Reflections on Care – Kyiv to LA
Kyiv to LA was developed as a tailor-made residency centered on care, aimed at providing Ukrainian artists directly affected by the war the opportunity to rest and recoup. It formed out of a desire to create meaningful connections across disparate cultures, as well as acting as a platform (I hoped) to educate American audiences about the ever-present threat to democratic freedom (a looming reminder evidenced in America’s upcoming elections). The most important aspect of this project was my ability to be fully present and provide these artists with whatever they needed; space for care, the opportunity for time, the possibility of discovery. I wanted them to feel at home, even if theirs was under attack.
The first group of artists to participate in the project were a range of brilliant researchers, filmmakers, and writers whose work I had admired in the years preceding the war, alongside new suggestions from colleagues connected to the vibrant art scenes in Ukraine. When I contacted the first cohort – Asia Bazdyrieva, Dana Kavelina, Roman Khimei, Yarema Malashchuk, Oleksiy Radynski and Zhanna Ozirna – I was clear to tell them that their participation in the residency was a time for them to do what they wanted to do, whether that was going for a hike, exploring the city, or simply hanging out at the beach everyday. It didn’t matter if it had anything to do with art- this was a time for them to do exactly what they wanted to do in those two to three months of unrestricted support. We’re often caught up with ambitious intellectual pursuits that we end up neglecting basic human needs, and in doing so, we often diminish our ability to achieve the very thing we’re hoping to achieve. In a society so focused on productivity and professional gains, here was an opportunity for all of us – myself included – to be fully present and enjoy the company of others.
Over the course of those initial six months of residencies, the project developed as much for the artists, as with them. There was no way I could know exactly what they needed, so the process of caring for them was often defined by my own need to trust others and be willing to make mistakes. During this time some of the artists wanted to talk about the war and what they were going through, while others needed the space to process it on their own. Sometimes I felt like I had failed them, not asking them enough about what they were feeling or how I could help, while at other times I felt like I had overdone it, asking them to participate in too many events. Ultimately, I did what I knew I could do best – be a host. I organized countless dinners at my apartment, visits to the local botanical gardens, and introduced them to friends. My own schedule was filled with endless activities and discoveries- together with the artists I explored new beaches, found the perfect Hollywood photograph, and visited Hollywood’s oldest bar late at night high on mushrooms. They became like my family- we shared milestones, including birthdays, family reunions, and new love. Yarema spent Christmas with my own family, and most recently, both Teta Tsyblnyk and Nikolay Karabinovych (part of this year’s cohort) stayed with me at my apartment. I stayed up too late, spent too much money, got into arguments, and drove to LAX airport so many times I lost count. The boundaries were blurred, and my role as a curator ceased to exist.
During the process, I felt intimately connected to my deceased grandmother – known for her “open door” policy and all-welcoming parties. I realized that my desire to create forms of kinship through gathering must have been passed down through the generations, from strong Ukrainian women who braved brutal wars and endless occupations to make new homes not only for themselves, but for others. I also became acutely aware of how my work and connections in Los Angeles directly shaped my ability to care beyond forming interpersonal connections. In the months leading up to the artists’ arrival, I worked hard to establish partnerships and collaborations with institutions that would provide the artists with venues for screening their work, locations for talks, studios, and access to sites for research. Through the process I learned as much about my own structural capacities and privileges as I did about the surrounding institutions that I partnered with, as well as the failures of a societal mindset of hyper-productivity.
Seemingly obvious, acts of care form a connected pattern. Each gesture benefits another, creating a multi-pathway effect of support. During the six months of residencies organized as part of Kyiv to LA, my ability to be fully present with the artists was directly linked to how supported I felt by others. Funding, visitor attendance, press- all of these impacted how much I could show up and give to those who really needed it. The more support I received from the surrounding community had a large impact on how much attention I could give the artists. The residency is now in its second year, and interest has waned, funding has decreased, and many organizations I originally partnered with have returned to their regular programs. The vast majority of Kyiv to LA audience members are now recent Ukrainian transplants – not the greater part of the LA arts community. While discouraging, it makes the call for care an even more pressing concern. During times of need (of which there will be many, many more) we need to create structures that are made to support surrounding communities as part of a sustainable, long-term practice.
What was interesting to observe in the beginning was who emerged as active supporters–despite the rigidity of the institution where they worked, or the lack of a direct relationship to Ukraine– to provide a meaningful response to the project. Often, it was individuals who had a memory of war that stepped in, regardless of their background or involvement with the arts. Whether these memories were from their own childhood, or a rising threat to their culture, those familiar with the threat of existence or displacement were the ones that worked hard to accommodate new programs and visitors. The support, or lack thereof, that I received from organizations made me acutely aware of how structures that are meant - or claim - to bolster artists and communities are often the very ones that prohibit genuine growth during times of instability.
Image courtesy Nick Agro
When I sat down to write this text, I was resistant to using the word care. Here in the US, whole industries focused on the notion of care have flourished into short-term forms of “wellness” consumption that more adequately capture capitalist consumerism than genuine forms of wellbeing. The word has proliferated throughout left-leaning organizations (arts and otherwise) as we talk about caring for ourselves, others, the land, or our heritage. The proliferation of the word, while seemingly positive, masks a dark truth – we live in a time and place where we have forgotten how to be genuinely present and connected. This project made me realize that for many of us, care is a concept that is aspired towards or deployed, not lived.
Two years since initiating Kyiv to LA, I know that this work has shaped not only how I feel about the world, but has also provided me with a sense of clarity on how an institution should be structured to allow for genuine care to take place. I’m a firm believer that art can be a catalyst for change, and that it can and should provide the world with possibilities to find alternative solutions. When we look back on history, we view wars as extensions of human greed and aggression, and we look to art as a way of understanding humanity. Crucial to our understanding of who and why people are the way they are, we need art as a means to process the world around us, and as a tool for acknowledging both its beauty and terror.
Looking back, I cherish my time with these artists more than most other experiences in my life because of the sheer simplicity of how it all came together. None of us could have possibly known how this time together would unfold, or what we might gain from it. We were ever-present, and together we developed new and beautiful friendships. Just a few weeks ago, I discovered that Yarema and I were both going to be in the same city during my European holiday. We made plans to meet for dinner, and later that evening I sat around a table of old and new acquaintances. Yarema now feels like a sibling to me, and as we jeered and joked with each other I was overcome with a sense of being “at home.” While I intended for Kyiv to LA to be an opportunity for these artists to feel at home in Los Angeles, I realized that evening that the project, in fact, connected me in more ways than I could have imagined to my own roots. The project cultivated a newfound sense of home that invited past, present and future Ukraininans into a collective space where tragedy, love and kinship were felt and connected across generations and geographies- from my ancestors and contemporary artists alike.
Images courtesy Nick Agro
Kyiv to LA is a cross-cultural initiative that invites Ukrainian artists and researchers with moving images to participate in a Los Angeles-based residency and public program. The project marks a unique collaboration with several Los Angeles organizations: 18th Street Arts Center; Institute of Contemporary Arts, Los Angeles (ICA LA); GRI Scholars Program; Villa Aurora Thomas Mann House (VATMH); California Institute of Technology (Caltech); The Center for European and Russian Studies, UCLA; The Fulcrum; Art at the Rendon, Human Resources, and e-flux in New York.
Kyiv to LA is made possible by a generous grant from Nora McNeely Hurley and Manitou Fund.
Nikolay Karabinovych - Artist, filmmaker, curator
Teta Tsybulnyk - Filmmaker and writer
Elias Parvulesco - Filmmaker, Director
Mykola Ridnyi Filmmaker - Curator, Professor
Zhanna Kadyrova -Artist
Asia Bazdyrieva - Art Historian, writer, researcher
Roman Khimei - Filmmaker
Dana Kavelina - Artist, filmmaker
Yarema Malashchuk - Filmmaker
Zhanna Ozirna - Filmmaker
Oleksiy Radynski - Filmmaker, writer