Redefining Freedom of Creativity in Captivity: The Art of Ukrainian Prisoners

Kyiv: Ukrainian voices curate Ukrainian culture. This series is produced in collaboration with the Folkowisko Association/Rozstaje.art, thanks to co-financing by the governments of the Czech Republic, Hungary, Poland, and Slovakia through a grant by the International Visegrad Fund. The mission of the fund is to advance ideas for sustainable regional cooperation in Central Europe. It has been translated from Ukrainian by Iryna Tiper and Filip Noubel.

According to Global Voices, for those who end up behind bars, the perception of the world changes. Time slows down. Space is limited by a perimeter of barbed wire. But no one wants to lead their life as cattle on a farm. And thus creativity awakens in many.

Pavlo Selezen, a native of Chernihiv in northern Ukraine, served his sentence in correctional colony No. 116 in the city of Sumy. Sashko Gres served his term with him. He knew how to make knives, says Selezen. Knives were made in the work area of the prison under the supervision of guards. Nothing could be brought back from that space into the living areas of the prison. Prisoners made many things in the colony: backgammon and chess games, boxes, icons, rosaries, cigarette holders, and pipes for smoking tobacco and hemp. The imprisoned men channeled their creativity into the work, and all of it was aesthetically appealing.

After his Soviet-era military service in Kazakhstan during the 1990s, Selezen’s cousin Yurko Havryk returned to Ukraine and found himself penniless and jobless. He joined a gang and ended up behind bars. Gambling games were popular among prisoners, mostly dice and cards. Those were all hand-made: a dice was molded from bread, then painted with shoe polish. Holes were pressed with a match and filled with white toothpaste. The cards were made from ordinary postal paper, glued in several layers for strength.

Yurko also spoke of other souvenirs: candlesticks, wooden mugs, cane knobs, Cossacks… In his collection, he has an artifact made of wood: it represents a Hetman’s mace lying on a football boot. Perhaps it was made for the Euro 2012 championship, which took place in Poland and Ukraine.

The famous Ukrainian film director Serhiy Parajanov was sentenced to five years in prison in 1974, during the Soviet period. In captivity, he became interested in collages and made them from anything: scraps of fabric, foil, pieces of barbed wire, fragments of broken dishes, magazine reproductions. In one case, he was forced to mend bags, but instead, he made a doll representing Pharaoh Tutankhamun from burlap. Parajanov was imprisoned in the Luhansk region in the east of Ukraine, where the Donbas dumps caused by mining reminded him of the Egyptian pyramids, and the situation of the prisoners, biblical slavery. Besides, the term pharaoh stands for policeman in traditional slang used by thieves. Many of Parajanov’s collages were made in prison, according to his Ukrainian wife Svitlana Shcherbatyuk. He made about 800 collages while in captivity. He also wrote in letters addressed to his wife about other camp artists who created tattoo exhibitions on the backs of friends.

Tattoo art plays a significant role in asserting identity within the prison community. Pavlo Selezen, for example, has Jesus tattooed on his left shoulder and a scorpion on his neck. He recounts the presence of a German prisoner who used to make tattoos, and how tattoos serve to distinguish between different groups within the prison, such as thieves, murderers, and robbers, by the number of blue stars tattooed on the body, representing the “thieves’ suit.” Other popular tattoo designs include religious images, patriotic symbols, and even cynical depictions like the “Hell’s Stoker.”

Art critics suggest that the transgressive nature of prison life fuels creativity, with prisoners often engaging in outsider art, or art brut, characterized by its raw and emotional expression. This creativity serves as a psychological release for prisoners, often manifesting during moments of intense emotional upheaval.

Despite their circumstances, prisoners engage in various forms of creative expression, including writing letters, poems, and stories. Notable examples include film director Oleg Sentsov, who wrote a series of stories during his imprisonment in a Russian occupation prison, and religious scholar Igor Kozlovsky and journalist Stanislav Aseev, who found solace in writing while imprisoned in the self-proclaimed Donetsk People’s Republic.

In women’s prisons, creativity manifests through marochki, handmade gift handkerchiefs adorned with colorful images and inscriptions. These artifacts often feature symbols of innocence and fidelity, such as swans, and serve as reminders of loved ones and penitential repentance. The tradition of creating and exchanging marochki dates back to the Soviet era, when criminal amateur art gained respect and recognition.

Ukraine currently ranks among the highest in the number of imprisoned individuals within the Council of Europe, and the strange art of prisoners is likely to become more visible in its many forms. Despite their circumstances, many prisoners find solace and purpose in creative expression, contributing to their social rehabilitation and reaffirming their inherent right to enjoy the arts.