I grew up in Odessa and Moscow, and came to America when I was 17. I was beginning to feel the weight of decades of the nation’s tragedy and silence.
In New York, I saw and felt a different pain and a different silence. I went to Barnard College—a campus surrounded by poverty, homelessness, crime, unseen or ignored by most of American society.
I became an adult here. I raised my children here. I worked and made art and volunteered and protested.
I tried to make sense of my two, then three, countries.
The weight of this war is unbearable. I speak to friends whose sons—my son’s age—are in The Territorial Defense Force. I spoke to one of the boys. From the barracks near Kiev, still in training, he told me his unit did not have helmets, bulletproof vests, tourniquets.
I feel enormous rage.
I draw. No drawing can show what photographs and videos show. I draw my rage.
I grew up in Odessa and Moscow, and came to America when I was 17. I was beginning to feel the weight of decades of the nation’s tragedy and silence.
In New York, I saw and felt a different pain and a different silence. I went to Barnard College—a campus surrounded by poverty, homelessness, crime, unseen or ignored by most of American society.
I became an adult here. I raised my children here. I worked and made art and volunteered and protested.
I tried to make sense of my two, then three, countries.
The weight of this war is unbearable. I speak to friends whose sons—my son’s age—are in The Territorial Defense Force. I spoke to one of the boys. From the barracks near Kiev, still in training, he told me his unit did not have helmets, bulletproof vests, tourniquets.
I feel enormous rage.
I draw. No drawing can show what photographs and videos show. I draw my rage.