On the morning of February 24, at 4 a.m., the Russian Federation launched a large-scale invasion of Ukraine along the entire length of the common border, as well as from the territory of Belarus. Thousands of people woke up to the sounds of explosions and the piercing roar of planes. The most terrible morning in the history of independent Ukraine is the morning when the war began.
We began to calculate our lives in days and hours, but we do not doubt for a moment that we will win, thanks to both our strength and unity, and thanks to the support of the whole world.
Every Ukrainian contributes to the fight against the enemy - as a soldier, as a volunteer, as a patriot, as a mouthpiece. Everyone has their own front.
Today, Ukrainian artists are the living stories about indomitability, pain and emptiness.
They are writing an annals. They are drawing February 2022. A daily report about our Independence, about what we struggle with, what we dream about and the thoughts we live with.
In front of you is a story about the eternal power of memory, etched in centuries. About history, which is brazenly stolen from us, torn from our hearts. They suck to replace their worthless statistics. These are not just illustrations, these are the origins of Ukraine - strong, beautiful, eternal. Today's exhibition is essays. Short, accurate, fiery. These are the dead hands of children in Bucha , tied with the tricolor of the enemy - the flag of the country that brings death, with a patch of cloth from which blood flows.
These are the silhouettes of rockets that pierce the sky above our heads every night. These are tears, many tears. This is the power of the Ukrainian, which is able to stop the genocide.
These are stories about our bodies, about our devastation. This is what Ukrainian women look like, torn by the Russian "peace". Raped, bloodied, but indomitable. You may looking at a woman in an embroidered shirt - the DNA of the Ukrainian nation - with a red and black hem, because what else screams of pain if not these colors?
"Russia will never wash off the blood, because it can neither be forgiven nor forgotten."
Here are stories about people. Their eyes. Do you see their eyes? Can you still see their eyes? People are dumbfounded by powerlessness, they are bound by fear and grief. For a long time? Probably not. Rest assured you are not.
Today, our history is riddled with gunshots and explosions. We lose sons, daughters, fathers. But we will never lose ourselves.
As for me: I still don't understand why it's so warm in February. The incomprehensible cataclysm of winter, which is so similar to summer.
We are often asked "how are you?" and we often lie, writing "it's fine, and you?" and we often read the same lie in return. We are not normal. We are not well. We are pain, despair, fear, anger and blood. We no longer believe in miracles. We believe in the Armed Forces of Ukraine.