Which regional icon tradition are you drawing from?
Many of them. All of Ukraine, really — Lemko icons, Hutsul icons, painted domestic icons. Some of these works are a hundred years apart, two hundred years apart — and it doesn't matter. We worked through archives, digital and physical, including the Honchar Museum, where we pulled fragments and identified them so the symbols would land as familiar.
We went looking for the most accessible symbols of a people who built their own culture with their own hands. So it makes sense that the people will paint this painting too. The work is called The Song of Songs of the Ukrainian People.
How do you imagine this work living on once it's finished?
The modules need to stand in front of the church for a while first — they need to find their place. It's like a newborn: you don't take a baby straight out into the world the moment it arrives. There's time needed, a settling in. A painting comes alive through the eyes that look at it — and then it starts to live its own life. People walking down the street should see it. People driving past should want to stop.
Each of the five modules is movable, and the whole thing is built to travel. That's the whole point — it should travel across America, telling Ukraine's story the way a song carries wherever the wind takes it. Schools, churches, wherever Ukrainian communities gather — and beyond. It could be shown at Ukrainian cultural festivals, or right in the heart of Washington on Independence Day, and people could gather around it, sing the anthem, take photos, hold each other.
It should become a kind of portal — a sanctuary that pulls a community together. Because a church isn't just a building. It's a place for living people, a community of people who share the same belief. And these modules can create a space where people look in the same direction — toward God, toward love for one another, toward building something intentional together. In our case, a Ukrainian community — because that's where our wound is, and that's what we need so badly right now.
What style do you usually work in?
I work in folk modern — but my imagery is largely sacred, built on Christian symbols, pulling from many different sources. Tetyana Rusetska also works deeply with sacred imagery. She knows this world well — not just as theory, but in her hands. Iryna Semenenko is just beginning her path as an iconographer, painting in the classical, canonical tradition.
We fit together really well. An artist working in contemporary art who brought a fresh way of seeing and reimagining the visual language; a keeper of classical iconography who joined us to paint the holy faces; and me — I took on the role of organizer.
We developed the concept together with Metropolitan Borys Gudziak. The team came together from the start. We met in Ukraine beforehand, stayed in constant touch. And through all of that shared work, we found our common ground.
It's a real challenge for us as professional artists. We have to hold onto our own voice while not copying what already exists. The line is delicate — it has to be interpretation, not imitation, and at the same time it has to leave room for the work of people who've never picked up a brush. There will be very small children. Elderly people. Most of them have no formal training. All of that has to come together into something whole.
Aren't you afraid they'll ruin it?
Not at all. Every time, they do the opposite — they add their own spice. Everyone brings something of themselves, and what comes out is so rich. When a person feels they're touching something luminous, something that matters, it's as if God steps in and helps them make something beautiful. I'm sure what we'll end up with will be extraordinary — not just a painting, but a living art object built around the most important thing: people finding each other. Getting to know one another through this work, because of this work.
