound, see how the film would look on the big screen, and so on. I was overwhelmed with emotions and really nervous. It was funny, because I remembered teasing Yuliia (Lopata, the director of ‘Kosachka’ — DTF Magazine’s note), who had been just as anxious before the premiere of ‘Kosachka’.

The first screening of ‘Match in a Haystack’ was incredibly crowded — we sold out all the tickets. The audience was struck by the stories the girls shared in the film, and they showed so much support for me and the crew. We had around 30 screenings of ‘Match in a Haystack’ across the U.S., and none of them had random audiences — the people who came were genuinely interested in this story and deeply touched by it. That means a lot to me.

— And how did you find out about the girls and ‘Kosachka’?

— Hill: The project began when I was still a journalist at VICE News. I had worked there for many years, covering armed conflicts and wars throughout my career. And I believe journalists should carefully document what is happening in the world and how people experience these defining moments. That’s why it was important for me to come to Ukraine — to tell stories about death, destruction, and the other terrible things happening here.

But if we fill history books only with death and destruction, that will be the only thing we remember. I believed it was vital to show people who kept making art to stay human and preserve their sense of meaning. So I reached out to dancer Stefanie Noll, who was born in Kyiv and knows many people in Ukraine.

Together, we probably called every artist we could find in Ukraine. Some of them had fled the country and were already living elsewhere in Europe. Many had gone to the front lines. And that became an important part of the story too — the artists who could no longer continue creating.

And then we found Yuliia Lopata, who told us about her wild project ‘Kosachka’. She opened up about her internal conflict and the weight of choosing creativity at a time when many of her peers were either unable to create or were serving on the front lines. And we felt that this struggle — the doubts she was going through — was the right one.

So I decided to try telling the story of these women. Maybe Hala — whom, by the way, we had to persuade for quite some time to take part in the film — can explain it better.

— Hala Pekha: At the time, I was working as a fixer and producer for foreign media that came to Ukraine to cover the war, traveling with them to combat zones. Back then, it was hard for me to imagine returning to my profession. When Yulia started working on the performance, she asked for my help because of our past collaborations. It wasn’t easy for me to agree, but she’s my friend, and I felt I had to support her. That became my way back into the profession.

I also hesitated to join the film because I’m not comfortable on camera; I’ve always preferred being behind the scenes. I love creating things, but I don’t like being the main character. But these guys were so warm and comforting that I agreed. We’re used to having cameras around, but working with them felt different — it was effortless. They became part of us. It was really special.

— Joe, how did you prepare for the filming? Of course, you already had experience documenting wars and conflicts, but traveling to a country facing a full-scale military invasion requires a specific kind of preparation.

— Hill: When we first came to Kyiv, we were filming a documentary for VICE News, which meant we had the support of a large company. Besides me and Stefanie, who was producing the film, the team included two cinematographers, as well as a local driver and producer. But when we returned home after that first trip, VICE went bankrupt. It seemed like the project was completely dead.

But I didn’t want to give up, because I believed the film was important. By then, I had already become friends with the women in the film and gained their trust. So we very quickly became an independent production team. And when we returned to Kyiv, there were only two of us: me and Nate Brown, the director of photography. The New York Times bureau lent us their car for free, and Stefanie let us stay in her apartment in Kyiv. We had to adapt to a completely new production model, but in the end, it was for the better. The process became much more intimate and free, and we were able to make our own creative decisions.

And as for the security situation — yes, we assessed the potential risks and discussed the worst-case scenarios. Ukrainians obviously understand this reality much better than I do. But I did have experience working in war zones, and I understood that unlike our protagonists, we would not be staying in Ukraine for long. So the main thing we focused on was trying to convey the Ukrainian experience as truthfully as possible. Because it mattered deeply to me that our film could, even in a small way, honestly show what you have lived through and what you continue to endure.

— А скільки загалом тривали знімання?

— Гілл: Загалом на весь проєкт пішло майже три роки. А на знімальний процес — дві поїздки до Києва і приблизно 25 днів. Занадто мало, як на мене. Можливо, ми б змогли зробити трохи кращий фільм, якби мали 50 днів.

— And what was the total duration of the shoot?

— Hill: Overall, the entire project spanned nearly three years. As for the actual filming process, it involved two trips to Kyiv and around 25 shooting days. Far too little, in my opinion. Maybe we could have made an even better film if we’d had 50 days.

— Filming dance and capturing movement on screen is not the easiest task for a film crew. How did you handle that?

— Hill: Oh, that’s actually my favorite part of the project — a bit of an experiment, really. We realized that this group of women communicates and expresses themselves through movement. So we built the film around dance. It felt almost wrong to put cameras in front of them and demand verbal explanations of what they were experiencing during a full-scale war. That seemed almost absurd. So we wanted to find another way for the women to ‘speak’.

We asked them to express themselves through movement just as they usually do. Each woman chose a place that was meaningful to her, we played music for them, and from time to time we gave them small prompts — asking questions or bringing up topics we had already discussed together. Then the girls would start improvising, and we just captured it on film.

Our film differs from most war documentaries that take viewers straight into the conflict. In ‘Match in a Haystack’, people engage with the world around them by expressing their thoughts and emotions through dance. And I really love that. Because dance is a universal language — one that can be understood anywhere in the world.

— Hala, how did you find working with Joe and Nathaniel?

— Pekha: I was nervous at times, especially when the guys asked me to take them to meet my mom. That is a deeply private part of my life, something I keep to myself. Not even all of my friends know my mother. But Joe and Nate got along with her really well. So yes, there were moments when I felt anxious, but throughout our collaboration I gradually became more open with the guys.

— Hill: At the very beginning, when we arrived in Ukraine, there was almost no guarantee that we would actually be able to make the film. It felt like a decision that was still in the process of being made. And I think that, at first, Yuliia and Hala were still deciding whether they wanted to work with us at all.

But everything worked out, and I especially love that so many viewers found the film very intimate and personal. My friend John, who produced the film and only met all the protagonists of ‘Match in a Haystack’ in person during the film’s Ukrainian premiere in the fall of 2025, also said that he felt as if he had already known them all for a long time.

I think that feeling came from the genuine friendships that formed between Nate and me and the women in the film. I don't think the film would feel as intimate if Hala, Yuliia, and the other dancers weren't so closely involved in making ‘Match in a Haystack’.

— What’s the story behind the film's title?

— Hill: In the film, there’s a moment where we cycle through a million titles and can't pick one. And there’s another scene where Yuliia talks about her first rehearsal after the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion. After a long time away from the studio — volunteering, going to the front, and being actively involved in the war — she finally rehearses again. She describes the feeling as a creative spark, ‘like a match in a haystack’, meaning something tiny can start something huge. We loved that image, and it became the title of the film.

— Do you remember the atmosphere of 2023, when you were filming ‘Match in a Haystack’ — the second year of the full-scale invasion, the failed counteroffensive, and the declining attention from international media?

— Pekha: No, I don’t remember. For me, everything since the full-scale invasion has just been one long stretch of a single day. But I remember walking to the studio and filming on the streets, worrying that the police or the military might shut us down because it was still early 2023. That’s the one thing I remember.

— Hill: I recall it as a period of relative calm, and perhaps there was even a sense of disappointment over how much the world's attention on Ukraine had faded. The battles for Bakhmut were still ongoing, but the city had not yet been occupied. I remember Volodymyr Zelenskyi’s powerful speech at the UN. But generally, I agree with Hala to some extent: I also felt that everything had blurred into one long stretch.

— Pekha: And I also remember that at some point during filming, Joe was out of the country. That was when I went to the front line for the last time and visited Chasiv Yar. Around that same time, the defense of the city had begun.

— Do you think films like yours have a better chance of ‘reaching’ international audiences than, for example, Mstyslav Chernov’s ‘2000 Meters to Andriivka’? Because, let’s be honest — regardless of how deeply it offends or irritates Ukrainians — international audiences are exhausted by our war. And they tend to avoid the topic when it’s too direct.

— Hill: I’ve seen Mstyslav’s film, and I was deeply impressed by it — it’s amazing journalism. But I think both films are important in different ways and, in a sense, serve as historical records of this period. Maybe in 20 years, when people reflect on what was happening in Ukraine, they’ll ask themselves: ‘What kind of era was this?’ And I hope they watch both films, because in the end they tell the story of the same war, but through different kinds of conflicts that can emerge within it.

Mstyslav’s film highlights the conflict between two countries and the men who became part of it. As for our film, sometimes I feel that its central conflict isn’t even directly connected to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Instead, it’s about something like the permission we give ourselves to keep living or to keep finding meaning in life, even when the world around us is so horrific.

‘Match in a Haystack’ moves away from focusing on destruction and doesn't attempt to build its narrative around pain. It’s about an internal conversation, an inner conflict that, in my opinion, is also deeply relevant during wartime. And perhaps it may resonate with people who aren’t ready to watch Mstyslav’s film, but still want to connect with what is happening in Ukraine.

— Pekha: I also want to add that perhaps our film can reach people who are tired of seeing the raw brutality of this war. I used to work with German journalists, and I remember how weighed down they felt by everything they saw, how desperate they were to just get away from it all. So, there are definitely people exhausted by images of destruction and death, but they might still be touched by a story about an ordinary person living amid war.

— Hala, how do you find the strength to keep dancing? Because for you, dance is work — it’s your career. It’s not just ‘I go running’ or ‘I dance for my mental health’. On the contrary, it actually drains your resources, especially since you teach as well.

— Pekha: First off, it’s not even close to being as hard as military work — I have to emphasize that. I don't think my job is that tough compared to what our soldiers face. Even so, I always have these inner debates, like Joe said, because I do have questions about my profession. But I decided that teaching and sharing what I know helps me achieve my goals, live a full, bright professional life, and not complain about dancing all the time. I just decided to stop complaining because I got tired of it. Yes, it’s hard to create during war. But if you understand why you’re doing it, it becomes easier.

— Joe, who did you primarily imagine as the audience for ‘Match in a Haystack’ — Ukrainians or international viewers? 

— Hill: Maybe this will sound foolish, but it’s the most honest answer I can give: sometimes I feel like I made this film more for myself than for anyone else. As a journalist, I’ve witnessed some of the worst things happening on Earth. So at times, the world feels incredibly hopeless and overwhelming to me. I honestly doubt if anything I’ve done has ever mattered. Okay, I make another movie — and then what? Who cares? What’s the point?

But then I met this group of dancers in Ukraine who were living through truly terrible circumstances and still wanted to create something. And I needed to know that such a thing was still possible — to go through that act of creation together with them. It mattered to me to understand that people can still hold on to a sense of purpose. It inspired me to make a whole film. And I hope that, as a result, people abroad will continue thinking about Ukraine, continue focusing on it, and continue seeing themselves reflected in it.

I also hope Ukrainians who see this film will remember that despite everything in recent years, culture lives on in Ukraine, and people still hold onto it. I truly believe that this cultural spirit has not disappeared and has not been erased. And it matters deeply to me that other people will be able to see that through ‘Match in a Haystack’.

— Do both of you still believe in the power of art, its ability to change people for the better or make them think?

— Pekha: That’s the hardest question. I ask myself that all the time, and all I know is that art can raise important questions — and that's its power. But then your work begins, as a reader, listener, or viewer: to process those questions and try to answer them.

— Hill: Sometimes I don’t believe that our work will really have any long-term impact. It’s a kind of feeling of hopelessness. And then there are moments when my work gives me a real sense of release — an understanding that I’m doing something that gives my life meaning. And that the things that matter to me do not contradict or negate what matters to other people. I want people to be able to do the things that bring them joy or fulfillment.

There’s a line in the film that Yuliia says which I find truly beautiful. We asked her: ‘How do you know that this performance is worth staging? How do you know that what you’re doing has meaning?’ She stayed silent for about five minutes, as if she had no idea how to answer. And then she said: ‘How do I know if it has meaning? How do we know that we love someone?’ So maybe the need for art is similar to the need for food and water. It’s something that helps us stay alive.

Outside of Finland, Kaspiann performs primarily live. He will make his Ukrainian debut with a live set on April 4 in Kyiv at a major event celebrating Rhythm Büro’s 11th anniversary. Co-founder of the project, Vera Logdanidi, says that the magic of Kaspiann’s performances allows audiences to travel not only through Finnish forests but also to nostalgically return to the forests of the Natura Festival near the Kyiv Sea (the last Natura by Rhythm Büro took place in the summer of 2021, and in 2024 the team announced the closure of the format. — Note from DTF Magazine).

DTF Magazine spoke with Kaspiann before his performance in Kyiv — about finding his own sound, his music-making routine, the place of live performances in the modern scene, and the common context of Finland and Ukraine in their opposition to Russian imperialism.

— For those hearing about you for the first time, how would you describe yourself as an artist, and how has music become a part of your life story?

—I've always been very interested in music. As a kid, I used to bang my grandmother's food containers turned upside down to make my own drum kit. Later on I started playing guitar and did that for a few years before discovering that you could do electronic music with a computer and everything kinda started from there.

I would describe myself as a doer — someone whose curiosity led me to organizing parties, building sound systems, starting a label, and making music in general. I enjoy making things on my own and appreciate a strong DIY attitude.

— Under what circumstances did you start producing your own tracks?

— When I was a kid, I heard this huge Finnish trance hit — ‘Sandstorm’ by Darude, which turned 25 years old last year, and decided that I wanted to make something like that as well. So I started looking for ways to make music on our family computer and I stumbled upon a tracker called Jeskola Buzz which I used to fiddle together what you could call my first track. From there it has been just years and years of trial and error in search of pleasing rhythms and sounds.

I still have that very first mp3 saved in my archives. It's good to have a listen every now and then to get perspective on how things have progressed, if they have... (laughs)

About the transformation of music and ‘swampiness’

— How has your music changed over the years, and how would you describe your sound now?

— In my first releases there was a sense of naivety that is hard to achieve again. From a technical point of view, I feel like I've moved light-years ahead, but I also feel that, with improved knowledge, I've grown more uncertain — whether small details and mixing tricks are enough to keep a track in balance, or whether my opinion of the mixdown is good enough. It's still the same everlasting learning process: discovering new tricks and loving the way small details matter.

Over the years I think I've developed a more and more psychedelic approach to making tunes and am always on the hunt for some uncanny tones. One friend once called my music swampy and would say that it has been the best description so far. It kinda clicked into place after years of dabbling with forest psytrance influenced sounds.

In general my aim is to make the listener feel like dancing in the Finnish forest wherever they are hearing my tracks. Strolling along forest trails like some sort of troll.

— What is your general approach to producing music? What inspires you to sit down and start creating — a cool sample you’ve heard, an event from your personal life, or an idea that suddenly pops into your head?

— Usually, I start by finding or making some sort of hooky pattern — a bassline or synth idea — that feels like it could work as the basis for a track.

Sometimes I go over my old jam recordings and find some cool bits that were previously unused that with a fresh pair of ears might spark an idea for a track. Everything usually starts rolling from there and then where it ends up is always a matter of iterations the track goes through.

Sometimes I end up making the track much faster or much slower than it initially was and just seeing what sticks and works. I like to imagine my tracks within some sort of context where they could be played, to find an aim and purpose for the tricks I try to use.

About the track-writing process

— What do you pay special attention to in the creative process? What conditions are most conducive for you in this context?

— The most important thing for me in the process when making music is that it needs to be fun and something that I truly enjoy doing. If it ever stops bringing me joy or being fun, then it's a good time to stop trying to make tracks happen.

That doesn't mean you shouldn't sometimes work through some boring or not-so-fun parts but in general it should be something that gives inner peace or a sense of meaning to the time spent sitting in front of the machines.

The final mixing phases and iterations of trying to find the correct balance between elements are always such a burden but the outcome should feel like relief and something that I myself would enjoy listening to. After all, the most important person who I make my music for is myself. It needs to be something that I care about and enjoy to be worth releasing to other people.

But from a more technical perspective for me personally, I really need a good working environment / setup with a working keyboard, big enough screen, good headphones and a mouse to efficiently get my ideas down. Everything else can be extra fun or just disrupt the process but if the basics aren't properly there, then the fun won't even begin.

— What equipment do you usually use? What do you like most about it right now?

— I've noticed over the years that less is more for me and because of that I don't want too many synths to be lying around in my studio setup. I've started to appreciate a more neutral and balanced sounding environment so lately I've been aiming for that and trying to get rid of all the excessive gear I don’t use.

But the few things I wouldn't want to part with would be my small modular case, Moog DFAM and Make Noise 0-Coast. I like to use my modular case as an extension of DFAM or 0-coast or just the latter two as a combo. At some point I didn't use anything else except DFAM and 0-coast along with my RME sound card. Sometimes limiting yourself is the best way to spark inspiration.

About the love of live performances 

— Why do you prefer live performances?

— I didn't really prefer live performances in the beginning. I was asked to do a live set for a party organized by my friends here in Helsinki and I found out that it's pretty fun to play live and people seemed to like what I did. That was quite a few years ago but that's where my live set journey started. From that point on, I was asked to do live sets every now and then, and now I mostly play live when performing outside of Helsinki. I can't really complain, but I also love doing long DJ-sets.

I really do love playing live as it feels like the greatest honor possible to me — to be invited to play my own music for an hour or so and give an impression of what a live set in this kind of music should be. It feels very personal when playing and can really tear open some scars if you're not really in the mood but as the opposite it can also generate the most memorable feelings when everything aligns. That said there is a huge spectrum of emotions to experience when playing live and I really hope that those are transmitted to the listener.

— Don’t you think that live performances at events are getting less attention than they could right now? If so, why do you think that is?

— I don't really know if live performances are getting any less or more attention than before. My assumption would be that those being booked for live sets really need to polish their sets and sound to something recognizable so you know from small tricks and sounds that who is playing even if you wouldn't hear them.

It's also way easier to change the mood and direction of the performed set by playing a DJ set so no doubt it's easier to book them over live acts. Also might be that nowadays the live set as a concept can be a bit mythical and unknown with all the possible ways to do it. All the possible technical difficulties also play a role multiplying the difficulty of booking live acts. But the live sets you can hear nowadays are from artists that are light years ahead with their thing and it's amazing to see and hear those ones from a good sound system.

About Vala's label and party series

— Why did you decide to start your label, Vala? What kind of music do you release on the label with other artists?

— The name Vala is a Finnish word and means ‘oath’ and it is a project for my output and all the ideas I've gathered over the years. Five years ago I felt like I was in a situation where I wasn't really sure where I should head to with my music and where I should try to push it. So I put together Vala and made some parties under that name and released the first record in 2021. It's a very DIY project where graphics, ideas and everything is mainly my own doing. Basically a canvas for me to fool around and make multiple things at the same time while still keeping it very much DIY.

Later on that felt so stupid and could have gone so terribly wrong but somehow I managed to make it work. Now it feels like it was the best decision ever and I feel immense pride in it. There isn't a strict goal for output of the releases but I guess there is some sort of unifying theme as the releases on Vala are mainly from me and people around me. Every release so far has been born very naturally.

— What about the parties you organize under the label’s name? What’s the concept behind them, and how do they differ from other events? 

— I have a certain idea and vision of how I would love to see parties look, feel and sound like. Doing parties for me is also just to fulfill the need to do and try to chase that vision. There is no other ultimate goal there to be honest.

I would wish the listener to be swallowed by the fog and kinda forget themselves in there while the surrounding fog keeps pulsating by the wall of sound rolling over. Kinda if you would be inside a cloud.

About the electronic music scene in Helsinki

— What does the nightlife scene in Finland look like, in your opinion? How would you describe the clubs and the audience in Helsinki?

— From the capital point of view and considering the size of the city, it's very healthy and alive in Helsinki where I'm native. There are a comparably good amount of proper clubs with focus on club music. Things are good here for electronic music and the scene is very active from grassroots DIY things to more serious club events.

There are a good amount of small and active micro-scenes for different styles of electronic music and in general people are really knowledgeable about the music. There are about 4 good venues (Post Bar, Kaiku, Ääniwalli & Kuudes linja) with varying club concepts but with a focus on club music or electronic music. All of them have very good quality and very nice venues in their own way.

There is also a very good hidden layer of music focused parties in Finland but these are usually kept away from public view to maintain its freedom. These are true hidden gems scattered throughout the country: sometimes in the woods, sometimes in abandoned warehouses.

People's response to the music played depends completely on the type of the event. I have no idea what would be the most popular type of music but obviously techno has been doing very well in Finland for the past 3 years after Covid.

— What kinds of events do you usually like to attend? 

— Over the years I've started to pay more attention to the parties that I'm going to attend. I used to work in clubs so I saw a lot of parties from start to finish but very few of them stayed in my mind as something special so now I'm reserving my energy for ones I'm truly interested in. Usually it involves friends being present, artists I’m really interested in, some hidden or forest location or in any other way a bit more special occasion.

About the visit to Ukraine and the war 

— Had you heard of Rhythm Büro before you were invited to play at their 11th anniversary? Do you know anything else about the Ukrainian electronic scene? 

— I've been following Rhythm Büro ever since their second or third release on the label side or so I've been very aware of the parties, podcast series and releases they've been putting out.

To be honest, I’m not very familiar with the Ukrainian scene, aside from a few names, clubs, and projects. I know about K41 and Closer, and from the Rhythm Büro crew, I follow Na Nich. I’ve also heard a lot of positive feedback about the Ukrainian crowd — apparently, it’s unique.

— Why did you agree to play in Ukraine? Why did you decide to come right now?

— If someone feels like it's worth it to invite me into Kyiv right now then I don't see why I shouldn't come. It's a huge honor. I really wish that I could bring some joy and hope along me. Also I really would wish it to be seen as a stance of support for Ukrainian people.

— What are your thoughts on the war in Ukraine, given the Finnish context and your country’s relations with Russia? 

— It’s a subject you don’t need hours and hours of political debate to understand the background or whatever is the reason that led to this over four year long ‘quick special military operation’ and come to some sort of concluding opinion about it.

Simply put I see it so that Russia is imperialistic nation and should get the fuck out of Ukrainian soil. Unfortunately we have seen this before (Finland was occupied by the Russian Empire from 1809 to 1917 and also lost one-tenth of its territory as a result of the Soviet-Finnish War of 1939–1940. — Note by DTF Magazine).

It’s a bit far-fetched to hope that during my lifetime we would see the end of Russian imperialistic greed and bitter USSR nostalgia. Hopefully we'll soon be able to look back at this from a more peaceful time and learn from Ukraine. Also I wish we would as Europe collectively support Ukraine way more than we have done now.

— Is there anything you’re looking forward to seeing in Ukraine?

— I really want to taste some local tastes, some good local beers, just hear or feel the buzz of day to day life and in general just Ukrainian landscapes for the short period of time I'm there. Slava Ukraini!

In an interview with DTF Magazine, Yuliia Ratner speaks about her role in ‘Couture’, the emotional challenge of playing herself, deleted scenes, and Russians in the European fashion industry. She also shares exclusive behind-the-scenes photos

About ‘Couture’

Jolie’s character is Maxine, a filmmaker. She learns she has breast cancer and begins a relationship with a colleague, played by Louis Garrel.

Ada is played by model and actress Anyier Anei, for whom this role marks her debut. She plays a refugee from Sudan who enters the modeling industry after fleeing the war in her home country.

The makeup artist Angèle, ‘who works in the shadows of the runway’, is played by Swiss actress Ella Rumpf (‘Raw’).

‘This is a film about women’s bodies. It tells women who bear scars that we can be stronger by sharing our wounds. There is also something deeply political, for me, in telling the story of a collective rather than an individual destiny — I wanted to restore depth and complexity to women across generations and backgrounds, beyond the superficial images we’re so often given’, Winocour says about the film.

‘Couture’ is the first fiction film allowed to be shot inside Chanel’s couture atelier in Paris.

The film premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival. It was also screened at film festivals in Rome and San Sebastián.

Yuliia Ratner on her role in ‘Couture’

— In the film, you play yourself. How closely does the story in ‘Couture’ reflect your own?

— The story was written based on what I shared and, I think, on director Alice Winocour’s impressions from our personal conversations. Besides my character, parts of my story are also reflected in the protagonist, Ada, played by Anyier Anei. About ten years ago, when I was still a teenager, I came to Paris in much the same way to try my luck in the tough, adult world of fashion.

— How much influence did you have on how your character would be portrayed in the film?

— In fact, I had complete control. The main task on set was to ‘be real’. Most of the scenes were built on improvisation. But even when we worked with the script and something felt off or out of place, we had the freedom to suggest alternatives.

The joke about Zaporizhzhia (unfortunately mistranslated in the Ukrainian dub), where I say that Zaporizhzhia is a ‘great place… to leave’, was improvised, and Ada’s laughter is genuine. Because the crew was speaking French, she was the only one who understood the joke at that moment.

— How challenging was it to portray yourself on screen?

— It wasn’t difficult. The easiest part was breaking down in a scene that, unfortunately, didn’t make it into the final cut. It was meant to offer a deeper insight into my character’s emotional state — a scene where I’m reading the news from Ukraine. But honestly, it didn’t feel like acting. I looked up and realized that half the crew was crying with me.

— You suggested adding scenes to give more context. Were they based on your own experiences, or on those of other people you knew?

— These weren’t specific stories. Going back to the previous question, the scenes I suggested were meant to help explain my character’s behavior to the audience. My first scene begins with a conflict, and I really didn’t want my character to come across as just ‘aggressive’, especially since, according to the story, I had spent several days traveling from Kyiv, and the events take place at the beginning of the full-scale invasion. However, the original script lacked a clear explanation of these circumstances and the overall context.

That’s how the scene with the exchange of voice messages with my boyfriend appeared in the film. There was also another one — the scene where I was watching the news, which I mentioned earlier — but it didn't make the final cut.

— You initiated adding Ukrainian context to the script during the pre-production stage. Did you feel a sense of responsibility for how these emotions would be portrayed on screen?

— The Ukrainian context in the film was the director’s initiative. We first met a year before filming began, and initially my character was meant to be a refugee. During the process, we explored different ways of reminding the audience about the war in Ukraine. At one point, we were even looking for locations in Kyiv for a video call where the aftermath of a missile strike would be visible in the background. But in the end, we didn’t film that either.

I think the director left some space in the script, giving me the freedom to bring my own vision of how to convey this theme to the audience. I would have kept the scene of watching the news — it was truly sensitive and revealed a softer side of the character. But even as a supporting character, I was given a great deal of control on set, for which I’m incredibly grateful to Alice and the entire team.

— In one of the scenes, your character speaks Ukrainian with a loved one who is under attack. Was it emotionally difficult to recreate that state on set?

— Not really, considering the voice message was from my real partner in Kyiv, who for four years now has been living under Russian shelling almost every night. Even though messages like these have become part of everyday life for Ukrainians and we’ve adapted, you never stop feeling fear for your loved ones, anxiety, and pain because of everything that is happening.

I didn’t have to show any emotions or feelings — I just had to stop hiding them, because they are here, within me, always, for all four years.

— In ‘Couture’, your character speaks, among other things, about leaving her hometown and mentions the war in Ukraine. How aware is the European fashion industry of Russia’s aggression, and how interested is it in what is happening in Ukraine?

— They aren't aware. I don’t even want to repeat the absurd things foreigners have said and continue to say to me. Only a few are informed — those who consciously choose to stay engaged, mostly because they have close ties to Ukrainians. I’ve come to a fairly simple conclusion: it’s impossible to describe or explain war, especially a modern one, to someone who has never experienced it. I found understanding among Iranians, Kosovars, and Georgians.

— It seems that the fashion industry is increasingly collaborating with Russians: we see them on the runways, and brands are creating collaborations with Russian creatives. Do you notice these changes, and why do you think this is happening?

— It isn’t just happening now — it has always been this way. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Russians have always been everywhere — and still are. They open shows, become the faces of brands, and star in campaigns. Sometimes you come to a casting for a French brand and the entire team is Russian. You come to a shoot and discover on the spot that the photo and video crew is Russian. Or that the other model in the frame is Russian. They’re integrated into every part of the process.

Honestly — it’s hard. It’s upsetting, infuriating, and triggers hundreds of other negative emotions. If you leave a job like that, you’ll be replaced within 20 minutes, and only Russian names will remain in the ‘credits’. And it turns out that it’s not them, but us who are being erased.

The only right decision is to focus all our attention on Ukrainians: to support, promote, and make them visible and talked about. Artists, models, musicians, actors, athletes, creators, designers, photographers — everyone who works toward the high-quality promotion of our culture.

Instead of leaving an angry comment under a post by a Western brand that has hired Russians, leave five positive comments under posts by Ukrainians whose work resonates with you. It is vital for us to prioritize supporting and promoting Ukrainians.

— Your career began very early, at the age of 15, and since then you have been constantly moving between cities: Kyiv, Paris, Milan. Has your sense of ‘home’ changed since the start of the full-scale invasion?

— I have one physical home, and it’s forever — my apartment in Kyiv’s Solomianskyi district. This place is me, and I am this place. Mentally, home for me is in the arms of my mother and the person I love. Everything else is temporary, and I am only a guest in it.

The book focuses on how perceptions of the obscene in Ukrainian society have changed from the Kyivan Rus period to the 20th century. It explores how the theocentric Ukrainian society of the 17th and 18th centuries could freely sing songs that the secular society of the 19th and 20th centuries came to label as immoral and ultimately banned, and examines how Ukrainian culture responded to these transformations.

According to the researcher, she wanted to release a book for a broad audience that ‘is thought-provoking and provocative, because it does not always follow the already familiar, established lines of knowledge about Ukrainian culture, yet at the same time it is deeply rooted in Ukrainian culture, grows out of it, and addresses a broader range of questions concerning global processes’.

Maria tells DTF Magazine more about her latest research

About the book

The book examines why things that were not considered obscene in premodern times came to be seen as such in the modern era. Why did modernity require new modes of obscenity? Why did obscenity maintain a single configuration throughout the Middle Ages and the early modern period — a span of over a thousand years — only for the transition to modernity to bring about the need for a new configuration?

The study shows that modern obscenity is linked to the main classificatory systems — race, ethnicity, gender, and sexuality — which also emerged in the 18th and 19th centuries and are closely connected with modernity. In other words, a new form of obscenity was needed because it played a role in constructing these systems, which we still rely on today.

This work also addresses 'traditional values' — a concept frequently invoked by conservative movements across Europe and beyond to justify their policies on family and gender. In Ukraine, some also appeal to these values to argue for the need for conservative reforms. My book demonstrates that these so-called 'traditional values' are, in fact, an invention of 19th-century coloniality. They have nothing truly traditional about them, except the tradition of imperialism and colonialism.

'Coloniality of the Indecent' examines those elements of traditional culture that were filtered out during the formation of cultural heritage. Cultural heritage is not just ‘what once existed’. It is material from the past — elements of culture that we select in order to construct our own idea of the past, one that serves our present-day needs and challenges.

When our cultural heritage was being formed in the nineteenth century, some elements of earlier culture were removed because they had come to be considered indecent. I wanted to see whether we could better understand the present by examining what was rejected — those elements that did not fit the image of our own past.

My book is also about obscene folklore, the history of intimacy, and the history of gender — and, above all, about tradition and modernity and their close, intimate connection.

Finally, the book poses a crucial question: if obscenity is tied to coloniality, and the discarding of traditions is linked to global colonial discourses, was there resistance to these processes within Ukrainian culture? Drawing on ethnography and folklore studies, I explore this question in the book.

How to colonize obscenity

Our bodies contain a certain kind of energy — a drive, a spectrum of emotions — that becomes the object of politics. When I say politics, I do not mean legislation, but rather social ideas or discourses that regulate this sphere of life. In the nineteenth century, this type of energy came to be called sexuality (this energy likely existed earlier as well, but it had different names and was regulated differently).

In fact, the word ‘sexuality’ appeared slightly earlier than the nineteenth century, but it was not originally associated with human intimacy — it came from the work of the botanist Carl Linnaeus. Thus, in the eighteenth century, only plants were considered to have a ‘sexual life’. The word entered the Ukrainian language only at the beginning of the twentieth century, initially appearing as ‘sexualism’.

It is remarkable that when ‘sexualism’ first entered Ukrainian dictionaries, it carried a dual meaning. One definition referred to Linnaeus's system, which classified plants according to the structure of their flowers, pistils, and stamens. By the 1920s and 1930s, however, the concept of ‘sexuality’ in the Ukrainian language had acquired the meaning we use today.

The emergence of this new term was also driven by new ideas about intimacy and relationships, which are always regulated by particular discourses and norms. Local cultures around the world have always had their own understandings of intimacy and their own norms, but the modern idea of sexuality gradually displaced other systems of knowledge and meaning. Today, we effectively rely on a single concept of sexuality that emerged in Europe in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

Sexuality as a concept is a product of modernity. Contemporary researchers suggest it is deeply intertwined with the rise of modern racism and gender ideologies — both of which are rooted in the colonialism that followed the expeditions of Marco Polo and Columbus, marking the beginning of the exploitation of overseas territories, populations, and resources.

It is important to distinguish between colonialism and coloniality. While colonialism in its historical form has largely ceased to exist, coloniality is a form of power produced by colonialism that has outlived it, persisting in our time and continuing to shape the modern world.

Sexuality (alongside economics and systems of knowledge, or epistemologies) is one of the domains of these colonial powers. And sexuality, as we know, is inseparable from the idea of the obscene. In other words, our understanding of the obscene is more sexualized than ever before in history. Therefore, yes — the obscene can be an instrument of coloniality.

When discussing sexuality, we aren't talking about physical closeness, intimacy, or the act of copulation. Instead, we are referring to modern forms of power that regulate and assign meaning to these practices, whether bodily or otherwise. These powers — also known as biopowers — reach into the most intimate areas of our lives and largely shape them.

On changes in perceptions of intimacy and the obscene

We tend to imagine Ukrainian society of earlier eras — say, the 16th and 17th centuries — as deeply devout on the one hand, yet seemingly sexually uninhibited on the other. After all, how else could one explain that people publicly sang obscene songs, and that unmarried girls let young men stay overnight?

Scholars have long recognized this paradox for years, but struggled to explain it. 'Coloniality of the Indecent' takes up this uncomfortable topic in order to explore how ethical systems were structured when both of these phenomena coexisted without contradiction within the same society.

I also challenge the idea that this paradox can be explained by claiming that people in the past were somehow less ‘civilized’ or lacked proper moral principles. Of course, this is not true. To study history means being able to understand the systems of knowledge, ideas, and values (or ethical systems) of the past as they were understood by the people who lived within that culture.

Their culture was as logical and self-evident to them as ours is to us. For example, we don't need an explanation to understand why 19th-century ethnographers removed so-called obscene songs from Ukrainian cultural heritage. We know they did this in order to erase signs of coarseness and ‘uncivilized’ behavior from the culture — to rid it of obscene and unnecessary ballast.

And yet, a hundred years from now, it may seem highly paradoxical that scholars were concerned with humorous obscene songs collected from peasants at the very same time that the peasantry was becoming the object of mass recruitment and the purchase of girls for prostitution in the territories of Asia and Latin America colonized by imperial states.

Is this not the real horror — the true sign of crudeness — as opposed to songs that were never a problem to begin with? Why did the songs come to seem like the greater problem (and were successfully removed), while international human trafficking developed and continues to thrive even today?

From the perspective of the future, the principles that regulate our ideas of intimacy and obscenity may also appear paradoxical — unless they are understood within a broader context, from colonialism to the emergence of nation-states.

Such contradictions, at the very least, highlight the shifts that have taken place in the sphere of intimacy and in ideas of the obscene over the course of several centuries. If what is unacceptable to us today was once the norm for the theocentric societies of the early modern period, this means that sexuality and obscenity have a history. They are not fixed or unchanging phenomena. Without revealing more of the book’s argument, I invite readers to explore it further and discover how sexuality and the obscene are woven into broader social and political processes, both global and local.

The book 'Coloniality of the Indecent: Erotic Folklore in the Modern Design of Sexuality' can be ordered on the website of Vydavnytstvo.

He then turned to sports, which became part of his physical recovery and a way to regain control over his body. From local competitions to international tournaments — over the past two years, he has participated in twenty different events. At one of these competitions, ‘Rukh’, DTF Magazine met Artur to record his story

The highway out of hell

A huge pavilion is filled with loud rock music — from the Third Assault Brigade’s album ‘Epoch’ to classic AC/DC and Metallica.

To the sound of ‘Highway to Hell’, two dozen men and one woman do push-ups in a fast rhythm. They perform the exercise on a special Paralympic bench designed for people with leg injuries or amputations.

The old hit about a ‘highway to hell’ carries a special symbolism here. Each of the participants has already been through their own personal hell — for some it was near Lyman, for others in Avdiivka, and for some in Bakhmut. But the most important thing is that each of them found their way back out.

The power cuts out from time to time, and the audience keeps the energy up with their applause.

This is the atmosphere of the ‘Rukh’ multisport competition. Despite being organized by the 3rd Army Corps, it brings together servicemen and veterans not only from the ‘Third’ brigade.

Some of the disciplines were adapted to meet the needs of people with injuries: powerlifting (bench press), archery, and rowing were moved to simulators, while boxing was converted into a cyber format. This alternative was developed together with the Boxing Federation, as traditional boxing carries a higher risk of injury and requires more complex categorization of participants — not only by weight but also by the type and degree of injuries or amputations. In the final, the top performer among the twenty boxers competed against Denys Berinchyk using a VR headset.

The organizers of ‘Rukh’ have set an ambitious goal — to turn it into a Ukrainian version of the Invictus Games, drawing on their own experience of participating in international competitions. In particular, Yuliia Paievska has already competed at the Invictus Games — both before the full-scale war and a year after her release from captivity. For the project’s main initiator, Tymur Leon, this experience came from participating in the Marine Corps & Air Force Trials in the United States.

‘I went to the States and realized how high the level of international competitions is. We need to develop our own projects, our Ukrainian product, because we have far more veterans and service members, — he says, adding: — We need to help them reintegrate into society, and in general, it’s not the veterans who should have to get used to it; society must adapt to the veterans. That’s why we need to improve quality so that people from other countries come to us, rather than the other way around’.

It is very loud in the middle of the hall: on one side, the archery competition has begun — one of Taira’s favorite disciplines. Participants line up in front of the targets. On the other side, there’s powerlifting, where the hosts invite service members to test their strength in the bench press. Other ambassadors of the competition — Oleksii Soloviov and Oleksii Novikov — are bench pressing around 250 kg, which is truly a world-class performance.

Tymur talks about how such competitions are important not only for physical but also for mental rehabilitation — for fostering team spirit, a sense of community, and the opportunity to compete alongside fellow service members. Tymur himself is an active serviceman of the 125th Separate Heavy Mechanized Brigade of the 3rd Army Corps, who has undergone a recovery course after being wounded near Bakhmut.

‘Sport, in essence, is rehabilitation. While preparing for competitions, participants have a goal. They achieve it and don’t even notice how their physical condition improves in the process’.

His words are drowned out by a UGV circling nearby. Operating this unmanned ground vehicle (as well as flying FPV drone simulators) is one of the training activities at ‘Rukh’. Or rather, not operating but testing — two men were driving it back and forth and laughing. The program also combined miltech with ethnoculture: the Pavlo Virsky Ukrainian National Folk Dance Ensemble performed at the opening ceremony.

The hosts announced the next participant: Artur Mylin stepped onto the platform. He returns to his beloved powerlifting again and again. Three years have passed since he lost a leg while serving as a grenade launcher operator in Terny, Lyman community, but sport has given him a new start.

The chance to stand again

Artur gradually regained control of his body. He believes that every service member after an injury should first read the book ‘Guide for Service Members After an Injury’.

It’s a fairly pragmatic piece of advice, but a useful one: ‘People often feel lost about what to do — whether they need to raise money for a prosthesis or for rehabilitation. The state covers most things, but you need to understand how it all works’.

During physical rehabilitation, after a blast injury and limb loss, the body recovers very actively: osteophytes can form on the bones, and neuromas may develop — both of which often require surgical removal.

‘It may seem like the leg has healed, but the recovery processes are still ongoing, and they can actually be quite harmful’.

When this phase ends, you have to master a new way of moving and regain control of your body with a prosthesis.

‘It’s a mix of physical and mental recovery, helping the brain understand that the limb is with you again, which helps reduce phantom pain. Especially when you put on pants and see yourself as you were before. It helps a lot mentally’.

Artur recalls visiting his friends after getting his prosthesis. ‘I was standing, not lying down or sitting. It really helps emotionally — the chance to stand again’.

A study by ‘Come Back Alive’ on adaptive sports states that the main challenge in Ukraine is the lack of equipment and specialists. However, Artur, who has been involved in sports his entire life, managed to find good coaches while preparing for and participating in various competitions.

‘Thanks to them, I keep improving and achieving better results than I had before my injury’.

Despite having a high leg amputation, Mylin trains in regular gyms. He never even looked for adaptive ones. Instead, he set up a small workout space at home. Just a bench and a barbell — and he can do basic exercises anytime.

Limited gym hours aren’t the only reason for working out at home: icy roads have also forced the veteran to seek a safer alternative. During his first winter after getting a prosthesis, he stepped outside with extreme caution, carefully planning each step as he slowly walked along the slippery streets.

‘At first, I was a little scared, but you have to adapt. And after three years, you almost forget that you once doubted how to get around — for example, by train. Now you’re not embarrassed about it at all; you confidently do the things you used to do before the injury​​.

A Ukrainian in the Afghanistan team

In 2024, Artur was offered a chance to go to the Invictus Games in Düsseldorf — but only as a spectator. He felt out of place: he wanted to compete, not just watch. This drive extends beyond sports. In everyday life, he is just as principled: he doesn’t even drink coffee, because he avoids any kind of dependency.

Then he applied for the next Games, which took place in Canada at the beginning of 2025.

‘I heard there would be winter sports there, so that made it especially meaningful for me. Before my injury, I loved skiing, and I was curious to try it again after losing my leg. I tried it, and the experience was amazing’.

Besides biathlon, Artur competed in skeleton and swimming, as well as in team sports — wheelchair rugby and wheelchair basketball. He joined the Afghan Unconquered team, playing with fellow Ukrainian Illia Pylypenko and a group of American veterans. Other Afghan participants were supposed to join them, but they were not allowed to enter the country.

‘It was such a bizarre situation, because the team had been given its name in advance, but the Afghan participants weren’t allowed to come. The plan was for five of them to be there, and we were going to join them to make a full team, otherwise, they wouldn’t have had a team of their own to compete’.

He met the team just a few hours before the start. But the lack of joint training didn’t stop them from winning bronze.

Artur also wanted to compete as part of the Ukrainian national wheelchair rugby team, but he wasn’t selected. As a result, he competed with the mixed squad, Unconquered 2.

‘They forgot the core message of the Invictus Games — that it’s not about sport. We’re not professional athletes. For most of us, many of these disciplines are something we try for the first time. Thanks to the Games, I had the chance to try biathlon, but there were also guys who already had experience and skills in team sports. So, the goal was to put together a strong team and, most importantly, win a medal. But that’s not how the Invictus Games work’.

In Canada, Artur was struck by how adaptive everything was — from doorways to people’s attitudes. Ukraine clearly has more wounded people with disabilities who need a more accessible environment than in Canada. In a small shop at the Whistler ski resort, he came across a line of eight people. But when they saw Artur, they all stepped aside, letting him go to the front of the queue

‘It struck me deeply, even though I sacrificed part of my health not for them, but for Ukrainians — here, at home. Our people rarely show that kind of appreciation, as if there’s nothing special about it’.

Not only service members were invited to the Invictus Games, but also their loved ones.

‘Support is very important. This whole sports journey — when you’re afraid, embarrassed, unsure, when the training feels uncomfortable and painful…’

After the first game of wheelchair volleyball, the participants' bottoms were sore. Later, their loved ones joined them and also felt discomfort during the game. ‘We realized it wasn’t because of our injuries. It was uncomfortable for everyone’.

Artur brought his mother to the Invictus Games. She had supported him both during his rehabilitation and afterwards. While Artur was working hard in the gym, with no time for anything else, she would sometimes say she was bored, but still took part in various activities.

‘I didn’t even have a chance to spend time with her. She was probably a bit hurt about that. One day I had to go back to the hotel, so I rushed there, and two hours later my mother had already sent me photos with Meghan Markle’, Artur laughs.

‘LABORATORY TERRORISTS’

Dressed in a Rick and Morty hoodie, Artur admits he avoids films about the russian invasion. But once, he watched an American war movie with his sister. He couldn’t take it and started questioning everything.

‘I noticed that one of the characters was wearing his helmet incorrectly. I kept wondering why he was holding his rifle like that, why they were standing so close to each other. And I’m not even some kind of super-soldier, but these basic mistakes really stand out — you just think, what kind of nonsense is that?’ His sister asked him to either stop commenting or stop watching the film.

Since 2012, he has worked as a researcher at the Institute for Sorption and Problems of Endoecology. He specializes in green chemistry — a field dedicated to finding alternatives to oil-based production by synthesizing materials from natural, renewable sources.

After returning from rehabilitation, he expected to see an increase in the number of young researchers. ‘I thought people would turn to institutions like mine to avoid mobilization. But that didn’t happen: the number of PhD students didn’t grow’.

Artur also expected scientists to focus more on defense. ‘Usually, researchers develop wound dressings or protective coatings for drones. Those are great things, but they’re not meant to kill. We need to create things that can destroy the enemy. That’s what really matters’.

He discussed this topic with another speaker during the presentation of the Verkhovna Rada’s awards for young scientists.

‘I’m surprised that the state doesn’t involve the Academy of Sciences in the development and production of weapons or defensive structures. Their approach is: ‘Bring us a finished project, and we might consider it’. But in fact, we don’t even have the right to do that. We’re like some kind of, I don’t know, laboratory terrorists. We need real cooperation with the military and access to testing. But nothing changes, and that’s shocking’.

Since the idea involving explosives made no progress for two years, Artur decided to focus on 3D-printed children’s toys called ‘Sontsesiaichyk’.

A stand featuring them was set up among veteran-run businesses at the ‘Rukhʼ’ competitions. Children and the families of service members could take a break from ‘guys lifting weights like crazy’ and paint figurines of Ukrainian folklore characters — Kotyhoroshko, Mavka, and Pan Kotskyi.

Artur applied for the ‘Zhyty na zustrich 2.0’ grant program offered by PUMB. ‘I asked for a lot of money — one million’. But his expectations weren’t met: new entrepreneurs are rarely given the full amount they request.

Artur notes that business has a completely different atmosphere: in sports, everyone supports one another, but here, it’s all about competition. Still, he believes that economic rehabilitation is just as significant as physical, mental, or medical recovery.

‘You see that you can earn money and that you're no longer just a passive recipient of care from your mother, wife, or loved ones. You see that you have the power to achieve something on your own’.

‘Not every veteran has to be an athlete or a bodybuilder— they can also become entrepreneurs, intellectuals, and inventors’.

Feel the water

Two years after his recovery, Artur has already taken part in more than twenty competitions. He admits that running is the hardest part for him. That’s why one of his toughest challenges was the SUBARU TRIATMAN SERIES triathlon, held in the Kyiv region in the summer.

About thirty veterans and service members gathered at the starting line. They faced an almost standard sprint-distance triathlon: 700 meters in the water, a 15-kilometer bike ride, and a 5-kilometer run.

‘I had to swim seven hundred meters in the Dnipro. I said it would be the last time’.

Although he stopped running, he didn’t give up swimming. The final competition of 2025 was the charity ‘Christmas Starts’ in Brovary. Among the judges was Ihor Kozakevych, who had also been preparing Artur for the swimming events at the Invictus Games.

‘Before the race, we talked, and Artur asked what he should do. We set a distance for him, and he trained in the pool for about half a year before the Invictus Games. Shortly before the competition, he noticed there were many strong competitors in freestyle, so he chose breaststroke instead [where he won gold]’.

When I ask how long Artur prepared for the ‘Christmas Starts’, he laughs and says he didn’t prepare at all.

Ihor adds: ‘He wasn’t swimming at all — he just signed up and said he would take part. But you have to swim regularly to feel the water. And Artur already knows all this and has really worked on his technique’.

Mylin is now aiming for a professional standard and no longer attends every sporting event he’s invited to. For him, the priority is true competition — with athletes who completed their rehabilitation long ago and have serious experience.

Competing against the newly rehabilitated often leads to predictable results. The gap is too wide: while some athletes have years of practice, others are just beginning their journey back to sports after their injuries.

Artur has now joined the Kyiv regional powerlifting team. While the Ukrainian Championships are his next step, his long-term goal is even more ambitious — the Paralympic Games. Artur admits that without a clear goal in mind, it’s impossible to push yourself to train three times a week. That goal is what keeps him motivated.

About the concept of the new Ukrainian Fashion Week season

The new season is dedicated to the sustainable and innovative approaches of Ukrainian designers, who ‘create their collections under the extremely difficult conditions of the full-scale war’.

‘At a time when the world is changing with unprecedented speed, Ukrainian fashion demonstrates its ability to rethink, innovate, and evolve sustainably’, Iryna Danylevska, co-founder and CEO of Ukrainian Fashion Week, says.

She adds: ‘In FW26-27, we aim to showcase how Ukrainian designers are shaping the future of fashion through responsible production, new technologies, innovative materials, and sustainable solutions that respond to global challenges — from environmental to social. These are forward-looking approaches, created in Ukraine that resonate globally’.

About the program

The program includes shows, presentations, and a trade show featuring forty Ukrainian brands. A standout highlight will be the Art of Fashion: Sustainable Innovations exhibition, where brands will present looks created using upcycling and recycling techniques, zero-waste production, responsible materials sourcing, and innovative technologies. Among the participants are BEVZA, J’AMEMME, KSENIASCHNAIDER, LITKOVSKA, NADYA DZYAK, OMELIA, PLNGNS, TG Botanical, UPSLOWUSE, and the fashion school UFEG, which will also host a lecture on biodesign.

Ukrainian Fashion Week will take place from March 12 to 15 at Mystetskyi Arsenal. The full program is available via the link.

Ways to attend Ukrainian Fashion Week: charity initiatives

This season, the team continues the ‘Faces of Heroes’ initiative — a collaborative project with the YANKO charitable foundation aimed at supporting service members with maxillofacial injuries.

UFW has launched a fundraiser, and for a donation of 3,500 UAH or more, you can receive an invitation to any show during Fashion Week. You can fill out the form via the link.

Some brands also have special offers.

UPSLOWUSE 

For a donation of 2,000 UAH, you can automatically receive an invitation to the show, and for donations starting at 350 UAH, you can take part in a giveaway to win a mini skirt, earrings, or a top on February 10.

J’amemme 

For a donation of 6,000 UAH, you can purchase an invitation to the brand’s presentation. Only 10 spots are available.

DOBROVA 

The brand offers two options: purchase an invitation for a donation of 3,500 UAH or more (only 10 spots available), or take part in a giveaway to win two invitations for a donation of 350 UAH or more. The results will be announced on March 12.

TONiA 

For a donation of 350 UAH or more, you can receive items from the brand. The first winner will choose between a zip-up corset or a choker with a horse-shaped pendant; the second — between a basic T-shirt or a classic white shirt; and the third — between the ‘Tree’ scarf or a pair of earrings. The collected funds will be donated to support the treatment of serviceman Vitalii Pytlyk. The giveaway will take place on March 20.

FÁBBY 

The brand has launched a fundraiser for the rehabilitation of Dmytro Petrovskyi, who sustained multiple shrapnel injuries to the head, chest, and limbs. For a charitable donation of 500 UAH, you will receive an invitation to the trade show, which will take place at Mystetskyi Arsenal throughout all days of Ukrainian Fashion Week.

MOGARDI

The brand, which reinterprets classic style in clothing, offers the opportunity to visit its booth at the trade show in exchange for a donation, as well as to take part in a lottery to win a belt, a hoodie, or a hat. All proceeds will go toward restoring Dmytro Petrovskyi’s jaw function.

However, another exhibition is on display in a small space in central Kyiv, featuring around a thousand objects (by comparison, ‘Ukraine — Crucifixion’ presents about seven hundred). This project is the work of Maksym Kilderov, an artist from the occupied city of Nova Kakhovka.

And although these projects differ in their content, curatorial approach, number of exhibits, and interactive elements, they are equally important for preserving the truth and the memory of the great war.

Among the artifacts in the new museum are a Stinger missile used by an Azov fighter to shoot down an enemy helicopter, as well as two ballot boxes: one from the illegal referendum in the Kherson region, and another from the 2024 presidential elections in russia’s Kursk region. The exhibition also features uniforms and personal belongings of the occupiers.

DTF Magazine spoke with artist and founder of the museum of war artifacts, Maksym Kilderov, about the beginnings of his collection, the most interesting objects in the collection, and his desire to create a concentrated archive of wartime relics

About the collection: from Counter-Strike skins to Shahed drones

From an early age, Maksym collected gaming tokens and Counter-Strike skins. But even with a long-standing interest in collecting, in 2022 he could not have imagined that he would go on to create an entire museum of war artifacts called the World War Free Museum.

When Kilderov organized his first Kyiv exhibition at the Lavra Gallery in 2023, he already had a small collection of materials. In particular, he had used RPG rocket tubes, which he had been collecting for painting. One of these tubes he painted with the words Art Force, and it became his first ‘object of war’.

Later, a gallery owner from Miami invited Maksym to present several works at the prestigious Art Basel fair. The artist shipped them via Ukrposhta, listing the contents as ‘souvenirs’. Instead of a delivery notification, however, he received a summons to the police. In the end, the situation was resolved: ‘The local police officer was understanding’, Maksym recalls.

The same [RPG] tubes were later presented at a shawarma spot in Vinnytsia (as we reported earlier), and have now become part of a large museum exhibition.

However, Maksym did not abandon attempts to scale his work internationally. His acquaintance with Andrii Andriienko, an explosive ordnance disposal (EOD) specialist from the Ministry of Internal Affairs, gave the artist the opportunity to work with other types of weapons on a much larger scale; in particular, Andriienko provided expert conclusions required for exporting such objects abroad. Between 30 and 60 percent of the proceeds Maksym donated to support the military, while the rest he reinvested in his own experiments. But during work on an installation involving a missile, an explosion occurred, killing four EOD specialists, including Andrii. This tragedy made any further sales abroad impossible.

Although more than 70 percent of the exhibition consists of items from Kilderov’s private collection, that is only part of the story: some artifacts are physically impossible to bring into the gallery — such as an entire Shahed drone.

The museum’s concept and its exhibits

The museum features artifacts from the Kherson, Donetsk, Luhansk, and Zaporizhzhia regions, as well as from the territory of the russian federation — specifically from the Kursk region and the Bryansk incursion.

There are various ways artifacts enter the collection. Occasionally, soldiers donate certain objects as a gesture of gratitude for support. More often, however, Maksym purchases them through specialized platforms such as Reibert, where defenders list their trophies.

‘I also take part in various auctions to support Ukraine’s defenders, — Maksym says. — Sometimes soldiers reach out directly, saying they’re about 50k short of buying a Mavic drone, and in return they offer a spent rocket launcher tube used moments earlier to shoot down an enemy target— accompanied by video proof. These are powerful objects with a story. So the ways things come together are completely different every time’.

The main difference from classical museums lies in the highly concentrated display of artifacts, as well as in the opportunity to interact with some of the objects.

‘In classical museums, everything is displayed separately, behind glass or cordoned off. Here, everything is concentrated. This single hall would probably be enough for six or seven traditional museum halls’.

‘I want the space to be overloaded enough to surround you from all sides. In Vinnytsia, there were cases when people who had no direct connection to the war felt physically unwell at my exhibition. No matter how it may sound, I want people to feel what war truly is’.

Despite its documentary nature, some items have been deliberately transformed into art objects — from the painted launch tubes in the Lend-Lease series to a sign from the Novoivanivka village council brought from the Kursk region, which the artist symbolically renamed ‘Novokakhovska’.

One of the key sections is a collection of launch tubes of russian, Ukrainian, and Western manufacture.

‘I tried to make everything on the shelves come together into a single mass. One shelf holds dummy grenades, another features objects mostly from occupied territories. Some items exist purely to create a visual mass. It’s the same in my artistic practice: individual details have meaning, but the main technique lies in creating a unified whole’.

At the same time, Maksym notes that some objects do not align with others by category, yet they work harmoniously in terms of composition.

‘In this museum, I went against common sense — but not against composition’.

The first hall

One of the first things that catches the eye is a painting by Kilderov, which the artist managed to evacuate from already occupied Nova Kakhovka in 2022.

‘This is the last blank canvas I bought before the full-scale invasion and worked on while under occupation, — Maksym recalls. — Later, I carried it through more than a dozen russian checkpoints. I hung it here because it works — both visually and conceptually. For me, it’s also an artifact of war​​.

In the future, Maksym plans to transform this hall into a fully fledged exhibition space ‘for artists who live in Ukraine and create objects and paintings during the war’.

On another wall, there are approximately 1,300 chevrons and patches. Among them are both official unit insignia and custom patches ‘created by servicemen or people connected to the military sphere, as well as volunteers’.

The second hall

From the vast array of exhibits, Maksym highlights several particularly significant objects. Among them are two items from the Boyko Towers. The first is a flag used by fighters of Ukraine’s Main Directorate of Intelligence when they recorded a message to the president after taking control of the towers. ‘It hung there under constant shelling. When the guys took it down, the fabric bore marks from shrapnel and areas where the material had literally melted’, Maksym recalls.

Next to it is a PlayStation console that defenders played on at the same Boyko Towers. The museum plans to keep it functional, allowing visitors to play the very same games the Ukrainian fighters played.

Maksym won a Kraken unit flag signed by fighters of the special forces unit at a charity auction.

‘Later, I began to have doubts about the organizers of that auction, so I sent a photo of the flag to a friend who has been with Kraken for a long time, — Maksym says. — When he saw the signatures, he broke down in tears: among them were the names of those who stood at the unit’s origins — and many of them, unfortunately, are no longer alive’.

A Stinger MANPADS used by an Azov fighter to shoot down a russian helicopter in the Zaporizhzhia direction.

The exhibition also features a ballot box from the illegal referendum on the ‘accession’ of the Kherson region to the russian federation. Inside are dozens of authentic ballots. Maksym emphasizes their authenticity, noting that forgeries are common on the market.

There is also a large interactive table featuring a hundred objects — ‘things you can turn over in your hands and examine closely’. Among them are a traditional knife belonging to an occupier from Yakutia, documents, radios, watches, chevrons, and night-vision devices. On a nearby table are more items left by the occupiers: playing cards with pornographic imagery, a russian officer’s planner from the so-called LPR containing notes about the filtration of Ukrainians, a daily schedule, and what Maksym describes as a ‘vast amounts of information’.

Maksym notes that they are in communication with the director of the National Museum of the History of Ukraine in the Second World War regarding potential collaborative projects, but there are no details yet.

‘I also handed over two original videos from the period of occupation that I filmed myself. Currently, they are being presented at an exhibition in London, which was co-created by this museum’.

The museum of war artifacts is not yet open to the public. You can follow for updates here.

How did the idea to create outdoor clothing with adaptive features come about?

The team of Gorgany, which includes the TURBAT brand, is taking part in a social project — together with veterans and soldiers with prostheses, they go hiking in the mountains. This experience became one of the motivations to focus specifically on outdoor clothing.

‘Moreover, we have significant expertise in designing specialized clothing that performs well in specific conditions, — Marian adds. — At some point, these two ideas came together quite naturally’.

Work with focus groups

In the spring of 2025, TURBAT teamed up with the military trauma center Superhumans, and just six months later presented the first two clothing models. The team worked with focus groups that included people with different types of prosthetics, created prototypes, and tested them together with soldiers to ensure comfort and functionality.

However, according to Marian, these items still don’t work for everyone: ‘We can’t cover every case with just these two products, but we managed to address most of them’.

About the specifics of adaptive clothing production

The jacket and convertible pants were created based on existing TURBAT models, but they feature several modifications specifically adapted to the needs of people with prosthetics. In particular, the cut includes a wider sleeve — ‘so that a person with a prosthesis can put their arm through without taking the jacket off’.

But the items also feature structural elements that are specific to adaptive clothing.

‘For example, the adaptive zipper on the jacket was developed by a Dutch company, — Marian says. — It features a magnetic fastener that can be easily closed with one hand, a hook, a prosthesis, or even a finger. It may seem like a small detail, but it’s important to consider such things to give a person several solution options’.

About the details

One of the most common elements of adaptive clothing is Velcro. It’s typically used in models designed for the early stages of recovery after an injury. The TURBAT line, however, is intended for later stages — when a person is ready to go hiking.

According to Marian, Velcro isn’t a practical solution for outdoor clothing. It can fail when it gets dirty, isn’t waterproof enough for rain, and may come undone during movement — for example, when a person squats or raises their leg high. Overall, it’s also quite stiff.

‘We talked a lot about Velcro with the team because it's the simplest and most obvious solution, — Marian notes. — But it works well only in clothing that experiences less strain or has a simpler construction — for example, in track pants or T-shirts. But not in items that are meant to protect from the rain’.

TURBAT still used Velcro — to adjust the width of the sleeve. However, it was complemented with tabs that can be easily hooked with a finger.

Dara Adapt jacket

The Dara Adapt jacket features underarm ventilation openings, magnetic zippers or zippers with rings for an easier grip, sleeve tabs, and magnetic chest pockets. All additional zippers are equipped with rings to make them easier to open or to attach an extra puller.

The men’s jacket is available in three colors — olive, orange, and black.

Forester Adapt pants

The model is based on the classic Forester pants made of durable polyester, as stated on the website, since pants are usually subject to damage, abrasion, and additional strain when interacting with a prosthesis.

The Forester Adapt also comes in a women’s version available in two colors — black and brown.

The pants can be fully unzipped along the sides, allowing them to be put on without removing a prosthesis or other clothing. They also feature an adjustable waistband and can be transformed into shorts. Two vertical pockets are positioned closer to the front for comfort while sitting.

About the pre-order format

Marian says the brand chose the pre-order format because it is difficult to predict demand.

‘It would have been quite a financial risk to just produce jackets in three colors, — he says. — We needed to forecast how many of these items would be required, in which sizes, and so on. But we didn't have any statistics or experience to rely on’.

After the test launch, the team realized that the pre-order format did not work as actively as they had hoped. They are now preparing to release a small batch in stores, which is expected to be available in the spring.

In the future, the brand plans to expand its range of adaptive clothing. ‘We already see what can be improved, since we gathered a lot of information during the development process, — Marian says. — These products are complex, but if, for example, we decide to create a warm jacket, it will be much easier and faster than starting everything from scratch. So we can continue developing this line’.

Prices: 

Jacket — 8950 UAH

Pants — 5500 UAH

Follow TURBAT on Instagram for updates.

Ai Weiwei shares his Portuguese home with five cats (at one time, his studio in China housed 40), two dogs, and an exotic turaco bird — a gift from a local pet shop. Next to the house, he recreated an exact replica of his Shanghai studio, which had been demolished by government order back in 2011.

Despite this, the artist constantly emphasizes that even in the most comfortable conditions he never feels at home and dreams of returning to China, where his 92-year-old mother still lives. Perhaps this explains his tireless focus on issues of inequality, human rights, migrants, and refugees — those who are forced to leave their own homes.

In 2024, at a solo exhibition, Weiwei presented the work ‘Wheatfield with Crows’, inspired by Van Gogh’s painting of the same name, replacing the birds with FPV drones — one of the key technologies in russia’s war against Ukraine. A little later, he allowed Ukrainska Pravda to use his pixelated Don Quixote image for merch.

Now, specifically for Ukraine and commissioned by RIBBON International, the artist is working on an installation titled ‘Three Perfectly Proportioned Spheres and Camouflage Uniforms Painted White’. It will be presented in Kyiv on September 14 at the Pavilion of Culture at VDNH. The project’s concept is a reflection on the nature of modern wars, the concealment of facts, and ideological manipulation: the spheres symbolize historical ideals of order and rationality, while the white camouflage covering them represents censorship and attempts to ‘whitewash’ reality.

In August, Ai Weiwei visited Ukraine for the second time this summer, traveling not only to Kyiv but also to Kharkiv. DTF Magazine met with the artist to talk about his interest in Ukraine, the lack of courage in contemporary art, the discomfort of life in Europe, and what he considers a slap in the face to those who ‘go on about democracy’.

— Many artists are now afraid to come to Ukraine. You've instead been to Kharkiv, met ‘Khartiia’ fighters. Weren't you afraid?

— First, I have the opportunity to be here because Ribbon International invited me to do something. As an artist, I always feel I should be in the place where I am needed. And after I came here, I built stronger relations with people from different levels. They come from the cultural industry, they could be farmers, they could be military leaders or foot soldiers on the front, really doing the daily work and really risking their lives. So in that sense, I can better understand who Ukrainians are, because I trust my judgment, my emotions. And I don't see myself as an artist in the first place. I want to see myself as a human being. And as a human being, I'm part of the Ukrainian people.

But at the same time, as an artist, I can give out my way of expression, which I think extends, you know, their emotions — what they want to say and what they want to express. And this is a challenge. It's not an easy thing to do. So the real danger is not that you lose your life. The real danger is you lose your heart and your spirit before you lose your life. So I don't think there's any danger here, I am not afraid.

— And in general, is there anything in this life left you are still afraid of?

— I'm afraid of becoming older, losing consciousness, no longer being able to feel the pain of other people, and no longer being able to bear the responsibility of extending my hope and support to those who are in desperate situations.

— Do you think modern artists and modern art less fearless? I mean, more and more artists prefer to work with, you know, comfortable topics and do not work with something complex and difficult, the things you can be cancelled or hated for.

— I think art in general shows the cowardice of people who just want to be casual and to be cool, you know, to be cheerful. So it has lost the function of art, which is a serious call to our inner force.

But in today's modern art, you really see something you can really trust. You think it opens a window you could never imagine. And so that requires the artist to be a very brave man. But you don't see that kind of brave man coming out from art education. They just want to copy some successful artists so they can sell at high auctions or become a celebrity, some kind of star, which is poisoning.

— It seems that in our world now, to be pathetic, evil is winning. How is it possible? Because on one hand we have artificial intelligence, robots, cure for cancer and all this stuff. But on the other hand there are still a lot of poor people, inequality and wars.

— I think society is deeply divided now because of the so-called high technologies. Because they only benefit the big corporations and those who have the power benefit — they become more efficient and can lay off more staff, which makes ordinary people more vulnerable because they cannot even find a decent job to support themselves. So under this kind of trend… It's not a trend, it's almost like a historical move. We are much dragged down by this kind of corporate globalization and this kind of elitism in culture, which will be a disaster — you know, it certainly will bring us disaster.

— But are you optimistic after all? Do you still believe in humanity?

— I think if we talk about humanity, the word we must use is compassion. When it all is not about you. You not only care about yourself, you're not selfish, but rather you care about your neighbors or those who need your help. But that hasn’t become our reality. So I don't know. I cannot be very optimistic, you know.

—  What should we do with the fact that people from the so-called ‘first world’ usually talk about values, proper world development, and other noble things? Can these ideas even resonate in African or Asian countries that are really very poor, in particular because ‘first world’ countries once profited quite well from them?

— In the 1970s, my country had nothing. China worked hard to become powerful, but it sacrificed the education of several generations to do so. However, the authoritarian system allowed China to become strong. But this is more of an exception. Many other countries, for example in Africa, could not become strong — they were completely neglected. And humanity cannot survive if it neglects the well-being of other people.

— You often work with social justice. And what is justice for you? How do you imagine it?

— My son said justice means everybody's happy. When he was four years old, he said that, which has a certain truth. But everybody is happy… Is that possible? Or how do you measure what happiness is? Right? The new pair of brand shoes, or a place in a certain society which allows you to visit certain parties — is that happiness? Or is happiness just to watch how sunflowers are blooming under the sun? So it's a very different measurement.

So I think society needs to take on a lot more responsibility to achieve true happiness. Because happiness that is based on other people's efforts is fake. You just consume without contributing or taking responsibility.

— You have lived in Berlin, in London, now you live in Portugal. Would you say that in Europe you feel at least calm and comfortable?

— I didn’t feel a second of comfort in Europe, because I lost my possibility to live in China. I'm Chinese, I speak Chinese, my habits are more Chinese. But I totally gave it all up because of the circumstances. I feel that I'm a foreigner. It doesn't matter how nicely people treat me, or how warmly they welcome me — I'm still an outsider because there are certain values I cannot accept.

— For example?

— Like society, that has too much focus on so-called individual benefits rather than ​​seeing human society as one. We should recognize that our privileges are always based on someone's misfortune. So without having this kind of compassion, society becomes quite foreign to me. Even more foreign.

— And how do you feel about Europe declaring all those values like freedom, respect, equality? But do you really see them in Europe now?

— Many of these values ​​seem hypocritical or simply unrealistic to me. I don’t understand some words, like ‘freedom’, ‘democracy’, or even ‘love’. I don’t see that these concepts really exist here on a deeper level. And also in Europe, people are very afraid of controversy when someone behaves rudely or unpleasantly to others.

— Many Ukrainians who were forced to leave Ukraine are now looking for answers on how not to be strangers in the place they found themselves. What would you tell them?

— Of course, with today's culture and lifestyle, you can easily adjust yourself to another location which may be safer or more comfortable or guarantee your success. But ultimately you are who you are. You belong to another culture that you are deeply rooted in and that you will have to sacrifice. In my opinion, when you try to gain something, you always lose a lot. So I don't know how people will solve this issue for themselves. It is also a sacrifice.

— In 2017 you put cages in New York as a symbol of protest against Donald Trump. And almost 10 years later, here we go again. Donald Trump is president of the United States again. How could it happen?

— Guys, this is really a slap in the face for all people, who are talking and talking about democracy. He is officially elected. But elected by whom? For what reasons? People like him are always blaming the modern media for the manipulation of the mass mind. So they play the game very well. And now they even try to decide Ukraine's fate. And they're not even shy about it. They think they're the ones who would make the decision.

— You express your protest against injustice with your art. And do you expect some results, or it's just your way to say that it is not okay, that something is not okay in this world?

— I don't see any consequences of my art, but I face some consequences of it. I often have to explain my position to express my own opinion, which reflects who I am. And I hope that my opinion finds a response in others. That's all I want today.

— And you said once, you don’t need much — paper and a pen for your work and good chat with friends and family for your inner state of mind. And actually, a human being really doesn't need much. But where does all that striving for influence, money, and things come from then? 

— As human beings, we already have everything — the world, the sunshine, the wind, drops of rain and snowflakes. We have everything. The higher power is so generous, providing clean water, everything.

But also the problem is the kind of game we're in, a competition about who can make more money and to live in a larger property. This is always the main problem. Since earlier times, humans have been very selfish and have wished to be above others. But you cannot be above others. Once you choose this road, you lose the other possibilities. So it's pitiful for those people who have money, but do not know how to use it to benefit others.

— In your practice, you rely on the past and talk a lot about the importance of memory. The Russians are simply now erasing the memory of everything Ukrainian in the territories they occupy: they are changing the names of streets and cities, rewriting history textbooks, throwing out everything that is left of Ukrainians in schools, colleges, and libraries. Nothing new, it has happened before, and not only here, but all over the world. But what do we do about it now?— Without a memory or understanding of our origins, we are essentially very poor. It doesn’t matter how much money you have, if you lose your identity, it is the most precious thing. Think of a person without a memory. I really think it's that simple. Memory is the greatest asset of both an individual and a nation, because it is about our identity and our understanding of who we are. And there is nothing more important in life than understanding who you are. So, of course, we see all the aggressors trying to erase or distort that, to create a different, false narrative. And that's really effective in controlling people's minds. And the way we protect our memory is protecting our integrity.

Read more about art and interviews with artists in the “Art” section.

Berlin is the most famous city where abandoned factories, power plants, and similar spaces were squatted and repurposed. However, Kyiv has followed the same path, although not on such a large scale and somewhat later. Among the most striking examples are the former ribbon-weaving factory on Nyzhnioyurkivska Street, where Closer first started operating, and later other clubs, concert venues, galleries, and vinyl stores; 'Club on Kyrylivska' — in the building of a former Kyiv brewery dating back to 1872; and, for the past three years, some of the largest electronic music events have been taking place in the pavilions of the Dovzhenko Film Studio, built in the late 1920s.

There are also plenty of examples in other Ukrainian cities: in Lviv, the TRACE club opened in one of the workshop halls of the former Lviv glass and mirror plant; Kharkiv’s group Some People is building the Center for New Culture, an important part of which is the club, in the building of a commercial machinery plant; and the 'Detaliзація' (Detalizatsiia) festival in Ivano-Frankivsk was held in 2019 in the abandoned buildings of the canteen and gym of the Avtolyvmash plant.

In fact, the 'Detaliзація' festival, which was held this year for the first time since the start of the full-scale war with the support of the EU House of Europe program, hosted a discussion panel dedicated to how former workshops and factories become places of art, music, and new communities. Its participants were Slava Lepsheiev, founder of the most famous Ukrainian rave Cxema; Anton Nazarko, co-founder of the Some People formation; and Kseniia Yanus, co-founder of the 'Noiz shchoseredy' ('Noise every Wednesday' — note by DTF Magazine) event series, who moderated the discussion.

DTF Magazine, together with House of Europe, presents the most interesting highlights from the discussion.

ON THE ADVANTAGES OF INDUSTRIAL SPACES

Kseniia: Slava, why did you choose industrial locations for Cxema? I know your event started in Otel’ (a club on the territory of the revitalized ribbon-weaving factory — note by DTF Magazine). You also held Cxema in CultMotive, a former bakery on the banks of the Dnipro River, and there was also a Cxema event in Berghain.

Slava Lepsheiev: Yes, we started in 2014, and one of the first locations was indeed the Otel’ club. At that time, the ribbon-weaving factory was a new space, and Closer was the pioneer — it had already been operating for a year when I found Otel’.

Later, when the number of people wanting to attend Cxema increased, we started looking for a larger space. Practical considerations played an important role here: a large area should be cheap, located away from the center and residential buildings, and free of walls and columns. That is, it must be a warehouse, hangar, or former factory.

There is, of course, an aesthetic aspect — the look and feel of the space. An old industrial building made of brick and concrete makes you want to do something no one has done before.

On the other hand, we held Cxema at a relatively modern Tetra Pak factory, built in the 1990s by a foreign company. All my youth, I drove past it and thought: 'Wow, what a great building, so well built'. Over time, it was bought out, Tetra Pak moved out, and it turned out it could be rented. We held two events there.

Kseniia: Anton, as far as I know, you are repurposing a building of a former Soviet-era factory in Kharkiv…

Anton Nazarko: Yes, we’re building the Center for New Culture in a former commercial machinery plant, where refrigerated display cases for stores were produced in Soviet times.

Besides aesthetics, which Slava already mentioned, practicality plays an important role in choosing an industrial facility.

For example, after World War II, Kharkiv was developed as an industrial city, so there is not as much necessary infrastructure in the city center as in factories. What do I mean? Before the full-scale war, when we first thought about creating the Center for New Culture, we had the opportunity to rent a very cool historical building right in the city center without residential buildings nearby for a small amount of money. It could have been a wonderful cultural center. The owner was practically giving it to us, and we had already started thinking about implementation… But then we ran into a problem — a lack of electricity capacity. To conduct additional power, we were told we’d have to pay an astronomical sum — around $200,000. So practical aspects are always important ones to consider before renting.

The money issue also works in favor of industrial facilities — they are cheaper to rent. We decided we would pay rent properly and not use spaces owned by the state, the region, or the city. Because if you want to build a truly independent platform that influences what happens in the city, you have to be truly independent. So that at some point you’re not asked to get involved in the next elections.

Slava: Unlike Anton’s project, for me industrial premises are for one night only. My main goal is to find a place that people will visit for the first time. Industrial spaces are a new experience for visitors. In this sense, I’m always searching for new spaces.

Read also: ‘Everything was created from scratch’. Architect of ∄ tells the story of the club construction

ABOUT RETHINKING FOR ONE NIGHT, LONG-TERM DEVELOPMENT, AND CONTINUOUS UNCERTAINTY

Kseniia: Often industrial spaces are reimagined just for one night. Slava, how do you feel after an event? Do you want to go back to the same place again?

Slava: The feeling after the event is very draining because preparation lasts for several months. Mentally, emotionally, and physically, it’s exhausting. When it’s over, there’s a feeling of 'We did it! It was cool', but you still feel depleted. Then you realize you have to look for a new place for the next event.

I have thought about finding a permanent venue — smaller, not for 2,000 people or more. There are good examples: Berlin’s Berghain and Kraftwerk, where the Tresor club operates. Kraftwerk, like Berghain, is a former power plant building. In 1997, Dimitri Hegemann found an abandoned building to reopen the famous Tresor club. The Berlin Atonal festival of avant-garde music and art also happens there, along with fairs and large exhibitions. So the space serves multiple purposes. I want to find an opportunity to open something like that in the future.

Kseniia: Anton, how do you deal with constant uncertainty? You rent a space, invest in it — but at any moment it could be redeveloped, or the lease terms might change. How do you stay motivated?

Anton: That’s our headache, honestly. When we decided to create the Center for New Culture, we didn’t have resources to build from scratch. But we had no option but to do it because we saw what was happening to our city, which we love deeply. At some point, we just asked: do we do it or not? We decided we couldn’t help but do it.

We signed a lease and started looking for money for rent and deposit. Everything that happened after was a fortunate chain of events involving people who love their city and are loved by it. We’ve been involved in cultural projects for over 10 years, working in creative industries, creating places, and gaining experience.

We signed a good six-year contract. What happens after, we don’t know yet. We hope to continue our work there. We have good relations with the owners, who are patient and understand the difficult circumstances we’re working under. They recognize that there aren’t many young people and cultural initiatives left in the city, so they respect what we do.

In the future, we’d like to take out a loan, buy at least the first floor, or find investors. But no bank will give us any guarantees, no investor will risk investing in real estate that might be destroyed by shelling.

Once we build everything, we know the fairy tale of the Center for New Culture could end overnight — but that doesn’t stop us. We’ve chosen this path.

We were in fact encouraged to return to the city. We were told: 'Come back. If you don’t make things happen, nothing will. Please, we’ll find you all the money you need', We returned, even though we knew promises might not be fulfilled.

We looked for financing ourselves — borrowing money, selling cars, borrowing again, even from people we probably shouldn’t have. In the first year, an American fund helped us launch 6–7 showcases, which gave us momentum.

A year later, funds told us: 'We see how much you do for the city; we want to help'. So my advice when looking for money is to knock on every door — from government and grants to large local sponsors.

Kseniia: Slava, you mentioned sponsorship money, and I want to ask you — how much do sponsors influence ideas? How much do they transform those ideas? And how often do you have to make compromises or give something up just to secure that sponsorship funding?

Slava: Honestly, it depends on their demands. All sponsors want to be featured on every piece of promotional material — and all promoters don’t want that. So it becomes a question of how much money you can attract, and how much it takes to compromise and put that sponsor’s trademark everywhere. Everyone makes that decision for themselves.

We usually didn’t put any trademarks in our design. We kept it limited to the bar — for example, you could see a shelf at the bar featuring a specific brand, and in exchange we got funding. But we didn’t go beyond that, because that’s when it starts turning into: 'We want our logo here, and here, and also on social media', and so on — and that’s something we just can’t allow.

ON THE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN PRE-REVOLUTIONARY AND SOVIET BUILDINGS

Anton: Building a club in a Soviet-era building versus a pre-revolutionary one, or one from the early 20th century, are two entirely different things. When you have a pre-revolutionary factory, it’s a structure with complex architecture — it was built with different rooms and spaces, with intricate connections between floors (like Closer or K41). But when you get a space without complex infrastructure, you have to build it out in a way that gives people room to explore, to walk around and to hide away. And if that doesn't exist — you have to create it yourself.

That’s basically what we’re doing now — we’re making the space we rent more complex. We took over a venue with very few internal walls, and we’re constructing them ourselves. We're thinking through different scenarios for how guests might behave — where they might want to spend time, what little corners or labyrinths they might want to wander through. We're also thinking about how multiple stages should function at the same time. And we test these hypotheses every time we rebuild our space.

The main thing we’ve built so far is the walls of our main dance floor, added enough exits, and made sure that the whole setup qualifies as the simplest kind of bomb shelter and safe space. When there’s an air raid alert during an event, we basically suggest that people move to the dance floor.

We’re also constantly trying to transform the architecture of the venue and of the party itself. Our 'main' is fairly large, and we’re always trying to change its layout so that people who come to every event still see something new each time. We have a lot of different stage panels, and the stage architecture and DJ locations change with every event. And the lighting is always different too.

ON WHETHER THE UNDERGROUND SHOULD STAY IN THE SHADOWS, POLITICS, AND RELATIONS WITH THE STATE

Slava: I think we’re not trying to integrate into any kind of system at the state level. Instead, we’re creating an alternative to that system. Our projects offer a different vision of what culture can and should be.

Anton: Yes, I completely agree with Slava. We really want to have an influence on what’s happening in Kharkiv — but not through politics. Neither we nor our friends are interested in going into politics. We want to be an influential platform that generates ideas capable of shaping the city’s future.

We care deeply about what Kharkiv becomes — not just in terms of infrastructure, but as a community. Right now, the city has a unique chance it’s never had before: to build a new Kharkiv, even in the face of the destruction and grief brought by the war.

And I’m not just talking about rebuilding walls. I’m also talking about how we live together — about cooperation and shared responsibility. A city isn’t just its buildings. It’s a kind of social contract between people. It’s about how we coexist. So, we want the Center for New Culture to become a space that brings people together — a space that plays a role in shaping that new social contract. Right now, it’s already attracting people who care about what Kharkiv looks like in the future.

This material was created with the support of

About the idea of creating a skatepark

Krytka is the largest, but not the first skatepark built in Okhtyrka by the community. In 2018, they created a separate skate zone in the local park on Batiuka Street. According to Pavlo, this ‘became the impetus for the creation of a skate community in the city’, and the park served as a platform for workshops, competitions, and skate film screenings.

In addition, the community decided to undertake the process of building a separate specialized space for representatives of street cultures, including skateboarding, namely Krytka. They created it gradually over the course of 2023-2024.

‘Since the start of the full-scale war, riders have moved away, so there are not many people left in the city who could pass on their skills to the new generation, — Pavlo Ihnatenko says. — The remaining young people want to develop themselves and develop their city. They are passionate about what they do, they hold classes in Okhtyrka, they are looking for resources to continue training, and this is a very good example for other cities in Ukraine and around the world’.

About the construction process

The skatepark is located on the territory of the former Okhtyrka Agricultural Machinery Plant, in a historic building in the city center.

Pavlo says that they started the construction processes back in 2018. They had to build the park from scratch, ‘from bleaching the furniture to the sinks in the bathrooms, which a friend of the community made out of concrete’. According to Ihnatenko, the only specialist they asked for help from was a welder, he helped them create the furniture structures, and everything else was made by the community.

‘We persuaded the guys from Kharkiv to give us the first ramps at one of the contests, then we found money for their transportation and lifted it all to the second floor. Then we updated and finished them ourselves.... We knew what we wanted to see there, but we didn't understand how it should look like in the final. We were very inspired by Kyiv's Nyzhnioiurkivska Street and the Kablis space in Vilnius’.

Pasha adds that the team realized from the beginning that it should be a versatile space for young people: ‘One day it should be a screening or party room, the next day it should be a venue for skateboard competitions or a table tennis tournament’.

‘Everything was built with our resources and finances. Back then, we didn't even know what a grant was, and we confused it with the word grand. And there were quite few foundations in our region that organized grant programs. It seems to me that in total it took about six years to create the skatepark, but not everything has been completed yet and we are still looking for solutions’, Pavlo explains, adding that the main difficulties are related to heating in the winter season and the floor, which is not quite suitable for skateboards and scooters.

In 2023, the skatepark organized its first event, a street culture festival. Pavlo says: ‘We saw the interest of young people and it became an inspiration to keep working and not to lose heart’.

Now Street Cultures Okhtyrka is working on increasing the number of skatepark elements.

‘We were inspired by the Urban Park at the Expocenter of Ukraine (VDNG) in Kyiv and the ramp that was set up at this year's ‘Brudnyi pes’ festival. We realize that there is no possibility to buy it, but we can try to make a mini ramp by ourselves’.

About challenges during construction

According to Ihnatenko, the first problem was ‘misunderstanding on the part of the local community’, for whom ‘representatives of the skate or street community are marginalized’. Pasha adds that most of the locals ‘do not even consider the issue of lack of spots where community members can spend their time’.

Already during construction, the community faced funding and resource issues: ‘When everything is done on your own initiative, you kind of stay independent, but you can't always realize the idea the way it should be’.

‘In general, we realize that we need to keep working and developing the community, and all the other problems will be solved in the future. Maybe not tomorrow, but they will be solved. The worst thing is to lose the community, because then nobody will need the skatepark and the space, and young people will leave the city without seeing the opportunities for their development’.

How the skatepark works

Krytka is open every day from 6:00 p.m. to 10:00 p.m. except Monday, a technical day.

The space operates in an open format, so anyone can come there. There are five complete skateboards that can be borrowed for training, and there is also a table tennis area.

Three times a week Street Cultures Okhtyrka organizes graffiti workshops and periodically — free skateboarding classes.

Thematic film screenings became part of the space, as the team had originally planned. In August, the park hosted a screening of the film ‘British Sounds’ — a documentary about British music and its development in the late 20th century, for which Street Cultures Okhtyrka made a Ukrainian translation. Currently the team is working on the translation of a movie about the skateboarding community of Malmo — Pasha also specified that it was the members of the Swedish community who gave them the skateboards on which they train at Krytka.

About the film

In August 2024 Street Cultures Okhtyrka released a mini-film showing the process of skatepark restoration and presenting the local skate community.

According to Pavlo, with the film, they also wanted ‘to bring awareness to the community in small towns, especially in frontier towns’.

‘For many people, it's not clear what a skatepark is and why it's there. But it works even when young people just gather there — it's their place of strength, it's a magnet that unites people. And when this magnet is half-destroyed, we can draw conclusions about the community. It was important for us to show Ukraine and the world: if you want your favorite activity to be treated with respect, sometimes you have to take responsibility and show what we are capable of’.

Brooches created from embroidered candy tins

Denis works in the direction of contemporary jewelry, explaining that his items are ‘not just about beauty, but about history’. But it was only with the outbreak of full-scale war that he saw and felt how these stories could influence the course of events: ‘That realization brought me back into practice’. During the first month of the invasion, it seemed absurd for a jewelry designer to think about making jewelry.

In the spring of 2022, Denis and his family evacuated from a village in the Kyiv region, which was in the line of fire, to the Carpathians. ‘My young son paid attention to the embroidery with which the house was decorated, and I had an idea for brooches, which I made without jewelry making tools or materials’.

He used candy tins as the basis for his brooches, on which he embroidered scenes of war that struck him. The series of two brooches is called Flowers of war.

‘The embroidery transformed the scenes depicted, they became like completely different images’, Denis says.

On one brooch he embroidered a flaming airplane, in which he later discerned a flower. The photo of the jewelry was placed on the cover of the issue of the German jewelry magazine SMCK, which was devoted to war and peace. The brooch was also going to be put up for auction at Sotheby's: the organizers asked Denis for the jewelry, and he gave it to them. ‘Some time later, after a long silence, they informed us that they would not put it up for auction because it is more of an art object rather than a piece of jewelry’, the jewelry designer says.

The second Flowers of war brooch is embroidered with crosses from the cemetery in Bucha.

‘After the liberation of Bucha and Irpin, the photo of this cemetery was published by all international and our media, — Denis says. — But on the brooch this picture turned into a starry sky’.

This brooch was sold for a donation to the Superhumans Center (a prosthetics and rehabilitation center in Lviv. — Note from DTF Magazine) through the international platform of contemporary jewelry art Klimt02.

‘Jewelry is becoming an additional tool of diplomacy’

In May 2023, at the Autor exhibition of contemporary jewelry art in Romania, the organizers awarded a russian jewelry brand for a collection with a reference to George Orwell's novel ‘1984’. It included, among other things, a piece of jewelry in the form of a bomb with the inscription ‘Peace’. Denis wrote on Instagram that ‘this work and its awarding are a wicked and very bad joke’.

Together with other jewelry designers, they wrote a collective letter in which they explained to the exhibition organizers ‘why this award is a retraumatization of an entire country, why the stage should not be given to russian artists, and why it is important to take into account world events when selecting works for participation and awarding’.

‘We have sent this letter and the award case to various international jewelry organizations and I hope we have been able to stop the promotion and presentation of this work in other venues’.

For Denis, the awarding of the russian brand was an additional impetus to work on the collection further. ‘I realized that powerful political jewelry is required to be displayed by Ukraine at international jewelry events. Jewelry is becoming an additional tool of diplomacy’.

The background to the creation of the Resistance collection

In the spring of 2023, Denis and his son once again visited a flea market. When the jewelry designer saw the parts of the resistors, he ‘immediately knew that he wanted to make a piece of jewelry about resistance. This was after a hard winter with blackouts’.

‘Someone — with the help of text, someone — with a drawing, but I can express my experiences or thoughts with the help of jewelry, — Denis says. — In the case of the ‘Resistance’, it is pride for the country, for all of us, for our strength to resist such a powerful enemy’.

He connected resistor parts into one chain and made the first Resistance brooch. Subsequently, CONTEMPORANIA, one of the largest exhibitions of contemporary jewelry art, announced a competition for Ukrainian jewelry designers: the supervisory board had to choose one jewelry designer who would present his/her works for free.

Denis won the competition by presenting one brooch as a concept for the ‘Resistance’ collection. However, he admits that although this stimulated him to work further, ‘it was difficult to develop the idea and forms’.

What the new collection turned out to be

The collection consists of brooches, rings and a pendant. This was the first time Denis worked with titanium: the light and strong material reproduced the ideas of resistance in the best possible way. In previous collections he has worked mostly with gold and vintage black silver, and in June 2023 he created the ‘Fury’ ring made of silver and black polyurethane.

Denis learned how to work with titanium while creating the collection. ‘I gathered information bit by bit: I learned how to anodize metal, that is, to give the metal different colors using an electrochemical process, as well as how to join parts together, because titanium parts cannot be soldered like gold or silver ones’.

In addition to titanium, steel and silver were also used in the creation of jewelry. The ultra-sharp geometric shapes of the products are reminiscent of architectural defense structures.

‘I was inspired by real sharp shapes of defense fortifications, such as Czech hedgehogs. But in a way that doesn't depict an exact replica of existing objects’, Denis says.

As with the Flowers of war brooch, a similar illusion was created with the new collection. Initially, it was based on ‘emotions and ideas of something murderous, dangerously beautiful and sharp’. But when the works were ready, Denis saw a spike of wheat in the Strength brooch, a sunflower in the Zariba brooch, rays of the sun in the Honor ring and brooch, and a Ukrainian trident (tryzub) in the Struggle ring.

‘I wanted the viewer to have a sense that it's beautiful, like our country, — the designer explains. — But it can become very dangerous and sharp for someone who is attacking us’.

Before becoming a jewelry designer, Denis worked in graphic design for more than 15 years. In 2013, he started his practice as a jewelry artist in a private workshop and now he creates new jewelry collections every year.

The jewelry collections by Denis Music have been presented at jewelry exhibitions in Germany, Great Britain, Italy, France, Spain, Romania and Lithuania.

What the film's about

‘Stepne’ is the story of a few days in the life of an aged man, who comes to the Ukrainian village called Stepne to care for his dying mother. Before her death, his mother tells him about a set of things buried inside the shed that ‘will revoke his memories and make him feel all those dreams he had and all those things he craved for, but never achieved’.

Director Maryna Vroda adds that ‘Stepne’ is ‘an elegiac tale with silence as one of its main characters. It is the stillness that covers the endless Ukrainian steppes and echoes in the sounds of past generations’.

Read more about the film in our article.

What critics are writing about the film

Dirty Movies

‘Stepne’ deserves credit for its realistic portrayal of a little-known face of Ukraine, and for the convincing performances (both Maksiakov and the elderly actors are honest and candid). At times, the movie feels like an observational, almost sensory documentary, a fly-on-the-wall type of register. Ukrainian director Maryna Vroda, however, had bigger intentions. She explains that ‘Stepne’ reflects upon “the silence of past generations about their history”. It takes an eye extremely familiar with Soviet history in order to grasp the inferred topics.

While I recognise that the characters are mostly silent (the conversations are sparse and laconic), I have absolutely no idea what is it that these people are refusing to discuss, and which taboos the movie is attempting to address. A woman’s choice to speak in her native Russian tongue is briefly challenged, presumably a comment on language as a geopolitical weapon. But that’s about it.

The biggest problem with ‘Stepne’ is that it fails to enrapture viewers. It possesses neither the storytelling panace nor the visual splendour required in order to keep viewers hooked for nearly two hours. Instead, it becomes monotonous roughly 30 minutes from the beginning. This is not Alexander Sokurov’s Mother and Son (1997). Maryna Vroda’s debut lacks the vigour and the aesthetic supremacy of its Russian counterpart, also a movie about an ageing son caring for his dying mother.

Read the full review here.

Universal Cinema

‘Stepne’, an enthralling motion picture presenting at the Locarno Film Festival 2023, is undoubtedly a cinematic masterpiece that leaves an indelible imprint on the viewer’s psyche. Delving into the soul of Ukrainian countryside, Maryna Vroda, portraits an astounding film of profound meaning despite its minimalistic storyline. The visual symphony that unfolds in this cinematographic narration captivates on every level; it is both pleasing to the eye and stimulating to the mind.

In ‘Stepne’, Vroda crafts an intricate narrative centered around Anatoliy’s struggle with his impending loss. It unfolds as a complex critique of not only mother-son relationships but also the human condition itself. Anatoliy, as an exemplar of stoic Eastern European masculinity, appears initially as an emotionally distant figure. However, throughout the film, Vroda gradually peels back his layers, revealing his vulnerability, his fear of being alone, and his inability to communicate his terror at his mother’s oncoming death.

On the other side of that, ‘Stepne’ is a sharp exploration into the lives of its characters, embodying post-Soviet tropes through their personalities and experiences. Vroda masterfully articulates the broad spectrum of experiences and emotions felt in the wake of Soviet dissolution via cinematic visual storytelling.

Read the full review here.

International Cinephile Society

Location plays a huge part in what makes ‘Stepne’ such an effective piece of film. The moment we see Anatoly in the beginning of the movie traveling back to his childhood home, it already runs a gamut of feelings and emotions, and Vroda depicts all these in her takes – long and patient yet minimalist in their approach. There is a lot one can say in silence, and ‘Stepne’ thrives in these moments. In the cold, chilly outback, one can say that the town has already detached from the modern world and the isolation of the characters and the townspeople is very much felt.

The film finds its unlikely source of energy and vigor in moments when the townspeople are sharing different tales and stories. Bordering on documentary at this point, Vroda’s decision to keep the conversations flowing and let them talk about a range of topics and experiences (of war, of friendships, of humor, of survival) gives an additional layer of perspective in understanding the people from this place. While they have managed to survive all that and more, it also becomes clear that they were in a much better position then. Including non-professional actors during these scenes provides more authenticity in making these scenes work and in connecting to the audience.

Read the full review here.

ION Cinema

The entrance into ‘Stepne’ is a familiar angle, a distant, potentially estranged child forced to care for a dying parent. Vroda’s gaze is matter-of-fact, and there’s an austerity initially suggesting something along the lines of Austrian director Gotz Spielmann’s 'October-November' (2013). But the region and the haunted mixture of a Russian and Ukrainian community also recalls the stark deliberations of Alexey German, particularly his 1930s set 'My Friend Ivan Lapshin' (1985), which has more of a through line but suggests the need to examine the specificities of a certain time and place. German’s film is a period piece, but Vroda’s exercise plays like capturing echoes.

The dwindling elders, particularly the women, recall, in a much more demure sense, segments of the babushkas making doll heads in Ilya Khrzhanovsky’s impressive debut '4' (2004). With crumbling Stalin inspired artwork fading away in the woods and broken stone busts slowly overrun by foliage, ‘Stepne’ evokes the words of Shelley’s Ozymandias as regards the diminished vestiges of the Soviet Union. “Nothing beside remains. Round the decay/Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare/The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

Read the full review here.

The Film Verdict

Maryna Vroda’s ‘Stepne’ , a richly lensed meditation on loss – of a mother, of ties to the land, of a traditional existence – is a melancholy recognition of a nearly extinct way of life in rural north-eastern Ukraine, a locale seemingly untouched by the Russian invasion, expiring from modernity rather than conflict. Shifting between narrative and ethnography, the film is at its best in the documentary-like sequences, which are wisely given the time to play out. Although the present war isn’t directly referenced and the events could just as easily have occurred before the invasion, the fact that this is a Ukrainian film practically guarantees a healthy festival life.

D.p. Andrii Lysetskyi (who also directed the documentary 'Ivan’s Land') subtly varies the visuals, at first using a handheld camera whose movements are barely noticeable but makes the scene feel like its breathing, and mixes this with fixed shots encompassing the Ukrainian landscape in early winter.

Primary colors are almost entirely absent here – apart from some light blue walls, everything is grey or brown, from the trees to the weather-beaten homes, from the clothes to the sky itself, which gives off a cold northern-feeling light. Also absent in this dying region is youth: only the elderly remain, as if waiting to die. During the wake the camera does shift to show to small kids, brought presumably by a neighbor, but their brief presence reinforces the understanding that the only way they’ll survive is to get out, like everyone else.

Read the full review here.

About the work on the project

Bob Basset told us that he has been creating such masks for himself for several years now: the designer has strabismus which affects one eye. According to the artist, it simplifies the process of communication with people «who do not always understand where he is looking». At the same time, the mask makes the image interesting and serves as a kind of art object that attracts attention.

Bob Basset presented the first eye mask as part of the «Mask for a Hero» project in January 2023. He created it for a lawyer and AFU serviceman Masi Nayyem, who lost his eye in combat.

Serhii said that less than a year ago Masi's friends approached him with a request to create a special accessory for him. The designer came to see Nayyem in the hospital, where he was undergoing rehabilitation, but was unable to take measurements to create the mask because of his still fresh wounds and stitches. A few months later they met again — Serhii took all the measurements and got to work.

For the military, Bob Basset designed a special accessory with three fasteners that provide a comfortable fit and allow you to adjust it on your face to different sizes. The mask is made of soft leather and is complemented by a natural suede lining, which is often used to create, for example, premium sports equipment or hunting gloves.

«At first I had the idea to make a 3D scan of the face and work with a mockup. But I realized that this process complicates the task and doesn't help me get closer to the final result. Then I came up with a triple fastener system, which is really comfortable to wear. If we're talking about leather, it's probably the best option of all».

He tested the first prototype for a month and continues to use it regularly. According to the designer, Masi specified that the leather fasteners are «much more comfortable than the rubber ties» normally used for basic eye patches.

About creating a second mask

After Bob Basset showed a photo of the mask for Masi Nayyem, he was contacted by the daughter of Serhii, one of the wounded «Azov» fighters who is undergoing rehabilitation. The soldier had joined the ranks of «Azov» a year before the full-scale war began, and was wounded in battles in Mariupol.

It took three months to create the new accessory. Petrov said that work on masks for the military is voluminous not so much in the context of production as in moral terms, because there is a personal story of a military man behind each item.

«Even though I've already thought everything through, and I just have to make it happen, it's hard to turn off the emotions. Every time I get overwhelmed with emotions, because it's a rather complicated story... Every time these tasks cause me to feel something inside, because it's a kind of responsibility. Visually, you won't find a difference between a mask for Masi and a mask for “Krishna“. But, believe me, it is there, I experienced it».

About project financing

In September 2022 Serhii applied for the Vienna Institute for Human Sciences (Institut für die Wissenschaften vom Menschen) grant to support Ukrainian artists. As part of the Documenting Ukraine program, the institute's team gives cash payments to artists, scholars, journalists, and civic activists to help them continue their work.

According to Bob Basset, he received 5,000 EUR of financial support without a specific and limited list of areas or tasks on which the money can be spent. The designer specified that the grant allows him to cover not only the cost of materials, but also the rent of the working space.

Thanks to financial support, the «Mask for a Hero» project operates on a charitable basis. Serhii said that he has two more requests for accessories from wounded fighters, which he will process in the future.

The history of the Kharkiv leather masks studio Bob Basset goes back to 1988, when the team was looking for leather at dumps and made accessories from it: handcuffs, harnesses, masks, half face masks.

The brand has collaborated with Givenchy, members of Slipknot and Metallica, and created works for Vice, Vogue, Ridley Scott Creative Group and local brands. In 2020 British singer ZAYN presented a video clip shot in Kyiv, the masks for which were also created by Bob Basset.

After the start of russia's full-scale war against Ukraine, Bob Basset moved to Lviv, and in January 2023 began returning to his native Kharkiv. Serhii Petrov said that now he does not have many orders, but the work still continues. For example, recently he was approached by the Swedish metal band Ghost, for which Bob Basset was creating a series of masks in 2022, in order to repeat all the items.