Neutral Space

This series was created during my first year in Berlin after fleeing from war in Ukraine. My previous life had been destroyed, and I was just starting to realize that the Russian genocide was a long-term problem and that the "world" would not do much about it.

"Grieving", December 2022

Acrylic paint and fire on the cardboard

In this painting, I sought to capture the grief for a lost sense of normality. Fleeing the war forced me to start over in Germany — a place I never chose and a future I never envisioned.

The translucent tree and the hill crowned with a cross stand against a stark backdrop of green and red, embodying the surreal nature of reality — a world that feels both present and distant, familiar yet alien. The dark stain, shaped like grieving figures, becomes a funeral procession that never ends, mourning not just those lost but the life that once was. A black cloud of smoke, born from the burning of the canvas itself, carries pain into the sky, enveloping a ghostly green moon, as if grief itself has taken form, lingering, inescapable.

Untitled, July 2023

Acrylic paint on cardboard

The layers of this painting intertwine like fragments of a life— memories, emotions, and fleeting moments folded into one. Shapes emerge and dissolve: a silhouette of a self in flux, towering city buildings, strangers passing by and disappearing.

I struggled to feel safe. I was far from my friends, far from my family. The language around me was unfamiliar, distant, like an invisible wall between me and the world. At the time I lived in the home of a random german man I had found on the internet — a place that was supposed to be a shelter, yet felt anything but real. Time became a blur. Faces, places, dates— all tangled together in a haze of displacement and uncertainty.

“Neutral space”, August 2023

Acrylic paint, fire and paraffin on cardboard

War carves irreversible scars into your life. There is no longer a neutral space for you — no refuge from the pain. The world moves forward, but you remain suspended in grief, caught between past and present.

It’s a beautiful day. You lift your eyes to the sun, searching for a moment of warmth. But instead of sunlight, you see tiny drops of blood everywhere. The shattered remnants of panel buildings are all that’s left — fragments of your former life, of a normality that no longer exists.

Some say, “We will rebuild everything.” Yes, we will rebuild the buildings. But we will never rebuild the lives stolen from us. We will never restore the feeling of home, the illusion of safety. And we will never see the faces of those already lost — or those who soon will be, because of Russia.

"Fear", July 2022

Acrylic paint on the cardboard

This painting reflects my fear of attachment as I grew closer to new people. I was afraid of being hurt or abandoned, yet also anxious about forming connections in Berlin—as if doing so might betray the friends I left behind in Ukraine.

The rigid blue blocks against the red background symbolize the solid structure of reality. The contrasting yellow figure represents someone who doesn’t fit within this structure, falling onto sharp thorns of pain and rejection. In the background, a poem in Ukrainian overlays the scene—a piece I wrote about someone I fell in love with but was too afraid to reach for.

"Berlin Fireworks", January 2023

Acrylic paint and fire on the cardboard

During my first New Year in Berlin, I was overwhelmed by the relentless explosion of fireworks. The deafening noise was more than just unsettling—it was a trigger that sent me into a freeze state. While others celebrated, I was trapped in my body, unable to move or breathe freely. The paralysis lasted for days, only to be followed by a wave of crushing anxiety. I couldn’t understand how something that felt so violently unbearable to me and other Ukrainian refugees could bring others joy.

I poured this experience onto the canvas—depicting a figure clutching their shattered head with dissolving hands, as if their very being were disintegrating under the weight of sensory overload. White strokes carve through the scene like piercing pain, while their torso burns, ribs scratched into the surface to make suffering visible. In the background, the city looms beneath a searing red sky, black paint dripping over it like an open wound, mirroring the chaos and agony.