Reflections from our colleague Hannah Brennhäußer, who traveled to Kyiv at the invitation of the Ukrainian organization Insha Osvita to join an international network of cultural practitioners.
Yet alongside these vibrant impressions, I carried home the exhaustion of sleepless nights, the sound of air raid sirens, and the relentless hum of generators. War shapes not only Kyiv’s visual landscape but also its soundscape. Above all, I am deeply moved by the cultural professionals I met. They create, perform, and keep hope alive under extraordinary circumstances. Their courage is truly recognized. At the theater festival, I heard a story that stayed with me: during an air raid, a theater was evacuated. When the danger passed, every single audience member returned.
Sold out theatres
Despite everything, culture is alive and thriving. People in Kyiv are hungry for culture.
The culture scene responds boldly
Fragments of missiles turn into musical instruments or art installations. Artists see their work as part of decolonisation and resistance against the Russian regime.
Fear of cultural isolation
The need for international dialogue is immense, and so is the fear of “cultural isolation” after more than three years of full-scale war.
From November 24 to 29, I traveled to Kyiv at the invitation of the Ukrainian organization Insha Osvita, joining a group of international cultural professionals. The program offered deep insights into Ukraine’s current cultural landscape and created space for exchange with local colleagues. A connection that is urgently needed. Many creatives, like Olha Donik, co-founder of Dim Aktora in Zaporizhzhia, fear “cultural isolation” after more than three and a half years of war. International dialogue often happens one-sidedly when Ukrainian artists manage to travel abroad. But this is only possible for a small group; male artists, for example, are generally prohibited from leaving the country or require special permits for short trips. These restrictions limit opportunities for collaboration and fail to reflect the diversity of Ukraine’s cultural scene internationally.
“Until 2022 I was engaged in contemporary art and worked a lot in European Union, because in Ukraine there is no system of support for art. It was practically impossible for me to engage in art at the beginning of the invasion. All thoughts were occupied by the war. This is gradually changing, but I still devote most of my time to help the defence.”
In Kyiv, the traces of war are everywhere. The former Kyiv Institute for Automation, now home to 50–60 artists’ studios, has already been hit twice during regular nighttime attacks. Artists work without windows and live in constant fear of losing their creations. Many cultural workers have joined the army, leaving a significant gap in the cultural landscape.
The war is not only visible, through missile scars and memorials, but audible. Regular air raid sirens at night take a heavy toll on both audiences and performers. Finding energy for a two-hour theater performance the next day is an extraordinary feat.
Systematic Russian attacks on Ukraine’s energy infrastructure cause frequent blackouts. Entire neighborhoods go dark, and generators of all shapes and sizes roar to life. Their constant hum has become part of the city’s soundtrack.
“"The topic of war has become the main one in the art scene here, and it already seems like all other themes are not relevant and even a little empty. I personally try to look for other topics in my artistic practice, so as it becomes increasingly difficult for me to be mentally immersed in the local reality from the early morning and until late (and sometimes at night during shellings). For me, art is currently rather an island of alienation. I would often draw quick works to calm down before going to bed.”"
And yet: Ukraine’s cultural scene flourishes. It experiments with new forms and techniques—and people want to see it. Artists respond quickly to wartime realities: missile fragments are transformed into musical instruments or art installations. Music theater addresses the realities of war and global environmental destruction through experimental, multi-dimensional narratives (like “GAIA-24. Opera del Mondo" from Opera Aperta). Theater makers like Olena Apchel, who is currently serving in the Armed Forces of Ukraine, see their art as a contribution to decolonization and resistance against the Russian regime. Just days after our visit, the Theatre of Veterans, an initiative for war veterans, premiered its latest production. We were fortunate to witness a rehearsal.
In the third year of Russia’s full-scale invasion, Ukraine’s cultural life refuses to stand still. It is resisting, adapting, and creating meaning. As former Allianz Foundation fellow and curator Alona Karavai put it: “Art can’t save us. We’re working on solidarity and there’s a lot of energy, but let’s not romanticize it. After the war, things will be boring. I had wished for a more boring life.”
