Olga Chekotovska was born in Kyiv on 23th of September 1987. Lives and works in Kyiv and
Dusseldorf. Member of MYPH, co-founder, and curator of аrt-group Light
2009 graduated from the Kyiv National Economic University named after Vadym Hetman.
2015 graduated from the School of Contemporary Art at Modern Art Research Institute of the
Ukrainian Academy of Arts (Kyiv, Ukraine).
She explores lost illusions, fear of death and life,
abandonment and loneliness, constant existential choice, time fluidity, and memory uncertainty.
Recently she has been attracted to polaroids due to their capacity to fade and constant element of
suddenness. These snapshots represent time fluidity and memory uncertainty.
In Ukraine bread is a sacred food. Bread is forbidden to throw out, spoil, or waste. It should
always be on the table. With the bread, we welcome people into our homes and give them a
piece of bread on the road. It doesn't connect to Christianity's symbol of bread as the body of
Jesus Christ.
In Ukraine bread is a trauma of a couple of generations that were born in the XX century. In
1932 the Soviet executives created an artificial famine in the territory of Ukraine. The execution
was settled for picking up the spikelets on the fields. If you bury the bag with grain in your
garden, it would be dug out and confiscated. The troops of Red Army soldiers emptied storages
with bread and other products in the peasant’s homes. Someone dared to make a dangerous
trip to the town to save the family. The lucky ones came back home and the family survived.
That is how the family of my neighbor survived. Those who had no luck died on the streets of
Kyiv and Kharkiv. Someone couldn't leave the village because of the prohibition for peasants to
leave their villages.
In 2022 I’m watching the burning wheat field because of the Russian war against Ukraine. In
one hundred years history repeats itself. I almost physically feel the burns of these fragile
plants. At the same time I understand that every spikelet has become a weapon in the hands of
another Russian dictator. The one who possesses the bread possesses the country. The
Ukrainian collective wound has opened again.
Lost routes
In Autumn 2021 я attended art residency in Mariupol, Ukraine. During this month
I walked dozens kilometers, taking pictures of places that I wanted to remember,
places, where I dreamed to come back. There were some tickets for new Mariupol
buses in my pockets. Childish habit to collect tickets from road trips.
Before 24th of February 2022 I thought it’s photos on coming back to my beloved
city. Nowadays it’s about lost routes. There’s no opportunities to come back to
Mariupol as well as there’s no way to escape, leave, or evacuate. The roads for
food and medicine are cut. The paths where locals had a walks are bombed. The
city is heavily breathing. It’s a hostage of war.
