Kristina
KOVALCHUK

With the outbreak of the full-scale war in Ukraine, I made the difficult decision to remain
in Russia. Not because I accepted, supported, or approved of what was happening, but because at that time I had not yet lost hope that it was possible to change the system
from within. Since February 24, 2022, the country has been left by its best and most talented people — artists, journalists, filmmakers, and many others. The prospects for the country
and for those who stayed behind were bleak, and I believed that my emotional and physical strength would be enough to help revive this scorched land, even if only slightly.
I was mistaken.

I took part in protests, brought care packages to friends held in detention centers, distributed anti-war merchandise among those who remained and those who had gone abroad, and continued to speak out and express my protest through my artistic practice.
Over the past year, my works have been shown in Serbia, Bulgaria, Amsterdam, Armenia, and Georgia, and have appeared at numerous demonstrations. In the summer of 2022,
I left for Turkey, where I was able to catch my breath, look at the situation from a distance, and reunite with loved ones who are now scattered across the globe — while continuing
to create. From there, I traveled to Yerevan to attend the Armenian Academy of Fine Arts,
where I was invited as part of an international student exchange program.

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In the autumn of 2022, I returned to Saint Petersburg and continued my studies in my fifth year at the Academy of Arts, although it was becoming increasingly difficult. Speaking out and addressing anti-war and humanitarian themes in art was becoming more dangerous,
and this was made very clear to me.

In January 2023, I decided to leave for Bulgaria for a couple of months. While there, reading the news, receiving distressing reports, and hearing warnings from loved ones, I became genuinely concerned for my safety in Russia and decided not to return, despite my initial intention to preserve and support Russian culture. As my stay in Bulgaria was coming
to an end, I took an academic leave during my final year of studies and prepared to move on. This is how I ended up in Yerevan.

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Arriving in Armenia completely alone, without friends or acquaintances, I began rebuilding
my life from scratch. Since April, I have met many energetic and deeply engaged people here, and together we decided to open our own creative space called “DOM.” There, we offer people a sense of safety and belonging to a vibrant community, meet their needs for learning, growth, and creative self-realization, and foster communication between relocated individuals and local residents. We strive to become an integral part of the émigré creative community.

At present, I am actively involved in developing our space, continuing to create artistic projects, organizing my own exhibitions, and addressing questions related to my education. Having left my country and established such complex processes in a new place, I now realize that I neither see the possibility nor feel the desire to return, yet I would still like
to complete my studies. Therefore, I am currently exploring options for transferring
to universities abroad.

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When you read the news and stay in contact with loved ones who remain in Russia,
it becomes impossible to create something calm — only something truthful can emerge.
Yes, we do not have a magic button to stop this sick and brutal madness, but we do have language, hands, and creativity as our primary resource for self-expression. And when you hear stories of people smuggling your artworks out of Russia hidden in suitcase linings
or tucked inside books, when you receive words of gratitude for creating a sense of home
for different people in a foreign country — this is undoubtedly a powerful motivation
to keep moving forward.