Between Dream and Trauma

Image: Children in traditional Ukrainian clothing (acrylic). Image by Marushka and photo by the artist.

Marushka sits cross-legged on her bed. Neon-colored aliens hang from her earlobes. Large pendants in green and yellow. She wears several heavy chains around her neck and a swarm of butterflies flutters on her jumpsuit. In the window behind her, however, hangs a picture from another time—traditional embroidery from Ukraine, Marushka's home country. Her brown eyes are large, looking rather tired at the world, and she asks, «Why isn't everyone singing in the streets here?» These contrasts are characteristic of the 43-year-old artist. Colorful, cheeky, and funky on the one hand. Wounded, sad, and paralyzed on the other. She brings both together in her paintings. Marushka captures pain and despair with bright colors. «In Germany, everyone should be dancing in the streets because there is no war here.» Marushka is serious about this. «Here, you forget your tears», she says as she looks out the window over her embroidery and gazes at the green treetops and sun-drenched Berlin cobblestones in August. It is peaceful outside. People sit in cafés and pigeons peck at crumbs on the sidewalk. It is very different from Lutsk, the city in northwestern Ukraine where Marushka was born 43 years ago. There is war there and «the air is so bad that the roses don't bloom». Marushka's heart sinks when she thinks about it.

Dancing and playing

The Ukrainian-born artist came to Germany 13 years ago, initially working as a freelance artist in Berlin. In Ukraine, she had worked as a radio presenter and childcare worker. At first, she gave away many of her artworks until she realized that she could also charge money as an artist. Her colorful paintings were particularly popular, including motifs from former black-and-white wedding photos of friends, which she breathed new life into with color. However, some of the children's portraits remained with her because the parents found them too sad – her art was primarily «for the brave», she was told. Most recently, she received a commission from a Ukrainian friend in Israel to paint pictures for her children that express a longing for peace.

For one year, she completed training for upper secondary school at the Waldorf Teacher Training College in Kassel. Her enthusiasm had been sparked by a film about Waldorf education that Marushka had seen at the Goethe Institute in Kyiv. «I only remember fragments: a man in the forest doing something with wood and bread. I was deeply impressed and wanted to know more.» This is how Marushka discovered Waldorf education for herself. In 2020, she founded a Waldorf school in her hometown of Lutsk. The very first class is now in sixth grade. She continued her work at the school under the most difficult conditions. Even during the wave of attacks on Ukraine in 2022, she insisted: «The children must go to school!» Thanks to the support of anthroposophical friends in Germany, it was also possible to bring many people from the Lutsk Waldorf initiative to Hamburg. In recent years, Marushka has also taught war-refugee children in Hamburg and Berlin. She also attends the Waldorf school in Lutsk regularly and teaches guest lessons. 

Children have always fascinated her. For a while, she painted almost nothing else. «I think the most important thing we can learn from children is the joy of a new beginning, of a first time, of which there are so many in life. The joy of saying, ‹Look what I can do›», says Marushka. She herself hates being an adult. She even finds it «disgusting». Marushka wants to dance, wants to play. For her, that is the epitome of art, and in art, she comes into contact with her own inner child. She still feels a power within herself that tells her, «I'm ready for anything.»

No standing still

Nothing is worse for Marushka than stagnation. Because stagnation, or worse still, rigidity, is exactly what war creates. «Life freezes while it continues. I am sure that even if I had to go into a bunker, I would still dance so that this rigidity would never take hold of me again», Marushka is determined. Because once, rigidity had her in its clutches. She was paralyzed. It was right after the war began. Marushka could no longer paint, no longer cry, no longer dream. At the grave of a friend in her hometown of Lutsk, she finally felt a spark of life return. «None of these many dead must ever be forgotten», Marushka thought at the time—and began to draw portraits of them. She had experienced something similar about ten years earlier. In retrospect, she painted protesters who had died during the protests on the Maidan. This helped her overcome her paralysis and feelings of helplessness.

In the basement with flowers

She places her work somewhere «between dream and trauma». When she paints, it feels less like she is fighting against the darkness within herself and in the world, and more like she is lighting a candle, Marushka explains. That is also what schools should do for children: show them how to light candles within themselves for themselves and others. Marushka says she cried with happiness when she discovered alternatives to state education. However, she notes that she still doesn't see happy children in Waldorf schools. Her dream of having her own school has come true and is now in its fifth year of defying the war, but Marushka notices during her visits that those in charge are «exhausted». «How often can you start over?» she asks, shrugging her shoulders. Sometimes the teachers sit with the children in the basement and paint flowers. «That's art as an art of survival», Marushka describes it.