Icons on Ammo Boxes Painting Life on the Remnants of Russia’s War in Donbas, 2014–2021

Sonya Atlantova and Oleksandr Klymenko

Icons on Ammo Boxes Painting Life on the Remnants of Russia’s War in Donbas, 2014–2021 Translated from the Ukrainian by Anastasya Knyazhytska

Ukrainian Voices Collected by Andreas Umland 50

Serhii Plokhii

51

Vakhtang Kipiani

52

Dmytro Shestakov

53

Larissa Babij

54

Julia Davis

The Man with the Poison Gun ISBN 978-3-8382-1789-5

Ukrainische Dissidenten unter der Sowjetmacht Im Kampf um Wahrheit und Freiheit ISBN 978-3-8382-1890-8

When Businesses Test Hypotheses A Four-Step Approach to Risk Management for Innovative Startups With a foreword by Anthony J. Tether ISBN 978-3-8382-1883-0

A Kind of Refugee The Story of an American Who Refused to Leave Ukraine With a foreword by Vladislav Davidzon ISBN 978-3-8382-1898-4

In Their Own Words How Russian Propagandists Reveal Putin’s Intentions ISBN 978-3-8382-1909-7

The book series “Ukrainian Voices” publishes English- and German-language monographs, edited volumes, document collections, and anthologies of articles authored and composed by Ukrainian politicians, intellectuals, activists, officials, researchers, and diplomats. The series’ aim is to introduce Western and other audiences to Ukrainian explorations, deliberations and interpretations of historic and current, domestic, and international affairs. The purpose of these books is to make nonUkrainian readers familiar with how some prominent Ukrainians approach, view and assess their country’s development and position in the world. The series was founded, and the volumes are collected by Andreas Umland, Dr. phil. (FU Berlin), Ph. D. (Cambridge), Associate Professor of Politics at the Kyiv-Mohyla Academy and an Analyst in the Stockholm Centre for Eastern European Studies at the Swedish Institute of International Affairs.

Sonya Atlantova and Oleksandr Klymenko

Icons on Ammo Boxes Painting Life on the Remnants of Russia’s War in Donbas, 2014–2021 Translated from the Ukrainian by Anastasya Knyazhytska­­­

Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek

Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über http:​//​dnb​.d​-nb​.de abrufbar.

Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek

Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at http:​//​dnb​.d​-nb​.de.

Dieses Buch wurde mit Unterstützung des Translate Ukraine Translation Program veröffentlicht.

This book has been published with the support of the Translate Ukraine Translation Program.

ISBN-13: 978-3-8382-1892-2 © ibidem-Verlag, Stuttgart 2024 Originally published under the title: “Ікони на ящиках з-під набоїв” by Dukh i Litera Publishing House, Kyiv, Ukraine, in 2021.

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Icons on Ammo Boxes National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy Sonya Atlantova, Oleksandr Klymenko

Icons on Ammo Boxes This publication is dedicated to the “Icons on Ammo Boxes” artistic project completed by Sonia Atlantova and Oleksandr Klymenko.

Icons painted on fragments of ammo boxes brought back from the frontlines are silent witnesses to the war in eastern Ukraine and, simultaneously, evidence of the victory of life over death (a real victory, not only a symbolic one). Since the spring of 2015, this project has supported a number of volunteer initiatives dedicated to helping soldiers and civilians who have suffered as a result of Russian aggression.

Icons that were painted on both sides were popular in Eastern Christianity throughout Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages. They were intended to deliver a dual message. The same is true of the icons in this book. They are painted on ammo boxes collected from the Ukrainian frontlines. One side still bears the serial numbers of the ammunition the boxes contained, testifying to the war waged

by Russia against Ukraine in 2014, and escalated in February of 2022. Most of the icons collected were created between 2014 and 2022, at a time when many people all over the world preferred to ignore the war. And yet it was going on, claiming the lives and health of thousands of Ukrainians.

The other side of the boxes is covered with paintings in the style of ancient Eastern Christian art. The common feature of that style was the idea of transfiguration. Objects in icons look familiar but their portrayal gives them a transcendent quality, having been transfigured into something that exceeds our worldly experience. This side of the icons testifies to peace, which millions of Ukrainians desire more than anything else.

These images demonstrate the transformative power of art.

Ammo boxes, the tokens of war, are reused as holy images and tokens of peace. Icons do indeed do transfigure war into peace—at least for those who look at them with faith.

Archimandrite Cyril Hovorun Director of the Huffington Ecumenical Institute in Los Angeles, CA. 7

The goals of Russia

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The goals of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine are still not clear after a year and a half of intense hostilities and many war crimes committed by Russian soldiers. When the famous Latin letters that symbolize this invasion are put together, you can easily recognize a slightly deformed Russian word for evil.

The question of why Almighty God, who is the highest Good, allows the existence of evil in our world has occupied a very important place in philosophical and theological discussion, practically since the birth of the Christian system of thought. It is of particular relevance today for Ukrainians, as they are faced with an attack on their country that is morally indefensible and has no other purpose than the destruction of cities and the murder of people.

Alvin Plantinga, a leading American Christian philosopher, gives several reasons for the existence of evil in the world. God cannot contradict his Nature. One should not expect literally everything from God. If God creates a being endowed with free will, we cannot expect that being to be completely immune from an evil choice that is contrary to the nature of its design. The moral value of the freedom of choice outweighs the cost of evil in the world.

This explains why our world, created by a wholly good God, is constantly struggling against evil.

People have the tools to distinguish good and evil in their daily lives. Plantinga calls these tools the intuitive axiomatic knowledge of God; for Kant, it is the categorical moral imperative. These factors make us react negatively to manifestations of evil in other people or suffer internally when we commit evil acts.

In the first years of the Russo-Ukrainian war, an external observer might not have had a sense of moral certainty regarding the events taking place in Crimea and Donbas. However, the moral reactions of the people deeply immersed in the Eastern European context (journalists, lawyers, human rights activists and, of course, artists) leave no doubt as to which side of this armed conflict had the moral ground. The Russian invasion of February 24, 2022 stripped away all of the misinformation, tore off all the masks, and eliminated any possible nuances and shades in the interpretation of the events of this war.

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One of the very first mature statements on this topic was the brilliant project of the Kyiv-based artists Oleksandr Klymenko and Sonya Atlantova titled “Icons on Ammo Boxes”. The project began its active presence in Ukrainian artistic life at the end of 2014. Since the beginning of 2015, it has extended into European, American, and Canadian spaces. More than a hundred personal exhibitions of Oleksandr and Sonya’s work have been organized around the world, academic articles have been written about the project, documentaries were made, its creators became the heroes of podcasts and news broadcasts.

But the main thing is still the quality of their moral reaction to the war.

Every weapon that fires requires ammo and projectiles.

Transporting shells to the front line requires crates. The crates are long wooden boxes lined with iron strips. Shells explode on the horizon, shell casings litter the ground around the gun, crates are strewn across the field or piled up in the corner of a trench. They can be used to start a fire; they can be lined up on the walls of the dugout to keep them warm and less damp. You can make a table or a stool out of them. Crates are what’s left when the work—and in war, “work” is killing the enemy—is done. Piles of ammunition boxes are strewn across Ukrainian landscapes, especially in the east and the south of the country. They lie too far from the place of murder, they are not sufficiently implicated to be guilty, but they nevertheless testify to the violation of the main Christian commandment – “Thou shalt not kill”.

Oleksandr and Sonya collect these boxes, split them apart into separate boards and paint their icons on them.

The iconography of Oleksandr and Sonya is of an innovative nature. Theirs is not simply an image of Eternal Life, but a focus on the distance that separates us from it.

Sonya and Oleksandr paint in the Byzantine tradition. The canonical function of an Orthodox icon—prayer—is completely preserved; however, a conceptual artistic effect emerges in the gap that separates an ordinary board, a piece of cardboard, a canvas and an ammo box. In churches and museum galleries, the icons that appear on the boxes are perceived in a completely different way.

The goals of Russia

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In churches, they are surrounded by the war and seen as emerging from the Ukrainian context—they express the hope of overcoming death, of a new life, not only of Eternal Life, but also of a peaceful life on Earth after the war. Images of saints appear behind translucent war imagery, and they are more powerful, more lasting than this war could ever be.

In an art gallery (outside the Ukrainian context, under the secular spotlights), they are perceived as evidence of evil and a silent criticism of inaction. The background of the icons is different, not a standard blissful piece of the Divine, but a fragment of real life, soaked in smoke, crippled, tortured. The juxtaposition of this background and the easily recognized traditional images of saints brings the viewer into a state of moral confusion.

The main goal of the Byzantine iconographic tradition has always been the preservation of continuity. In many ways, therefore, the images of saints in the Byzantine tradition are devoid of volume. Their bodies are transformed, deformed, they stop being important. The crucial point is to picture the soul—the receptacle of holiness. Painted on worn and charred boards, Byzantine icons absorb their stories and the horrors and suffering behind them, just as the moral value of free choice absorbs the evil that flows from it.

Mykyta Grygorov Klebnikov Civil Society Fellow at the Columbia Global Center in Paris

Contemplating our own project It is interesting that the board on which a traditional icon is painted is extremely similar to the lid or the bottom of an ammo box—there is the same shield, made of boards and secured with crosspieces to avoid warping. This strange similarity prompted me to paint the first icon of the project.

I first noticed the phenomenon of the boxes during a visit to one of the volunteer battalion bases in the autumn of 2014. After seeing a pile of empty AKM ammunition boxes, I asked the soldiers what they were doing with them. They told me that most were burned, but some were made into stools and shelves. The day after receiving one of the boxes as a gift from the soldiers, seeing its dark, slightly smoky wood, I began to paint an icon of the Mother of God on its bottom, slightly inspired by the classic old Byzantine look. The result not only satisfied, but impressed me, although I am usually extremely critical of my own art. The icon turned out not at all similar to pieces of modern religious art, the so-called “restruck coins”, nor even similar to what I had done before, and could be taken for an exhibit from the Benaki Museum or any other prestigious collection. The dark color of the smoky wood seemed to have cast the time of its creation back by several hundred or even a thousand years. Suddenly, the layers of time collided and a sensation of traveling in time arose. The modern war and the distant art of thousands of years ago came together, and this contact turned out to be unexpectedly organic. The balanced combination of an object of a modern war and an artistic language that dates back to the times of the Byzantine basileus and grand princes of Kyivan Rus prompted me to create an artistic project in which this principle would be worked out to the highest possible point and where the war in eastern Ukraine would appear in the context of the Ukrainian history of the past millennium.

The organic synthesis of two opposites naturally led to another antinomy, the basic antinomy of our entire existence, the antinomy of life and death. In times of war, the tense struggle between life and death becomes more relevant than ever. In this way, the ammo box turned into a symbol of death, while the icon 15

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became a symbol of life, resurrection. It is important that the correlation between the two opposites be seen as a dynamic process, the transformation of one into other, and not in the usual transformation of life into death (what we see in Donbas every day), but, on the contrary, as the Eastern celebration of death turning into life, in the celebration of resurrection, the celebration of victory over destruction, chaos, hatred, and decay. Victory through love and self-sacrifice.

This is why the support of a number of medical initiatives, aimed at helping military and civilian Ukrainians wounded in the war, turned out to be so organic in the framework of our project.

These included, in particular, the Mykola Pyrohov First Voluntary Mobile Hospital, which entered into fruitful cooperation in the spring of 2015, the Wings of Victory foundation, the medical company of the 114th Territorial Defense Force Brigade, so forth The transformation of death into life became not only a symbolic artistic act, but also a reality.

The transformation of death into life. The transformation of war into peace. It seems to be the dream of everyone who has faced the horror of war. The project, which I started in the autumn of 2014 with two other artists—Sofia Atlantova and Natalka Volobuyeva (who unfortunately left the project shortly after its presentation) – was born of our shared dream of peace in eastern Ukraine.

The symbolic logic of peacemaking is, in my opinion, deeply rooted in the biblical tradition. However, peacemaking is an act of love, and arises from the firm adherence to and defense of one’s ideals, and not from a relativist worldview. Spinelessness does not aid in peacemaking, but only encourages the aggressor to take more steps. Peace for the sake of peace loses its meaning, because peace should not be an end in itself: it is only a tool, a path to something more, just a beginning, a first step. This understanding of peacemaking inspired me throughout the project. The Old Testament idea of beating weapons into plowshares is enriched by the New Testament theme of the exit from hell (the image of the Descent into Hell is the icon of the Resurrection) – the escape from the hell of war as well. However, the exit from hell can only occur as a victory over death, a victory through death. In the Christian tradition, the

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cross became a symbol of this victory. A symbol of death paradoxically became a symbol of resurrection. It was in the nexus of this central paradigm that my idea unfolded ≈ in the autumn of 2014.

That which carried death (in the literal sense) started to carry something else within itself, something associated with life in the Ukrainian tradition for hundreds of years, symbolizing life like nothing else—iconography.

Visually, ammo boxes resemble coffins. Moreover, these boxes, like coffins, are usually hidden deep underground in military warehouses and arsenals. A war begins and coffin boxes appear in this Godly world, death bursts out of them, destroying everything in its path, almost like a Hollywood horror movie. However, artists get the last word in this process, and the shells of death, its “places of residence”, strangely start to radiate life.

The essence of the box changes. The transformation mostly concerns the outer and the inner. The crosspieces are a peculiar aspect, the surface of the ammo box that, once changed into the icon’s backing, faces the wall and is hidden from the human gaze.

Instead, the inner part of the box, hidden from people’s view for decades, becomes a kind of a metaphor for Theophany once an iconographic face appears on it.

The process of creating the first series of works lasted from mid-autumn 2014 to the end of winter 2015, during the fierce battles for the Donetsk Airport (DA), in the tragic days of the Battle of Debaltseve. And it was from the DA (from the village of Pisky) that a significant number of boxes were taken for the making of the first icons. At this time, the basic principles of the concept (which previously existed at a more intuitive level) started to form. To a large extent, this was facilitated by my active contacts with those directly participating in the war.

I was pleasantly surprised by the attitude of the military, the volunteer soldiers and aid workers to our project: their enthusiasm, their readiness to help, to bring the necessary boxes from the military front. I was not only surprised, but also deeply impressed, because even in the midst of fierce battles, under the constant threat of bullets, shells and mines, they did not forget about my needs.

Sometimes someone would call from the frontline after collecting

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a bunch of boxes to apologize that the ones I needed would not be brought: they had all been destroyed in artillery shelling.

This is why, in my opinion, those who brought the ammo boxes from the frontline can be considered full-fledged participants of the project, co-authors in their own way. Finding, saving and bringing the box from the frontline is incredibly important for the project; it is, in my opinion, as much of a creative act as making the icon itself.

One of the central metaphors of the project is the waste of war, the remnants that, at first glance, are not needed by anyone, as ammo boxes become garbage once disposed of after a battle or a war. At best, they are simply burned to keep people warm or to cook food. In a similar way, soldiers who went through war often become redundant in the country they defended. They grow estranged from the citizens who led a peaceful and full life in the rear. Boards, fragments, bits of boxes that were crippled by the war get a new life, become useful in a new way, turn into icons.

Similarly, soldiers (all soldiers!) are needed by our country even after they get demobilized. Veterans should be given public love, respect and care, which they undoubtedly fully deserve.

The war with Russia has brought us back to understanding war as a reality that is constantly present next to us and in our lives, as an everyday thing and at the same time a universal tragedy, as something from which we, unfortunately, can neither run away nor hide. There is comprehension of the totality of the war, which comes from understanding that war has an epic, universal side to it, and the confrontation in Donbas is only one episode of a longer tale.

It is significant that the theme of war is pervasive in biblical theology as well. The war with sin, with Satan, the battle of good with evil, starting with the Pentateuch and ending with the Revelation of John on Patmos, is central. The Incarnation itself (the central event of Christian doctrine) is thought to be the culmination of this battle. Moreover, history (in particular, sacred history) is primarily the history of this struggle . . . The pieces of ammo boxes logically extend the tradition of understanding existence as a battle as they becomes the basis of an icon.

However, this universal war is primarily a spiritual, invisible battle (recall the classic ascetic work “The Invisible Battle” by the Mount Athos monk Nicodemus the Hagiorite), where the main

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weapons are not swords, arrows, automatic weapons, tanks and “grads”, but prayer and fasting, and victory in battle is victory over sin. It is interesting that the language of asceticism, especially among some authors, is incredibly militarized. If you removed a few key words, you would get the impression that the text was not written by an ascetic, but by the combat officer of an active unit. It is extremely important that the military theme acquire its symbolic meaning in this case, paradoxically transforming. The battle with evil turns into a man’s battle with his own imperfection. Only by defeating the evil within oneself can one hope for victory over the evil around them . . . And as a visual allegory, the symbol of this inner victory is Saint George, an armed knight on a horse.

Religious radicalism does not fail to manifest itself in art.

Usually associated with lower, marginal forms of mass culture, it invades the “holy of holies” of Christian art—iconography, subordinating the icons to its worldview and aesthetics. The icon, once a liturgical phenomenon, turns into something else, sometimes transforming its stylization, sometimes the traditional technique itself. Sometimes it just changes its surroundings, preserving the characteristics of a traditional Christian image. Entering into the unit of Chetniks or fighters of the “Russian Orthodox Army”, it acquired completely different meanings. Oftentimes, “radicalization” occurs due to a change of the material on which the icon is painted: instead of a linden board covered with levkas, the icon is painted on a weapon, on military equipment, on a fragment of an aircraft fabric covering, on the carriage of an old cannon, a tattoo on one’s skin.

At first glance, icons painted on ammo boxes can be classified as art that serves Christian religious radicalism. We have encountered such interpretations of our work on several occasiona, which surprised us. After all, from the very beginning of the project, we tried to distance ourselves as much as possible from radicalism, making every effort to make our work definitely antithetical to it, basing it on the principles of Christian humanism and personalism. We contrasted cult-like isolation with our openness to the world and its problems.

As part of our initial concept, it was also important for us to differentiate our creative activity from the artistic processes that led

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to the creation of the Main Cathedral of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation. Full of neoimperial pathos, imbued with the cult of aggressive war and nationalism, this temple simultaneously impresses with its deliberate eclecticism. From the very beginning, the modesty, the restraint, and the ascetic modesty of our works had to contrast with the gigantism, the vulgar luxury, the excessive architecture that is natural to the Christian aesthetics of the political orthodoxy of the late Putin era.

An icon is a space of dialogue. In fact, its main purpose is conversation, an encounter. The dialogic nature of the icon is based on biblical intuition, on our confidence in the possibility of dialogue between Creator and creature, between God and man, between the mortal and the immortal, between entities of different natures, between the earth and the sky. The icon is a confirmation of our need for this dialogue, its result and its tool. It is the apotheosis of confidence in the need for such a dialogue, in the possibility of any dialogue, the necessity of a face-to-face encounter. The icon only actualized after Kenosis, after God became man and began to speak not through the prophets, not from the skies to the earth, but face to face, as an equal to equals . . .

Paradoxically, the political culture that is being formed in modern Ukraine is imbued with the pathos of dialogue. The Revolutions were, in addition to everything else, an attempt to establish a dialogue between civil society and the government, a unique dialogue, tragic in its tension, and, unfortunately, tragic in its consequences. And in this context, the icon itself can serve as both a symbol and a model of the newly created dialogic culture like nothing else. If what you see in the other person is not an object to manipulate, but an icon, the image of God, you will no longer be able to commit acts of violence against them, humiliate them, mutilate them, and kill them.

Ideally, democracy is, of course, a space for dialogue. In my opinion, the dialogic nature of democracy differs from the monologic nature of totalitarianism, in which the government usually delivers an endless monologue to its silent listeners, the subordinate population. By and large, a totalitarian society does not need an icon as a tool for encounter and dialogue, but only as a tool for

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self-consecration and sacralization. The government tries to make itself into an icon, but instead it always turns into an idol.

The Russo-Ukrainian war is a conflict of two cultures, the inherently dialogic culture of Ukraine and the monologic culture of Putin’s Russia. In fact, this is their main difference between, the basic difference, the difference between New Testament dialogue and Old Testament monologue.

The bloody war between Russia and Ukraine is not only a struggle for territory. It is also an existential war for survival, at least for Ukrainians who are being denied their own national identity.

The battle for cultural heritage and historical memory became an integral part of this war, a battle for traditions that go back not only to the times of Kyivan Rus, but beyond them to the times of Byzantium, and even to antiquity. It is a struggle for the interpretation of this heritage, and the annexation of Crimea by Russia was also an attempt to annex Ukrainian antiquity, an attempt to separate Ukraine from this inheritance, which is important for our self-awareness as a nation. That is why the focus of our project on the Byzantine cultural tradition is, among other things, a confirmation of our roots in Mediterranean culture, a defense of our own vision of this tradition, a return through Byzantium to Hellas . . .

For many inhabitants of our planet, the terrible war that is raging in Ukraine still appears as something not only distant, but existing in a virtual space. Even a rise in fuel or food prices cannot “devirtualize” it. The real presence of fragments of utilitarian ammo boxes, however artistically processed, presents an antithesis to this virtual war, an attempt to take viewerw (both in Ukraine and in Europe) out of the conventional space of online wars—comfortable, warm, and cozy—and put them in the world of real military events with all their horrors. One of the primary functions of the icon is to serve as a testimony to this war, a reminder of its real presence on the territory of modern Europe, about the existence of wars in general and about their real threat to humanity, to each of us, regardless of where you live—in Kyiv, Warsaw, New York, Mexico City, or Cape Town . . .

Oleksandr Klymenko

What our project means personally to me What is the project “Icons on Ammo Boxes” to me? It is difficult to give a definite answer. I try to stitch together a single all-encompassing statement from a bunch of tiny aspects and multicolored scraps. But the bigger picture remains torn and breaks apart into little pieces.

The beginning of the war now evokes a strange feeling.

Although I don’t know if there was ever a time that people did not consider it strange. How simple and comfortable everything was fifty years ago! But now! But if you look carefully, you will find that then, and at all other times, everything seemed strange and crazy, and people looked back with a longing for simpler days.

All of us were inspired and confused, scared and fearless at the same time. Many started feeling Ukrainian for the first time in their lives. On the streets, one could often hear typical conversations in Ukrainian with a strong Russian accent—Russian-speaking citizens switched to Ukrainian out of principle. When remembering these times, it is impossible to remain silent about the volunteers.

But this is a difficult topic for me. Like stories about your first love, you try to be completely frank, but you inevitably feel that any words belittle what you are trying to say. Perhaps, at the time, there was a lot of childishness in volunteering. Isn’t it naive to think that you can influence serious concerns like the army and medicine with your own inept efforts? But it was this inspired childlike attitude that enabled us to accomplish the impossible.

It was at that time that my husband brought home a board— the bottom of an ammo box for AKMs. Something familiar, almost precious, but distorted, as if reflected in a crooked mirror, peeked out of this board. Oleksandr was the first to notice that it had the same structure as the boards of icons. A strange combination, like a former aristocrat finding himself among ordinary construction workers. The same two crosspieces connecting the pieces of wood so they can last for a long time in storage. This is expected, because neither the icon nor the ammo box has the right to warp. But the icon 23

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board is smooth, neat and has a gentle smell of wood. Its wartime relative is only polished as much as it is necessary, with a roughly cut round keyhole on the inside, and its back bearing a black sign describing its scary contents. One sister is a princess, the other a beggar . . . The resemblance is truly striking, but Oleksandr went further. He decided to paint an icon on the ammo box. I’m afraid that I behaved like an ordinary wife when he shared his ambitions with me. The idea seemed crazy to me. However, my husband had already decided to paint it. A brusque and austere image of the Mother of God appeared on the rough, unprocessed board. And a transformation took place. The beggar-like board did not become a princess with pink nails and golden curls; instead, a wise and experienced queen was born. She can walk into a solemn ball, but can also descend into a dirty trench. I describe it with the help of children’s fairy-tale images; they always help me when real grown-up words are not enough. The painted icon appeared to be simultaneously both new and ancient, museum-like. The rough texture of the board emphasized the painting and was important in itself. It seemed that Oleksandr painted an icon on the body of existence itself, which is never really smooth. The symbolic transformation of death into life is the central idea of the project. It turns out that a life that has only been lived cannot be more of a life than one that has the experience of death behind it. Now, we have the most powerful tools to hide or edit all possible errors and irregularities at our service. Any image (in this case I do not mean icons, or at least not only icons) can be processed, retouched, made flawless. Pink faces, blue sky, a person who has achieved success . . . It seems that everything is fine, that the goal was accomplished, but something is lost, the meaning is lost, and the image disappears under a layer of retouching. If a professional make-up artist paints a beautiful face on an ugly woman, does she herself change at all? It would be possible to cover the ammo box with smooth mirror-like levkas, remove the unevenness beforehand, neatly paint its back . . . A transformation could still be seen in the process, and the result would be even better—a pretty, smooth icon. No one would have ever guessed that it was a former ammo box. But then the testimony loses its value.

And the icons on ammo boxes are actually witnesses. They are an

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acknowledgment of what is currently happening in Ukraine. Many things can be glossed over, hidden, shunted out of view, presented as exaggerated, one can convince oneself that the tragedy is far away, nowhere near; more, that it is happening somewhere on the Internet, in the news, and by no means in reality. But the brutal board with the remains of the ammo marking ruthlessly returns us to reality. The war continues. A good amount of ammunition flew out of this box, fulfilling its terrible purpose. Not from a box that’s identical to it, not from another box of the type, but from this very one. A graphic editor cannot change this, retouching will not save it from its history. Someone was killed with a weapon that came from this box. Someone is physically or psychologically damaged because of it. And someone else was saved thanks to it.

An icon appears on the board, as if denying its previous purpose. When I tried to paint an image onto this material, I felt how the word “emerges” fits its nature. I understand that I am by no means the author of the icon I painted, but its co-author. The wood of the board works alongside me, along with the streaks of green oil paint that were carelessly placed on its back. I feel the presence of those who brought this board from the frontline—doctors, soldiers, volunteers. The boards arrive from the battlefield, and even have a peculiar smell, like smoke and something else that is specifically military. There are small, but touching stories all over this board, like the shoe prints on its bottom. What happened to the person who placed them? The board appears as a layering of difficult human experiences, and not only human ones. After all, the pine used to make the board was not just an abstract plant. It was a very specific tree, with a specific history, with its own unique birds on its branches and mushrooms near its roots. The twists and turns of this original, specific life are manifest in the board’s cracks, dark circles marking where the branches were, droplets of resin that formed right here, where they were supposed to, and not anywhere else.

The parts of the board’s lid fit together in a curious way. Was the master in a hurry to finish the box at the expense of quality, or did he love his work and thoughtfully carry out every part? As luck would have it, the green paint spread this way and not the other way, the stamp appearing at a certain spot, the slightly crooked or

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perfectly straight screws are all an unobtrusive monument to an unknown person. Who opened this box? What was on his mind?

There are clear traces of fire on this board. I am tempted to make up a whole story explaining how it could have been burned. Perhaps it would be a wonderful text, but it would all be fictional. The box’s testimony would disappear. And, speaking personally, one of the most important aspects of this project is the preservation of silent testimonies. A glance into this tiny singular experience. Yes, the pines grew and will continue to grow, and what place does one war have in the brutal human history? But I remember the Gospel saying, “And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered ...” Every little thing is important. And then I feel a huge joy and a colossal responsibility draw up and stand next to me. I am painting an icon. I do not know and will never know how close I have come to accomplishing my task. More or less, I can rate the color choices, the shadows, the composition ­– all those earthy professional categories. I try very hard to do so. But the Lord is above human suffering. And He transforms a detailed, imperfect and concrete human experience, not a computer program that needs to be updated to its latest settings. I can only try to transform the wooden board with my weak powers.

Works of art also have a fate. There are lucky ones and forgotten underdogs. The icons on ammo boxes have their fate, and when I think about it, it leaves me with a strange feeling. It’s hard to explain. Maybe I’m taking things too feelingly. How many works of art that seemed to be full of beauty and meaning to their author are covered with dust in the corners of workshops now? Years later, the artist finds them as he is cleaning out the studio, and sighs: how naive I once was! There was something in this painting . . . And yet . . . There is no room left for it. It is better to reprime the canvas.

The icons on ammo boxes found both their place and purpose, and when they did, it became clear that they could not exist otherwise.

The puzzle fitted together when our cooperation with the medical volunteers started. The art project became an effective aid to those in need. Ammo boxes were returned to the frontline transformed—in the form of fuel for medical vehicles, of medical supplies, and spare parts for broken equipment. Our doubts were over.

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The project’s symbol became a reality. The ugly board became an icon, but remained the same board from the ammo box. The icon, while remaining itself, changed into medicine (real medicine, from a pharmacy!) and brought help and healing to the wounded. And I, an artist, a person who is estranged from the army and medicine, had the honor of being useful. I consider it my happiness, a priceless experience, yet I would much rather that it never happened. I think that’s natural. The whole project consists of opposites, perhaps. It is probably not worth listing them all. But life also consists of opposites. A new person emerges from the opposites of male and female, a plant gets its life from the interaction of rain and sun. A day consists of light and darkness. Sometimes I think that juxtaposition is necessary for art. Art bases itself on it. I don’t know if I’m right in terms of the bigger picture, but this principle was clearly reflected in our project.

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Sonya Atlantova and Oleksandr Klymenko’s Ilovaisk Deesis

Sonya Atlantova and Oleksandr Klymenko’s Ilovaisk Deesis The “Ilovaisk Deesis” series consists of thirteen monumental works and forms part of the grand (both in terms of size and stature) conception of the artistic project “Icons on Ammo Boxes”.

The battles for Ilovaisk constitute one of the most tragic milestones in the history of the Russo-Ukrainian war for Donbas, in which hundreds of Ukrainians were killed, wounded or captured.

The “Ilovaisk Deesis”, created by Sonia Atlantova and Oleksandr Klymenko, two talented Kyiv-based artists, is one of the first attempts to address this dramatic topic. However, it endeavors to reproduce it indirectly—not through portraits or military art, but using a set of symbols and images from liturgical Eastern Christian art, in particular iconography. After all, Deisis, Deesis or Deisus (from the Greek word δέησις—prayer) is the central component in church iconostasis, in which saints offer prayers for humanity to Christ the Pantocrator.

The “Ilovaisk Deesis” is a modern interpretation of this iconographic composition, with its eschatological aspects emphasized to the greatest possible extent (from the Greek words ἔσχατος [the last] + λόγος [teaching] – teaching the ultimate fate of man and the world). The end of history in this case is tied to the tragic events of August 2014, and the saints pray primarily for the Ukrainian soldiers who died near Ilovaisk. The New Testament “harvest” are combined with the “harvest” of war, a classic image in secular literature and the arts. Of course, the project does not highlight the “eschatological harvest” itself; rather, it is its culmination, an apotheosis, a solemn procession on the threshold of eternity.

The main idea of the “Icons on Ammo Boxes” project is the transformation of death into life, where the symbol of death is an ammo box, and the icon created on its surface a symbol of life and resurrection. It is important that the transformation of death into life is not only symbolic, but also very much real. Conceived in the format of a conceptual art exhibition, it almost immediately turned 85

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into a volunteer project: proceeds from the sale of the works went to the care and treatment of those wounded in the frontline. Thus, an art project that might at first glance seem postmodern is, in fact, deeply imbued with the meaning of the real war-torn existence of modern Ukraine, consciously perceived as a national woe.

The transformation of death into life is given a new color in the “Ilovaisk Deisis”, a series connected to the theme of resurrection. Its new image gives hope and suffuses dramatic art with bright undertones.

The artists’ symbolic inscription of the names of Ukrainian soldiers who died near Ilovaisk took place during the performance-presentation of this cycle, organized by the Kyiv gallery KalitaArtClub. According to the authors, it’s meant to testify to a lifelong memory. Not only of the tragic events of August 2014, but also of every deceased soldier, whose name becomes almost as valuable as the name of the saint on the icon. An ordinary person, of course, cannot be equal to the most venerated Christian saints, but can get closer to them, rise to their height. The fighters who died near Ilovaisk can end up in the “Bosom of Abraham”, or at least the some of their lives and deaths testify to this.

According to the authors’ statement, the project embodies traditional European humanistic values through the prism of the Eastern Christian liturgical and artistic tradition, and the totalitarian collectivism of the Soviet past and Putin’s present is contrasted with a seemingly sanctified personal humanism.

One of the established functions of an icon is testimony.

However, if traditional ancient icons testify to the Incarnation, these unique and recent icons painted on ammo boxes are witnesses to a terrible war that is still going on in Ukraine. Boxes that held heavy artillery shells were brought from the battlefield and used for the “Ilovaisk” series. Their size and their silent presence on the frontline help us think about the scale of this war, to feel and experience it. For many, these wooden fragments are a more eloquent testimony than the stories told by people, as stories are sometimes subjective and incomplete.

The virtual experience of war is the sickness of our times.

Let’s recall Jean Baudrillard’s famous article “The Gulf War Did

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Not Take Place”, in which the author tackles this problem for the first time. However, the opinions he expresses in it relate to television, not the Internet.

According to the authors of the project, the real presence of artistically transformed fragments of utilitarian ammo boxes is a kind of antithesis to virtual war, an attempt to bring the viewer (both in Ukraine and in Europe) out of the conventional space of Internet wars—with their comfort, warmth and delicious coffee in front of the monitor—and into the world of real military events filled with terror. It was for this reason that the “Ilovaisk Deesis” was enacted on the surface of crude wooden boxes brought from the frontline, the dark wombs that hid ammunition and brought death and devastation to our military personnel.

One of the functions of an icon is to create dialogue, to be a mediator in the dialogue between an Orthodox believer and God, a person and a saint. In the context of this project, the icon, as a symbol, not only emphasizes the dialogic nature of Ukrainian society (in contrast to Russians’ monologic society), but also elevates this principle to the level of one of the fundamental laws of existence: saints do not just pray, they conduct a dialogue with Christ, discussing the fate of mankind. The performance of the outstanding Ukrainian kobzar, bandurist and lyre player Taras Kompanichenko, which was the central event of the presentation, became an important component of the project itself, seeming to turn us into witnesses and participants of this dialogue, transforming its liturgical nature into a secular format.

The clothes worn by the saints on the icons of the “Ilovaisk” series are made with multi-colored pencils and do not contrast with the faces painted with tempera. This technique overcomes the cold academicism inherent in a significant number of modern icons without intentionally conflicting with the canon; importantly, it helps us to retain the sensitiveness of the initial impression of childlike honesty. The sincerity of the pencil drawing emphasizes the sophistication, the Byzantine estrangement, the timelessness in the faces of the saints.

The camouflage-style clothing worn by the saints is, of course, not camouflage in the literal sense, but is associated with military

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uniforms and symbolizes the saints’ approach to the needs of people. The barrier between our world and the heavenly world is being erased, the sky nears the earth, and the saints standing in front of Christ are among those who have seen the bottom of the Ilovaisk hell with their own eyes and can bear witness.

Antinomicity—the compatibility of the incompatible—is an important feature of the “Ilovaisk Deisis” series (as well as of the project in general). Death and life, weapons and icons, attributes of modern war and ancient traditional Christian art, the frontline and a life in peacetime . . . The perception of this paradoxical concatenation of mutual exclusions occurs unexpectedly, but organically.

The example of “Ilovaisk” allows one can see the language of traditional Christian art being taken out of the environment of the church or the museum exhibit and organically enter the specific environment of secular art, continuing, to a certain extent, the tradition of the famous Boichukist artists who were arrested and murdered in Stalin’s prisons.

The language of classical iconography, a tradition in Ukrainian art, is understood by all members of Ukrainian society. It seems to be especially relevant in a time of war, because its vividly expressive artistic means call for reconciliation and understanding.

And, in the end, iconography remains one of the most effective systems for expressing thoughts and feelings in modern conceptual art, and this was the reason for the well-deserved success of the “Icons on Ammo Boxes” art project, and for the constant attention given to it by the Ukrainian media.

Zoya Chehusova Laureate of the National Shevchenko Award President of the Ukrainian section of the International Association of Art Critics AICA

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Passiones

Passiones PASSIONES (Lat. passio—suffering) is a series of artworks made to honor the fifth anniversary of the beginning of the war in Ukraine.

It is dedicated to the soldiers who died in the war, as well as to the civilian population of Ukraine.

PASSIONES continues the attempt to honor the memory of those who died in the war, a theme begun in the “Ilovaisk Deisis” series with the expressive means of modern art.

The Passion, according to Holy Scripture, describes the events that took place in the last days of the earthly life of Jesus Christ.

They precede the most important event in the New Testament – the Resurrection of the Lord Jesus Christ.

However, the twenty works that make up the PASSIONES series created by Oleksandr Klymenko and Sonya Atlantova are not about the sufferings of Christ and the Incarnation alone: they are also united by the theme of human suffering. The high iconographic language attests to the terrible consequences and deep wounds of the war in Ukraine, which, even if the war were to end, would require a decade to heal. The Russo-Ukrainian war is introduced into a timeless historical context, fixed in te supra-individual minds. The biblical story and the history of Ukraine dramatically collide and intersect, as if actualizing each other. The perception of both the biblical stories and the episodes of the war, which is sacred to the defenders of Ukrainian land, teems with new meanings and associations. The boxes brought from the frontline become a background and an artistic space simultaneously, a space that represents the sacred and eternal struggle between good and evil, between life and death, between despair and hope.

The theme of the sacrificial act forms the backbone of the series. Dying for others acquires a higher meaning. It is sanctified and constitutes the central event in two seemingly completely different narratives: the biblical one and the history of modern warfare. The plenitude of self-sacrifice is the point where the lines of these stories converge and meet.

The iconography of Imago Pietatis (an icon bearing the image of the dead Jesus) is the semantic and artistic center of the series.

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112 Icons on Ammo Boxes Our Lady of Sorrows, which is paired with Imago Pietatis, refers to the theme of maternal grief, the suffering caused by the death of a beloved child.

The exceptional position of the diptych in the compositions of the PASSIONES series is emphasized by the elongated format, the dark, distressed, and smoky color of the ammo boxes’ wood contrasts with the yellowish pine boards of the other icons in the series. These large icons of generalized figures are rhythmically and associatively complicated by the smaller figures that contrast with them. The use of gold leaf is deliberately limited to the thin outlines of halos, to the inscriptions and stars on the Virgin Mary’s maphorion. The silent stiffness of the images, together with the lapidary and rhythmic simplicity of the figurative solutions, contrast with the general polyphony of the rest of the works. The tense narrative of the series’ compositions is complemented and interrupted by the elegiac contemplativeness of this diptych.

The nails on the icon of the Savior brutally stick out of the board, continuing the liturgical theme of the instruments of Christ’s passion, becoming important semantic and decorative elements of the work. They reinforce the experience of the tragedy of modern war, symbolize its stubbornness, testify to its reality in our lives, to the wounds and destruction it causes.

The diptych acts as the apotheosis of death, the end of a long path of suffering. The completeness and tragic universality of this death, its frozen hopelessness are especially emphasized. Words become unnecessary, even superfluous, due to the inability of those who have not lost a loved one in the war to express a woman’s grief and understand the depth of the los s . . . One can only contemplate, standing nearby. At the same time, the Eastern Christian tradition that served as inspiration for this work is far from Gothic exaltation and Western European naturalism. This allows a certain detachment, an elevation of worldviews, theological and artistic reflection and meditation, a sacrament that helps one to experience catharsis, even when immersed in the tragedy of modern war, even when witnessing the deaths of thousands of innocent people.

But death is not the end. The antithesis of death is resurrection.

The victory of life over death, which is the overarching idea in the “Icons on Ammo Boxes” project and in the PASSIONES series,

Passiones 113 takes on an Easter image. This Easter victory is affirmed and confirmed. The main topic of the entire “Icons on Ammo Boxes” project is fully revealed in the series. A long, tense and bloody path of suffering ends with joy and hope. This should be evidenced by the doubling of the resurrection composition (“Myrrhbearing Women at the Grave” and “Descent into Hell”) as well as the color of the background (covered with the remains of bluish-greenish paint) and the author’s mixed technique (pastel is added to complement the traditional tempera).

The composition of the works included in the series organically extends the traditions of classical Byzantine iconography, yet we simultaneously see a faint hint of the influence of the simple-hearted images of the Ukrainian folk icon, paintings of ancient Ukrainian churches of the seventeenth to the eighteenth centuries, in particular those of the village of Potelycha, Zhovkiv district, Lviv region.

The traditions of monumental iconography of the Byzantine era, as well as the monumental paintings of Ukrainian wooden churches, overlap with the distinct individual manner of the artists, experienced monumentalists who have worked on the decoration of many church buildings. Therefore, the totality of their knowledge and their ability to work “on a wall” is manifest even in the easel works of the series.

At the same time, the works are characterized by their transparency, an almost watercolor texture, tending to ghostliness.

Sometimes the unique texture of the wood shines through the layers of paint, which individualizes each board, distinguishing it from the other icons in the series and from other works of iconography.

The icons seem to paint themselves on the surface: they seem to “flow” like the pine resin on the boards. When looking at some of the works, one gets the feeling that the artists have only corrected the natural, independent process of iconography.

The leaking paint that was used to cover the ammo boxes during their production, the stains and traces of careless painting, the factory stickers, the stamps, cracks, scratches, chips, rough texture, nails, curtains, dirt, smoke, abrasions—all organically complement the composition of the works. Transformed into means of artistic expression, they do not create a sense of chaos. This

114 Icons on Ammo Boxes distinguishes the icons of Atlantova and Klymenko from most modern icons, helping to elevate their works out of the realm of craftsmanship into the realm of high art, strangely creating the illusion of organic and artificial obsolescence, even a museum-like quality, antiquity in the best sense of the word, giving these works a character of great age. One gets the impression that some of the icons were painted long before our time.

The process of icon creation seems to drag on for decades— from the time the box is made at the factory, to the long wait in the warehouse, to the frontline, to battles, to the artist’s workshop, before finally arriving at the exhibition. The story of each of these boxes appears in front of us: a story unlike any other, simultaneously long and incredibly interesting. Traces of its long life and travels, the depths of war and peace remain on the surface of the board even after the icon appears on it, reminiscent of ancient palimpsests.

Perhaps it is precisely because of this peculiar testimony of the historical event, told to us by the artists, that the icons acquire credibility. You believe them. But unlike the paintings created by the old masters of European art, this confirmation is not accomplished through illusory and meticulous detail, but through the presence of artifacts that are completely foreign to the poetics and logic of history. They are directly related to modern war through their active presence and a peculiar, sometimes brutal intervention into the process and history of the “creation of death” in Ukraine.

At the same time, sacred history becomes a term of symbolic comparison, a kind of image, an icon of the events that are happening today, giving them a deeper meaning, glorifying them.

Vytynanky made with pre-war Donetsk newspapers (also brought from the front) decorate eighteen of the twenty icons of the PASSIONES and serve as a metaphor for what is happening in Ukraine. By imitating, or rather replacing the precious covering, the vytynanky seem to be reviving an ancient Christian tradition: during wars and natural disasters, coverings were removed from icons and used for humanitarian purposes.

The traditional gold of the riza, a precious and gleaming, often heavy layer of precious metals, which many researchers and theologians view as the icon’s captivity, changes to its opposite—a matte, light frame made of slightly yellowed newsprint. Instead of the

Passiones 115 usual ornaments and patterns, there is a lace of newspaper letters, joining the sacred space of sacred history after losing their routine everyday character, after being cut into pieces. Having risen above the mundane drabness of the pre-war news reported by Donetsk journalists, having shed their usual logic and logic in general, the texts no longer narrate, but testify with their illogicality. They testify like the bodies of Ukrainian soldiers who died near Ilovaisk, Debaltseve, the DA, like the soldiers and civilians maimed in the war, like the wounds of Jesus Christ did about the reality of His suffering and resurrection . . . The chaos of the letters, the reflected chaos of war, hints at another reality, a reality dominated by intuition and revelation . . .

The newspaper ornaments refer us to the silver coverings of the times of Byzantium and Kyivan Rus, as well as to the vytynanky of Ukrainian folk craftsmen.

It seems that we are witnessing a paradoxical attempt to return the icon back to its early Christian simplicity. The authors emphasize that asceticism is asserted and confirmed through this return.

The mini-series of six icons of the Mother of God is not formally a part of the PASSIONES, but it complements the series conceptually, expanding the semantic field, complicating its perception, enriching the associative chain. Dedicated to mothers and wives whose children and husbands died in the war, it is a development of the theme of maternal grief, the tragedy of maternal pain, this universal loss that has found its expression in two icons of the PASSIONES series—the Virgin and the dead Savior. The theme of motherhood and childhood is contrasted with war, evoking poignant emotional experiences. All six icons are completed in the Byzantine theological tradition and connect with the theme of the passion. The Mother of God is caressing the Child, but simultaneously mourns His suffering and death on the cross.

Some works of the series share compositional analogies with the icons of the PASSIONES series. For example, the little Savior who plays with the Mother with outstretched arms is similar to the Savior from the composition of the Crucifixion; the other Savior, half-lying in the arms of His Mother, refers to the image of Jesus Christ on the Lamentation icon; on another icon, the Baby, leaning against the Virgin’s cheek, repeats a fragment of the “Removal from

116 Icons on Ammo Boxes the Cross” composition. The images are mirrored and multiplied, as if echoing each other, both compositionally and symbolically, bringing us to the image of a woman mourning her dead son in a Ukrainian cemetery. At the same time, the artists do not make this explicit. They only lead the viewer to this symbolic analogy, cautiously stopping before reaching it. They have enough artistic tact to refuse the direct comparison of the Mother of God and the modern Ukrainian woman, avoiding simplification and the usual straightforwardness. The sacred does not descend to the level of the profane; on the contrary, the tragedy of an ordinary person is magnified, it expands to otherworldly magnitudes. Maternal grief is not individualized: in the figurative and compositional solutions they employ in the icons of the Mother of God, the authors of the series ““remove” everything excessive and leave only the necessary, everything that unites all earthly women in their horrifying grief.

The deliberate refusal of the artists to fully complete their works is worth noting. Of course, artworks cannot be equated to sketches, but one feels the potential of continuing the work of the series, a desire to participate in the creative act arises. Conceptual incompleteness, which in no way harms the integrity and artistic quality of the works, turns into a metaphor of this unfinished war, which is still ongoing. Yet it is also a metaphor for the history of humanity, the latest history that we are witnessing now. The creation of an icon is a process that can be continued, leaving an opportunity for the participation of the viewer.

This incompleteness helps to ban coldness and aloofness, the parasites of modern Orthodox icons. The authenticity and straightforwardness of the experience, the sincerity of the authors’ feelings, are achieved precisely thanks to this fake infinity, which combines with the sophistication, the conceptual depth and complexity of both the series and the entire project.

The date of the series’ presentation by the talented and very creative Kyiv-based artists Oleksandr Klymenko and Sonya Atlantova is symbolic—it is both the date of the beginning of the war in Donbas and of Holy Week for Catholics, the Orthodox and Greek Catholics.

Passiones 117 PASSIONES, as aptly noted by Fr. Georgy Kovalenko, one of the authors of the exhibition’s press announcement, is like a Holy Week for the fifth anniversary of the war . . .

Zoya Chehusova Laureate of the National Shevchenko Award President of the Ukrainian section of the International Association of Art Critics AICA

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ABOUT

ABOUT

The “Icons on Ammo Boxes” project Oleksandr Klymenko and Sonya Atlantova “Icons on Ammo Boxes” is a project by the Kyiv-based artists Sonya Atlantova and Oleksandr Klymenko, dedicated to artistic meditations on the topic of the Russo-Ukrainian war.

The main idea of the project is the transformation of death (symbolized by an ammo box) into life (traditionally symbolized by icons in Ukrainian culture).

The boxes used as a base for the icons were brought from the frontline. That is why the icons painted on their fragments are symbolic witnesses to the war in Ukraine.

The concept of the project combines seemingly incompatible things: attributes of modern warfare and an ancient artistic language that dates back to the European Middle Ages. In this way, the present armed conflict is reevaluated against the background of Ukrainian and even European history of the past millennium.

It is important that the icon on the ammo box is not only a religious, but also a cultural factor. Exceeding the boundaries of its religious environment, it becomes open to anyone both in Ukraine and beyond: in Europe and America.

The exhibition of icons painted on ammo boxes brought back from the combat zone was shown in the European Parliament, the Verkhovna Rada of Ukraine, the Office of the President of Ukraine, the House of the Government of Ukraine, the Lithuanian Seimas, the Kyiv City Council, St. Sophia’s Cathedral in Kyiv, the Embassy of the Republic of Lithuania, the Delegation of the European Union to Ukraine, and in such cities as Antwerp, Basel, Bern, Berlin, Bonn, Boston, Brussels, Bucharest, Washington, Winnipeg, Warsaw, Vienna, Vilnius, Ghent, Cologne, Karlsruhe, Chur, Klaipeda, London, Los Angeles, Lublin, Miami, Milan, Montreal, Munich, Nuremberg, New York, Oxford, Ottawa, Paris, Prague, Poznań, Rome, Sofia, Toronto, Trier, Zurich, Chicago, Philadelphia, 147

148 Icons on Ammo Boxes Frankfurt, Iasi, so forth (as of September 2023 – seventeen countries, seventy-seven cities, 143 locations).

Since the spring of 2015, “Icons on Ammo Boxes” has been a volunteer project, supporting various humanitarian initiatives.

SONYA ATLANTOVA is an artist and a writer. She was born on December 14, 1981 in Kyiv.

She studied at the Taras Shevchenko State Art School and the National Academy of Fine Arts and Architecture.

She works in the fields of monumental and easel painting, book graphics, installations. She has participated in a number of exhibitions in Ukraine and abroad.

Her literary works were included on the short and long lists of several awards in Ukraine and abroad, in particular the BBC Book of the Year.

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OLEKSANDR KLYMENKO was born May 7, 1976. He is an artist, an art critic, and a writer (under pseudonym Olaf Klemensen). He is a member of the National Union of Artists of Ukraine.

In 1998, he graduated from the National Academy of Fine Arts and Architecture, and in 2002 he graduated from the M. Rylsky Institute of Art History, Folklore and Ethnology of the National Academy of Sciences of Ukraine. He taught at the M. Boychuk Kyiv State Institute of Decorative and Applied Art and Design and at the Higher Humanitarian Theological Courses (Kyiv). He is the author of the introduction to the Jewelry Art of Ukraine album (K., 2000), a number of art history articles, and the books Lito-Ato (K., 2015) and The Names That Remained (К., 2023).

Klymenko works in the field of easel and monumental painting.

He has participated iin exhibitions in Ukraine and abroad, and organized a number of literary and artistic actions and performances.

He is the author of the idea and one of the curators of the “Icons on Ammo Boxes” project.

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P. 33. THE ICON OF THE KARDIOTISSA MOTHER OF GOD. 2018. Bottom of an ammo box, tempera. 51 × 46 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 34. BALYKE ICON OF THE MOTHER OF GOD. 2018. Lid of an ammo box, tempera. 53 × 49 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 35. OUR LADY OF THE GATE OF DAWN. 2018. Lid of an ammo box, tempera. 51 × 46 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by medical volunteers of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 36. SAINT GEORGE. 2018. Bottom of an ammo box, colored pencils, tempera. 51 × 46 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone)

P. 29. IMAGE OF EDESSA. 2018. Fragment of an ammo box, camouflage, author’s technique. 51 × 46 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by medical volunteers of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH P. 30. ANNUNCIATION. 2018. Bottom of an ammo box, tempera. 51 × 46 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 31. SAINT GEORGE. 2018. Bottom of an ammo box, tempera. 51 × 46 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P.32. SAINT PANTELEON. 2018. Lid of an ammo box, colored pencils, tempera. 51 × 46 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH.

153

154 Icons on Ammo Boxes by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 37. VIRGIN HODEGETRIA. 2018. Bottom of an ammo box, tempera, gold leaf. 51 × 46 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 38. THE SAVIOR IN CAMOUFLAGE. 2018. Fragment of an ammo box, camouflage, author’s technique. 51 × 46 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by medical volunteers of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 39. SAINT GEORGE. 2018. Bottom of an ammo box, tempera. 51 × 45 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 40. PETER THE APOSTLE. 2018. Cover of an AK cartridge box, tempera. 39 × 34.5 cm.

The box was donated by the employees of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of Ukraine.

P. 41. PAUL THE APOSTLE. 2018. Bottom of an ammo box, tempera. 40 × 35 cm.

The box was donated by the employees of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of Ukraine.

P. 42. THE HEAD OF SAINT JOHN THE BAPTIST. 2018. Cover of an AK ammo box, tempera. 40 × 35 cm.

The box was donated by the employees of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of Ukraine.

P. 43. SAINT NICHOLAS. 2017. The bottom of an AK ammo box, tempera, pencils. 39 × 34.5 cm.

The box was brought from the village of Pisky (near Donetsk airport).

P. 44. THE VIRGIN OF VOLODYMYR. 2018. Lid of an ammo box, tempera, gold leaf. 54 × 37 cm.

The box was brought from the village of Vodyane.

Presented by the employees of the Security Service of Ukraine.

P. 45. VIRGIN WITH CHILD. 2018. Fragment of an ammo box, tempera. 53 × 49 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH.

Index 155 P. 46. ARCHANGEL MICHAEL. 2018. Fragment of an ammo box, tempera. 51 × 46 cm.

The box was brought from the Bakhmut region by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 47. SAINT MAMMAS THE MARTYR. 2018. Fragment of an ammo box, tempera. 51 × 46 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 48. GUARDIAN ANGEL. 2019. Bottom of an ammo box, tempera. 40 × 35 cm.

The box was donated by the employees of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of Ukraine.

P. 49. SAINT JOHN THE BAPTIST. 2019. Lid of an ammo box, author’s technique.

51 × 46 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 50. SAINT ANTHONY THE GREAT. 2019. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 47 × 47 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 51. SAINT ANTHONY THE GREAT. The reverse side of the icon.

P. 52. IMAGE OF EDESSA. 2015. Lid of an ammo box, tempera, coal. 51 × 45 cm.

The box was brought from Bakhmut by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 53. BLESSED VIRGIN THE SPIRITESS OF BREAD. 2018. Lid of an ammo box, tempera. 53 × 47 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 54. VOLYN ICON OF THE MOTHER OF GOD. 2018. Lid of an ammo box, tempera. 53.5 × 49 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 55. SAINT FAITHFUL PRINCES BORIS AND HLEB. 2018. Lid of an ammo box, tempera, gold leaf. 51 × 46 cm.

156 Icons on Ammo Boxes The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 56. SAINT NICHOLAS. 2015. Fragment of an ammo box, tempera, gold leaf. 85 × 45 cm.

The box was brought from the village of Pisky (near the Donetsk airport).

P. 57. OUR LADY OF SORROWS. 2018. Lid of an ammo box, tempera. 53 × 49 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 58. SAINT DEMETRIUS OF THESSALONIKI 2018. Lid of an ammo box, tempera. 53 × 36 cm.

The box was brought from the village of Vodyane P. 59. THE SOFTENER OF EVIL HEARTS. 2017. Lid of an ammo box, tempera, gold leaf. 81 × 49 cm.

The box was brought from the village of Pisky (near the Donetsk airport) by Avtomaidan volunteers.

P. 60. THE SAVIOR 2017. Lid of a shell box, tempera. 112 × 39 cm.

The box was brought by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH from Popasna.

P. 61. SAINT DEMETRIUS OF THESSALONIKI. 2018. Bottom of an ammo box, tempera. 39.5 × 34 cm.

The box was donated by the employees of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of Ukraine.

P. 62. CATHERINE OF ALEXANDRIA. 2019. Fragment of an ammo box, tempera, gold leaf. 60 × 19 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 63. SAINT MARY OF EGYPT. 2019. Fragment of an ammo box, tempera. 56 × 19.5 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 64. SAINT GEORGE. 2020. Fragment of an ammo box, tempera. 53 × 19.5 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 65. SAINT GEORGE.

Index 157 2020. Fragment of an ammo box, tempera. 53 × 23 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 66. PETER THE APOSTLE. 2017. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 49 × 19 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 66. THE SAVIOR. 2017. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 57 × 22 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 67. PAUL THE APOSTLE. 2017. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 49 × 19 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 68. SAINT DEMETRIUS OF THESSALONIKI. 2020. The bottom of an ammo box, tempera. 40 × 35 cm.

The box was donated by the soldiers of the Prince

Svyatoslav the Brave Third Separate Special Regiment.

P. 69. THE MOTHER OF GOD. 2019. Bottom of an ammo box, tempera. 51 × 46 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 70. THE SAVIOR. 2019. The bottom of an AK ammo box, tempera, gold leaf. 40 × 35 cm.

The box was brought from the Mariupol region.

Gifted by the soldiers of the Marine Corps unit.

P. 71. SAINT PANTELEMON THE HEALER. 2020. The bottom of an AK ammo box, tempera.

40 × 35 cm.

The box was donated by employees of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of Ukraine.

P. 72. THE VATOPEDI MOTHER OF CONSOLATION (PARAMYTHIA).

2017-2020. Fragment of an ammo box, tempera.

42.5 × 39 cm.

The box was brought from Popasnaya by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH.

158 Icons on Ammo Boxes P. 73. SAINT ANTHONY OF KYIV. 2019. Bottom of an ammo box, author’s technique.

48.5 × 47.5 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 74. SAINT GEORGE. 2019. Fragment of an ammo box, tempera. 65 × 57 cm.

The box was brought from the Mariupol region.

Gifted by the soldiers of the Marine Corps unit.

P. 75. VIRGIN MARY OF THE ETERNAL BLOOM. 2019. Bottom of an ammo box, tempera. 51 × 46 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 76. THE SAVIOR. 2020. Bottom of an ammo box, tempera, gold leaf. 40 × 35 cm.

The box was donated by the employees of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of Ukraine.

P. 77. ZGYROVYCHI ICON OF THE MOTHER OF GOD. 2018. Bottom of an ammo box, tempera. 51 × 45 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 78. VIRGIN MARY OF THE LOVING KINDNESS (“GLYKOPHILOUSA”).

2017. Bottom of an ammo box, tempera. 55 × 49 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 79. THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. 2019. The bottom of an AK ammo box, tempera, gold leaf. 40 × 35 cm.

The box was donated by the employees of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of Ukraine.

C. 80. THE SAVIOR IN CAMOUFLAGE 2018. Fragment of an ammo box, camouflage, author’s technique. 51 × 45 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 81. SAINT GREGORY OF NAZIANZUS. 2017. Cover of an AK ammo box, tempera, colored pencils. 40 × 35 cm.

Index 159 The box was donated by the employees of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of Ukraine.

P. 82. SAINT GEORGE. 2018. Bottom of an ammo box, tempera. 53 × 48 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 83. SAINT MARGARET. 2018. Lid of an ammo box, tempera. 78 × 39 cm.

The box was brought from the Maryinka region by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 91. THE SAVIOR ON THE THRONE. 2017. Fragment of a shell box, tempera, colored pencils. 103 × 48 cm.

2018.The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 93. VIRGIN MARY. 2017. Fragment of a shell box, tempera, colored pencils. 118 × 39 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 94. JOHN THE BAPTIST.

2017. Fragment of a shell box, tempera, colored pencils. 118 × 36 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 96. ARCHANGEL MICHAEL. 2017. Fragment of a shell box, tempera, colored pencils. 118 × 39 cm.

The box was brought from the front by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 97. ARCHANGEL GABRIEL. 2017. Fragment of a shell box, tempera, colored pencils. 118 × 39 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 98. SAINT PETER THE APOSTLE. 2017. Fragment of a shell box, tempera, colored pencils. 113 × 39 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 103. SAINT PAUL THE APOSTLE.

160 Icons on Ammo Boxes 2017. Fragment of a shell box, tempera, colored pencils. 112 × 39 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 104. JOHN CHRYSOSTOM. 2017. Fragment of a shell box, tempera, colored pencils. 118 × 39 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 105. SAINT NICHOLAS. 2017. Fragment of a shell box, tempera, colored pencils. 118 × 39 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 106. SAINT GEORGE. 2017. Fragment of a shell box, tempera, colored pencils. 103 × 48 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 107. SAINT DEMETRIUS OF THESSALONIKI. 2017. Fragment of a shell box, tempera, colored pencils. 103 × 48 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 108. SAINT MACARIUS OF EGYPT. 2017. Fragment of a shell box, tempera, colored pencils. 103 × 44 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 109. SAINT MARCUS THE ASCETIC. 2017. Fragment of a shell box, tempera, colored pencils. 103 × 48 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 120. THE ENTRANCE TO JERUSALEM. 2019. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 57 x 64 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 121. THE CURSING OF THE FIG TREE. 2019. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 51 × 47 cm.

Index 161 The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 122. PARABLE OF THE TEN VIRGINS. 2019. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 40 × 35 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 123. THE WASHING OF THE FEET (MAUNDY).

2019. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 64 × 57 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 124. THE LAST SUPPER. 2019. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 64 × 57 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 125. THE AGONY IN THE GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE. 2019. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique.

64 x 71.5 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 126. THE KISS OF JUDAS. 2019. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 64 × 57 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 127. JESUS IN THE SANHEDRIN. 2019. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 64 × 57 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 128. THE DENIAL OF SAINT PETER. 2019. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 64 × 57 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 129. PILATE’S COURT. 2019. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 64 x 57 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer

162 Icons on Ammo Boxes doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 130. THE FLAGELLATION OF CHRIST. 2019. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 64 × 57 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 131. CHRIST CARRYING THE CROSS. 2019. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 64 × 57 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P.132. CHRIST BEFORE THE CROSS. 2019. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 64 × 57 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 133. THE CRUCIFIXION. 2019. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 64 × 57 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH.

P. 134. THE REMOVAL FROM THE CROSS. 2019. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 64 × 57 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 135. THE MOURNING OF CHRIST. 2019. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 64 × 57 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. Art. 130. THE MYRRHBEARERS IN FRONT OF THE LORD’S TOMB. 2019. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 64 × 57 cm.

The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 136. THE DESCENT INTO HELL. 2019. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 64 × 57 cm The box was brought from the frontline by volunteer

Index 163 doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 137. VIRGIN MARY IN SORROW. 2019. Lid of an ammo box, tempera, gold leaf. 54 × 36.5 cm.

The box was brought from the Avdiivka region by Gennady Druzenko, head of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 138. DEAD CHRIST. 2019. Armory box lid, tempera, gold leaf. 54 × 36 cm.

The box was brought from the Avdiivka region by Gennady Druzenko, head of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 139. VIRGIN OF THE PASSION. 2019. Bottom of an ammo box, tempera. 51 × 46 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 140. ICON OF THE KARDIOTISSA MOTHER OF GOD. 2019. Bottom of an ammo box, tempera. 51 × 46 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH.

P. 141. THE VIRGIN WITH THE BABY (“GLYKOPHILOUSA”).

2019. Bottom of an ammo box, tempera. 51 × 46 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 142. VIRGIN OF THE PASSION. 2019. Bottom of an ammo box, tempera. 52 × 46 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 143. THE VIRGIN WITH THE BABY. 2019. Bottom of an ammo box, tempera. 51 × 46 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. P. 144. ICON OF THE PELAGONITISA MOTHER OF GOD. 2019. Bottom of an ammo box, tempera. 51 × 46 cm.

The box was brought from Avdiivka (Industrial Zone) by volunteer doctors of the Mykola Pyrohov FVMH. Artistic publication Sonya Atlantova, Oleksandr Klymenko

164 Icons on Ammo Boxes ICONS ON AMMO BOXES Album Second edition Idea: Oleksandr Klymenko Original Ukrainian Publishers: Leonid Finberg, Kostyantyn Sihov

Photos of the works: Yevhen Chornyi Photos of the presentation: Yevhen Chornyi, Andriy Marchenko Photos of the authors: Yevhen Chornyi, Olena Naumenko

Supplement About the Mariupol series Mariupol. Currently, it is a tragedy not only for Ukrainians, but also for the entire planet. A bright, sunny seaside city reduced ruins blackened by soot. Thousands, maybe even tens of thousands of dead civilians. The heroism of the defenders. Blood and tears.

Death and grief.

Our series of icons is dedicated to this city, its inhabitants and defenders. Eleven works that combine classic iconography and quick sketches of the destroyed city, whose “moonscape” is as impressive and depressing as the ruins of Aleppo, Dresden or Hiroshima . . .

The idea of creating this series arose immediately after the city was surrounded by Russian troops. Knowing this city, its defenders, as well as the extent to which Ukrainians prepared for its defense, by the beginning of March it became clear that the siege of the city would last a long time. It was also obvious that the battle for Mariupol would become a bloody massacre similar to the storming of Grozny or Aleppo, and therefore a terrible tragedy for hundreds of thousands of its inhabitants. The first reports and descriptions of the events testified to the truth of our intuition. And it was during these days in early March, despite what was happening near Kyiv, despite the fierce battles for Bucha, Gostomel and Irpin, that we decided to start work on a series of works dedicated to Mariupol and its inhabitants, a city that was a thousand kilometers away from Kyiv, far away from us. The reason for taking on this work was our sympathy for this bright southern seaside city, with its open and gentle inhabitants, but also the fact that the Azov region itself was a place of residence for Ukrainian Greeks who resettled there after the annexation of Crimea, and thus directly connects Ukraine with the Mediterranean region, Greek antiquity, Byzantium, giving us the right to claim this great heritage.

There was no doubt that the language of Byzantine art was natural for Mariupol. Therefore, our series had to be as Byzantine 165

166 Icons on Ammo Boxes as possible in its figurative language. At the same time, the distance of classical Byzantine art from the contemporary world had to be balanced out by something. Heaven should touch our wounded and crippled earth. That is why we added the landscape sketches of the war-ravaged city to the images of the saints, the idea being to combine the gold nimbus of Christ Pantocrator with black coal and the negligent sanguine haloes of the Mother of God, John the Baptist, and the archangels. The transcendence of the icons had to crumble, like the buildings in Mariupol under the Russian bombs, rockets and shells. Once ruined, it had to create and conceive itself anew, now filled with the experience and turmoil of suffering.

And just like that, the eschatology of the classical Byzantine deesis collided with the eschatology of our days, one devoid of medieval symbolism and tact. Traditional tempera techniques collided with rough charcoal strokes and stains, medieval holiness clashed with contemporary expression, the gold leaf of the nimbus seemed to have slipped away, unable to withstand the tragedy of the situation . . .

The images of Mariupol’s landscape cut off the figures of the saints at the waist as they organically extend the folds of clothing, these folds flowing into the buildings, turning into dark, smoky ruins. A depopulated city appears in the lower sections of the icons; however, it is still filled with people, with living people, living in spite of everything around them. These people are not visible, but they are there. The inhabitants are hiding among the ruins, and it is they, these people, not the buildings, that become the symbol of the unfortunate city, the saints pray for them . . . The series is dedicated to these people, to those who are invisible and unknown to us.

The work on the series required a great amount of consideration and tact for the victims of this tragedy. No one will ever fully understand what the residents and the defenders of Mariupol felt.

We constantly asked ourselves whether we had the moral right to express our opinions on the matter. Isn’t silence more appropriate in the face of such grief and such heroism? But if you stay silent, the silence eventually takes the form of indifference . . . And we wanted to tell the whole world about what is currently happening in Ukraine, about the people affected by the war, about its absurd,

Supplement 167 unacceptable, unthinkable reality. As absurd as a charcoal sketch on an icon . . .

Sonya Atlantova, Oleksandr Klymenko. МАРІУПОЛЬСЬКИЙ ДЕІСИС The Mariupol Deesis THE SAVIOR 2023. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 91.5 х 46 cm.

The box was brought from southeastern Ukraine by volunteer doctors THEOTOKOS 2023. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 91.5 х 46 cm.

The box was brought from southeastern Ukraine by volunteer doctors JOHN THE BAPTIST 2023. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 91.5 х 46 cm.

The box was brought from southeastern Ukraine by volunteer doctors ARCHANGEL MICHAEL 2023. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 91.5 х 46 cm.

The box was brought from southeastern Ukraine by volunteer doctors ARCHANGEL GABRIEL 2023. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 91.5 х 46 cm.

The box was brought from southeastern Ukraine by volunteer doctors SAINT PETER THE APOSTLE 2023. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 84 х 46 cm.

The box was brought from southeastern Ukraine by volunteer doctors

168 Icons on Ammo Boxes SAINT PAUL THE APOSTLE 2023. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 84 х 46 cm.

The box was brought from southeastern Ukraine by volunteer doctors SAINT JOHN THE APOSTLE 2023. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 84 х 46 cm.

The box was brought from southeastern Ukraine by volunteer doctors SAINT MATTHEW THE APOSTLE 2023. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 84 х 46 cm.

The box was brought from southeastern Ukraine by volunteer doctors SAINT LUKE THE EVANGELIST 2023. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 84 х 46 cm.

The box was brought from southeastern Ukraine by volunteer doctors SAINT MARK THE APOSTLE 2023. Fragment of an ammo box, author’s technique. 84 х 46 cm.

The box was brought from southeastern Ukraine by volunteer doctors

Ukrainian Voices Collected by Andreas Umland 1

Mychailo Wynnyckyj Ukraine’s Maidan, Russia’s War

A Chronicle and Analysis of the Revolution of Dignity With a foreword by Serhii Plokhy ISBN 978-3-8382-1327-9

2

Olexander Hryb Understanding Contemporary Ukrainian and Russian Nationalism

The Post-Soviet Cossack Revival and Ukraine’s National Security With a foreword by Vitali Vitaliev ISBN 978-3-8382-1377-4

3

Marko Bojcun Towards a Political Economy of Ukraine Selected Essays 1990–2015 With a foreword by John-Paul Himka ISBN 978-3-8382-1368-2

4

Volodymyr Yermolenko (ed.)

Ukraine in Histories and Stories

Essays by Ukrainian Intellectuals With a preface by Peter Pomerantsev ISBN 978-3-8382-1456-6

5

Mykola Riabchuk At the Fence of Metternich’s Garden

Essays on Europe, Ukraine, and Europeanization ISBN 978-3-8382-1484-9

6

Marta Dyczok Ukraine Calling

A Kaleidoscope from Hromadske Radio 2016–2019 With a foreword by Andriy Kulykov ISBN 978-3-8382-1472-6

7

Olexander Scherba Ukraine vs. Darkness

Undiplomatic Thoughts With a foreword by Adrian Karatnycky ISBN 978-3-8382-1501-3

8

Olesya Yaremchuk Our Others

Stories of Ukrainian Diversity With a foreword by Ostap Slyvynsky Translated from the Ukrainian by Zenia Tompkins and Hanna Leliv ISBN 978-3-8382-1475-7

9

Nataliya Gumenyuk Die verlorene Insel

Geschichten von der besetzten Krim Mit einem Vorwort von Alice Bota Aus dem Ukrainischen übersetzt von Johann Zajaczkowski ISBN 978-3-8382-1499-3

10

Olena Stiazhkina Zero Point Ukraine

Four Essays on World War II Translated from the Ukrainian by Svitlana Kulinska ISBN 978-3-8382-1550-1

11

Oleksii Sinchenko, Dmytro Stus, Leonid Finberg (compilers) Ukrainian Dissidents An Anthology of Texts ISBN 978-3-8382-1551-8

12

John-Paul Himka Ukrainian Nationalists and the Holocaust

OUN and UPA’s Participation in the Destruction of Ukrainian Jewry, 1941–1944 ISBN 978-3-8382-1548-8

13

Andrey Demartino False Mirrors

The Weaponization of Social Media in Russia’s Operation to Annex Crimea With a foreword by Oleksiy Danilov ISBN 978-3-8382-1533-4

14

Svitlana Biedarieva (ed.)

Contemporary Ukrainian and Baltic Art

Political and Social Perspectives, 1991–2021 ISBN 978-3-8382-1526-6

15

Olesya Khromeychuk A Loss

The Story of a Dead Soldier Told by His Sister With a foreword by Andrey Kurkov ISBN 978-3-8382-1570-9

16

Marieluise Beck (Hg.) Ukraine verstehen

Auf den Spuren von Terror und Gewalt Mit einem Vorwort von Dmytro Kuleba ISBN 978-3-8382-1653-9

17

Stanislav Aseyev Heller Weg

Geschichte eines Konzentrationslagers im Donbass 2017–2019 Aus dem Russischen übersetzt von Martina Steis und Charis Haska ISBN 978-3-8382-1620-1

18

Mykola Davydiuk Wie funktioniert Putins Propaganda?

Anmerkungen zum Informationskrieg des Kremls Aus dem Ukrainischen übersetzt von Christian Weise ISBN 978-3-8382-1628-7

19

Olesya Yaremchuk Unsere Anderen Geschichten ukrainischer Vielfalt

Aus dem Ukrainischen übersetzt von Christian Weise ISBN 978-3-8382-1635-5

20

Oleksandr Mykhed „Dein Blut wird die Kohle tränken“

Über die Ostukraine Aus dem Ukrainischen übersetzt von Simon Muschick und Dario Planert ISBN 978-3-8382-1648-5

21

Vakhtang Kipiani (Hg.) Der Zweite Weltkrieg in der Ukraine

Geschichte und Lebensgeschichten Aus dem Ukrainischen übersetzt von Margarita Grinko ISBN 978-3-8382-1622-5

22

Vakhtang Kipiani (ed.)

World War II, Uncontrived and Unredacted

Testimonies from Ukraine Translated from the Ukrainian by Zenia Tompkins and Daisy Gibbons ISBN 978-3-8382-1621-8

23

Dmytro Stus Vasyl Stus

Life in Creativity Translated from the Ukrainian by Ludmila Bachurina ISBN 978-3-8382-1631-7

24

Vitalii Ogiienko (ed.)

The Holodomor and the Origins of the Soviet Man

Reading the Testimony of Anastasia Lysyvets With forewords by Natalka Bilotserkivets and Serhy Yekelchyk Translated from the Ukrainian by Alla Parkhomenko and Alexander J. Motyl ISBN 978-3-8382-1616-4

25

Vladislav Davidzon Jewish-Ukrainian Relations and the Birth of a Political Nation Selected Writings 2013-2021 With a foreword by Bernard-Henri Lévy ISBN 978-3-8382-1509-9

26

Serhy Yekelchyk Writing the Nation

The Ukrainian Historical Profession in Independent Ukraine and the Diaspora ISBN 978-3-8382-1695-9

27

Ildi Eperjesi, Oleksandr Kachura Shreds of War

Fates from the Donbas Frontline 2014-2019 With a foreword by Olexiy Haran ISBN 978-3-8382-1680-5

28

Oleksandr Melnyk World War II as an Identity Project

Historicism, Legitimacy Contests, and the (Re-)Construction of Political Communities in Ukraine, 1939–1946 With a foreword by David R. Marples ISBN 978-3-8382-1704-8

29

Olesya Khromeychuk Ein Verlust

Die Geschichte eines gefallenen ukrainischen Soldaten, erzählt von seiner Schwester Mit einem Vorwort von Andrej Kurkow Aus dem Englischen übersetzt von Lily Sophie ISBN 978-3-8382-1770-3

30

Tamara Martsenyuk, Tetiana Kostiuchenko (eds.)

Russia’s War in Ukraine 2022 Personal Experiences of Ukrainian Scholars ISBN 978-3-8382-1757-4

31

Ildikó Eperjesi, Oleksandr Kachura Shreds of War. Vol. 2 Fates from Crimea 2015–2022 With an interview of Oleh Sentsov ISBN 978-3-8382-1780-2

32

Yuriy Lukanov, Tetiana Pechonchik (eds.)

The Press: How Russia destroyed Media Freedom in Crimea With a foreword by Taras Kuzio ISBN 978-3-8382-1784-0

33

Megan Buskey Ukraine Is Not Dead Yet

A Family Story of Exile and Return ISBN 978-3-8382-1691-1

34

Vira Ageyeva Behind the Scenes of the Empire

Essays on Cultural Relationships between Ukraine and Russia With a foreword by Oksana Zabuzhko ISBN 978-3-8382-1748-2

35

Marieluise Beck (ed.)

Understanding Ukraine

Tracing the Roots of Terror and Violence With a foreword by Dmytro Kuleba ISBN 978-3-8382-1773-4

36

Olesya Khromeychuk A Loss

The Story of a Dead Soldier Told by His Sister, 2nd edn.

With a foreword by Philippe Sands With a preface by Andrii Kurkov ISBN 978-3-8382-1870-0

37

Taras Kuzio, Stefan Jajecznyk-Kelman Fascism and Genocide Russia’s War Against Ukrainians ISBN 978-3-8382-1791-8

38

Alina Nychyk Ukraine Vis-à-Vis Russia and the EU

Misperceptions of Foreign Challenges in Times of War, 2014–2015 With a foreword by Paul D’Anieri ISBN 978-3-8382-1767-3

39

Sasha Dovzhyk (ed.)

Ukraine Lab

Global Security, Environment, Disinformation Through the Prism of Ukraine With a foreword by Rory Finnin ISBN 978-3-8382-1805-2

40

Serhiy Kvit Media, History, and Education

Three Ways to Ukrainian Independence With a preface by Diane Francis ISBN 978-3-8382-1807-6

41

Anna Romandash Women of Ukraine

Reportages from the War and Beyond ISBN 978-3-8382-1819-9

42

Dominika Rank Matzewe in meinem Garten

Abenteuer eines jüdischen Heritage-Touristen in der Ukraine ISBN 978-3-8382-1810-6

43

Myroslaw Marynowytsch Das Universum hinter dem Stacheldraht

Memoiren eines sowjet-ukrainischen Dissidenten Mit einem Vorwort von Timothy Snyder und einem Nachwort von Max Hartmann ISBN 978-3-8382-1806-9

44

Konstantin Sigow Für Deine und meine Freiheit

Europäische Revolutions- und Kriegserfahrungen im heutigen Kyjiw Mit einem Vorwort von Karl Schlögel Herausgegeben von Regula M. Zwahlen ISBN 978-3-8382-1755-0

45

Kateryna Pylypchuk The War that Changed Us

Ukrainian Novellas, Poems, and Essays from 2022 With a foreword by Victor Yushchenko Paperback ISBN 978-3-8382-1859-5 Hardcover ISBN 978-3-8382-1860-1

46

Kyrylo Tkachenko Rechte Tür Links

Radikale Linke in Deutschland, die Revolution und der Krieg in der Ukraine, 2013-2018 ISBN 978-3-8382-1711-6

47

Alexander Strashny The Ukrainian Mentality

An Ethno-Psychological, Historical and Comparative Exploration With a foreword by Antonina Lovochkina ISBN 978-3-8382-1886-1

48

Alona Shestopalova Pandora’s TV Box

How Russian TV Turned Ukraine into an Enemy Which has to be Fought ISBN 978-3-8382-1884-7

49

Iaroslav Petik Politics and Society in the Ukrainian People’s Republic (1917–1921) and Contemporary Ukraine (2013–2022) A Comparative Analysis With a foreword by Oleksiy Tolochko ISBN 978-3-8382-1817-5

50

Serhii Plokhii Der Mann mit der Giftpistole ISBN 978-3-8382-1789-5

51

Vakhtang Kipiani Ukrainische Dissidenten unter der Sowjetmacht Im Kampf um Wahrheit und Freiheit ISBN 978-3-8382-1890-8

52

Dmytro Shestakov When Businesses Test Hypotheses

A Four-Step Approach to Risk Management for Innovative Startups With a foreword by Anthony J. Tether ISBN 978-3-8382-1883-0

53

Larissa Babij A Kind of Refugee

The Story of an American Who Refused to Leave Ukraine With a foreword by Vladislav Davidzon ISBN 978-3-8382-1898-4

54

Julia Davis In Their Own Words

How Russian Propagandists Reveal Putin’s Intentions ISBN 978-3-8382-1909-7

55

Sonya Atlanova, Oleksandr Klymenko Icons on Ammo Boxes

Painting Life on the Remnants of Russia’s War in Donbas, 2014-21 Translated by Anastasya Knyazhytska ISBN 978-3-8382-1892-2

56

Leonid Ushkalov Catching an Elusive Bird

The Life of Hryhorii Skovoroda ISBN 978-3-8382-1894-6

57

Vakhtang Kipiani Ein Land weiblichen Geschlechts

Ukrainische Frauenschicksale im 20. und 21. Jahrhundert ISBN 978-3-8382-1891-5

58

Petro Rychlo „Zerrissne Saiten einer überlauten Harfe ...“ Deutschjüdische Dichter der Bukowina ISBN 978-3-8382-1893-9

Book series “Ukrainian Voices” Collector Andreas Umland, National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy Editorial Board Lesia Bidochko, National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy Svitlana Biedarieva, George Washington University, DC, USA Ivan Gomza, Kyiv School of Economics, Ukraine Natalie Jaresko, Aspen Institute, Kyiv/Washington Olena Lennon, University of New Haven, West Haven, USA Kateryna Yushchenko, First Lady of Ukraine 2005-2010, Kyiv Oleksandr Zabirko, University of Regensburg, Germany Advisory Board Iuliia Bentia, National Academy of Arts of Ukraine, Kyiv Natalya Belitser, Pylyp Orlyk Institute for Democracy, Kyiv Oleksandra Bienert, Humboldt University of Berlin, Germany Sergiy Bilenky, Canadian Institute of Ukrainian Studies, Toronto Tymofii Brik, Kyiv School of Economics, Ukraine Olga Brusylovska, Mechnikov National University, Odesa Mariana Budjeryn, Harvard University, Cambridge, USA Volodymyr Bugrov, Shevchenko National University, Kyiv Olga Burlyuk, University of Amsterdam, The Netherlands Yevhen Bystrytsky, NAS Institute of Philosophy, Kyiv Andrii Danylenko, Pace University, New York, USA Vladislav Davidzon, Atlantic Council, Washington/Paris Mykola Davydiuk, Think Tank “Polityka,” Kyiv Andrii Demartino, National Security and Defense Council, Kyiv Vadym Denisenko, Ukrainian Institute for the Future, Kyiv Oleksandr Donii, Center for Political Values Studies, Kyiv Volodymyr Dubovyk, Mechnikov National University, Odesa Volodymyr Dubrovskiy, CASE Ukraine, Kyiv Diana Dutsyk, National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy Marta Dyczok, Western University, Ontario, Canada Yevhen Fedchenko, National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy Sofiya Filonenko, State Pedagogical University of Berdyansk Oleksandr Fisun, Karazin National University, Kharkiv

Oksana Forostyna, Webjournal “Ukraina Moderna,” Kyiv Roman Goncharenko, Broadcaster “Deutsche Welle,” Bonn George Grabowicz, Harvard University, Cambridge, USA Gelinada Grinchenko, Karazin National University, Kharkiv Kateryna Härtel, Federal Union of European Nationalities, Brussels Nataliia Hendel, University of Geneva, Switzerland Anton Herashchenko, Kyiv School of Public Administration John-Paul Himka, University of Alberta, Edmonton Ola Hnatiuk, National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy Oleksandr Holubov, Broadcaster “Deutsche Welle,” Bonn Yaroslav Hrytsak, Ukrainian Catholic University, Lviv Oleksandra Humenna, National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy Tamara Hundorova, NAS Institute of Literature, Kyiv Oksana Huss, University of Bologna, Italy Oleksandra Iwaniuk, University of Warsaw, Poland Mykola Kapitonenko, Shevchenko National University, Kyiv Georgiy Kasianov, Marie CurieSkłodowska University, Lublin Vakhtang Kebuladze, Shevchenko National University, Kyiv Natalia Khanenko-Friesen, University of Alberta, Edmonton Victoria Khiterer, Millersville University of Pennsylvania, USA Oksana Kis, NAS Institute of Ethnology, Lviv Pavlo Klimkin, Center for National Resilience and Development, Kyiv Oleksandra Kolomiiets, Center for Economic Strategy, Kyiv Sergiy Korsunsky, Kobe Gakuin University, Japan

Nadiia Koval, Kyiv School of Economics, Ukraine Volodymyr Kravchenko, University of Alberta, Edmonton Oleksiy Kresin, NAS Koretskiy Institute of State and Law, Kyiv Anatoliy Kruglashov, Fedkovych National University, Chernivtsi Andrey Kurkov, PEN Ukraine, Kyiv Ostap Kushnir, Lazarski University, Warsaw Taras Kuzio, National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy Serhii Kvit, National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy Yuliya Ladygina, The Pennsylvania State University, USA Yevhen Mahda, Institute of World Policy, Kyiv Victoria Malko, California State University, Fresno, USA Yulia Marushevska, Security and Defense Center (SAND), Kyiv Myroslav Marynovych, Ukrainian Catholic University, Lviv Oleksandra Matviichuk, Center for Civil Liberties, Kyiv Mykhailo Minakov, Kennan Institute, Washington, USA Anton Moiseienko, The Australian National University, Canberra Alexander Motyl, Rutgers University-Newark, USA Vlad Mykhnenko, University of Oxford, United Kingdom Vitalii Ogiienko, Ukrainian Institute of National Remembrance, Kyiv Olga Onuch, University of Manchester, United Kingdom Olesya Ostrovska, Museum “Mystetskyi Arsenal,” Kyiv Anna Osypchuk, National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy Oleksandr Pankieiev, University of Alberta, Edmonton Oleksiy Panych, Publishing House “Dukh i Litera,” Kyiv Valerii Pekar, Kyiv-Mohyla Business School, Ukraine Yohanan Petrovsky-Shtern, Northwestern University, Chicago Serhii Plokhy, Harvard University, Cambridge, USA Andrii Portnov, Viadrina University, Frankfurt-Oder, Germany Maryna Rabinovych, Kyiv School of Economics, Ukraine Valentyna Romanova, Institute of Developing Economies, Tokyo Natalya Ryabinska, Collegium Civitas, Warsaw, Poland Darya Tsymbalyk, University of Oxford, United Kingdom

Vsevolod Samokhvalov, University of Liege, Belgium Orest Semotiuk, Franko National University, Lviv Viktoriya Sereda, NAS Institute of Ethnology, Lviv Anton Shekhovtsov, University of Vienna, Austria Andriy Shevchenko, Media Center Ukraine, Kyiv Oxana Shevel, Tufts University, Medford, USA Pavlo Shopin, National Pedagogical Dragomanov University, Kyiv Karina Shyrokykh, Stockholm University, Sweden Nadja Simon, freelance interpreter, Cologne, Germany Olena Snigova, NAS Institute for Economics and Forecasting, Kyiv Ilona Solohub, Analytical Platform “VoxUkraine,” Kyiv Iryna Solonenko, LibMod - Center for Liberal Modernity, Berlin Galyna Solovei, National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy Sergiy Stelmakh, NAS Institute of World History, Kyiv Olena Stiazhkina, NAS Institute of the History of Ukraine, Kyiv Dmitri Stratievski, Osteuropa Zentrum (OEZB), Berlin Dmytro Stus, National Taras Shevchenko Museum, Kyiv Frank Sysyn, University of Toronto, Canada Olha Tokariuk, Center for European Policy Analysis, Washington Olena Tregub, Independent AntiCorruption Commission, Kyiv Hlib Vyshlinsky, Centre for Economic Strategy, Kyiv Mychailo Wynnyckyj, National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy Yelyzaveta Yasko, NGO “Yellow Blue Strategy,” Kyiv Serhy Yekelchyk, University of Victoria, Canada Victor Yushchenko, President of Ukraine 2005-2010, Kyiv Oleksandr Zaitsev, Ukrainian Catholic University, Lviv Kateryna Zarembo, National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy Yaroslav Zhalilo, National Institute for Strategic Studies, Kyiv Sergei Zhuk, Ball State University at Muncie, USA Alina Zubkovych, Nordic Ukraine Forum, Stockholm Liudmyla Zubrytska, National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy

Friends of the Series Ana Maria Abulescu, University of Bucharest, Romania Łukasz Adamski, Centrum Mieroszewskiego, Warsaw Marieluise Beck, LibMod—Center for Liberal Modernity, Berlin Marc Berensen, King’s College London, United Kingdom Johannes Bohnen, BOHNEN Public Affairs, Berlin Karsten Brüggemann, University of Tallinn, Estonia Ulf Brunnbauer, Leibniz Institute (IOS), Regensburg Martin Dietze, German-Ukrainian Culture Society, Hamburg Gergana Dimova, Florida State University, Tallahassee/London Caroline von Gall, Goethe University, Frankfurt-Main Zaur Gasimov, Rhenish Friedrich Wilhelm University, Bonn Armand Gosu, University of Bucharest, Romania Thomas Grant, University of Cambridge, United Kingdom Gustav Gressel, European Council on Foreign Relations, Berlin Rebecca Harms, European Centre for Press & Media Freedom, Leipzig André Härtel, Stiftung Wissenschaft und Politik, Berlin/Brussels Marcel Van Herpen, The Cicero Foundation, Maastricht Richard Herzinger, freelance analyst, Berlin Mieste Hotopp-Riecke, ICATAT, Magdeburg Nico Lange, Munich Security Conference, Berlin Martin Malek, freelance analyst, Vienna Ingo Mannteufel, Broadcaster “Deutsche Welle,” Bonn Carlo Masala, Bundeswehr University, Munich Wolfgang Mueller, University of Vienna, Austria Dietmar Neutatz, Albert Ludwigs University, Freiburg Torsten Oppelland, Friedrich Schiller University, Jena Niccolò Pianciola, University of Padua, Italy Gerald Praschl, German-Ukrainian Forum (DUF), Berlin Felix Riefer, Think Tank IdeenagenturOst, Düsseldorf Stefan Rohdewald, University of Leipzig, Germany Sebastian Schäffer, Institute for the Danube Region (IDM), Vienna Felix Schimansky-Geier, Friedrich Schiller University, Jena Ulrich Schneckener, University of Osnabrück, Germany

Winfried Schneider-Deters, freelance analyst, Heidelberg/Kyiv Gerhard Simon, University of Cologne, Germany Kai Struve, Martin Luther University, Halle/Wittenberg David Stulik, European Values Center for Security Policy, Prague Andrzej Szeptycki, University of Warsaw, Poland Philipp Ther, University of Vienna, Austria Stefan Troebst, University of Leipzig, Germany

[Please send address requests for changes, corrections, and additions to this list to andreas.umland@stanforalumni.org.]

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