Finding Joy in the Shadows: Ukraine’s Artistic Resilience at the Venice Biennale
There’s something profoundly moving about art that emerges from crisis. It’s not just about the beauty or the technique—it’s about the defiance, the insistence on humanity even when the world seems determined to strip it away. This year, Ukraine’s Pinchuk Art Centre at the Venice Biennale doesn’t just showcase art; it delivers a masterclass in resilience. Personally, I think this exhibition, Still Joy — From Ukraine into the World, is one of the most important cultural statements of our time. It’s not just about Ukraine’s struggle; it’s a universal meditation on how joy and loss coexist, and why that matters.
What makes this particularly fascinating is the shift in tone since 2020. Before the war, the Pinchuk Art Centre’s Biennale events were glamorous affairs, celebrating young artists with A-list parties. Fast forward to today, and the focus is raw, urgent, and deeply political. In 2022, Volodymyr Zelensky took center stage instead of Elton John. This isn’t just a change in guest lists—it’s a redefinition of what art can and should do in times of crisis.
The Aesthetics of Survival
One thing that immediately stands out is the exhibition’s fairytale-like aesthetic juxtaposed with its unflinching content. Artist Bodhana Kosima’s glistening pink scrolls, scattered throughout the Palazzo Contarini-Polignac, are visually enchanting. But the words on them—testimonies from Ukrainian soldiers—are gut-wrenching. Hlib Stryzhko, a former marine who survived captivity, shares stories of finding joy in a strawberry-flavored chocolate during his darkest hours. What this really suggests is that joy isn’t about ignoring pain; it’s about finding light in the cracks of devastation.
From my perspective, this duality is what makes the exhibition so powerful. It doesn’t romanticize suffering, nor does it reduce joy to superficial happiness. Instead, it asks: How do we hold both at once? How do we celebrate life when death is omnipresent? These aren’t just Ukrainian questions—they’re human questions.
The Universal Language of Loss and Joy
What many people don’t realize is that this exhibition isn’t just about Ukraine. Yes, Ukrainian artists like Zhanna Kadyrova and Malaschuk + Khimey are at its heart, but international artists like Tacita Dean and Ashfika Rahman are also part of the conversation. Kadyrova’s light box photographs of bombed-out interiors, each featuring a single rescued pot plant, are a stunning symbol of endurance. Rahman’s sculpture of tiny bells bearing the fingerprints of displaced women adds a global layer to the narrative.
If you take a step back and think about it, this mix of voices is intentional. Loss and joy aren’t uniquely Ukrainian experiences—they’re universal. Dutch artist Simone Post’s installation of childhood-inspired chandeliers feels like a reclaiming of innocence, but it’s also a reminder that war’s scars are felt far beyond the battlefield.
The Role of Art in Crisis
This raises a deeper question: What is the role of art in times of crisis? Is it to document, to heal, or to provoke? Personally, I think the Pinchuk Art Centre’s exhibition does all three. It doesn’t shy away from the brutality of war, but it also refuses to let that brutality define the narrative. A detail that I find especially interesting is the inclusion of soldiers’ testimonials. These aren’t just stories of survival—they’re acts of resistance.
Art here isn’t just a mirror to reality; it’s a tool for transformation. Stryzhko’s work as a story-gatherer, for instance, isn’t just about preserving memories—it’s about reimagining a future. The exhibition doesn’t offer easy answers, but it does offer something far more valuable: hope.
The Future of Joy
As I reflect on Still Joy — From Ukraine into the World, I’m struck by its optimism in the face of despair. The pleasures it depicts are fleeting—a rave in Kyiv, a rescued plant, a strawberry chocolate—but they’re also defiant. What this exhibition really suggests is that joy isn’t a luxury; it’s a necessity. It’s how we keep going when everything seems lost.
In my opinion, this is the kind of art the world needs right now. It doesn’t just tell a story; it invites us to be part of it. It challenges us to find our own moments of joy, no matter how small, and to recognize their power. Because, as Ukraine shows us, joy isn’t just about happiness—it’s about survival.
