Cultural Resilience in Flames

'I Burn, and Yet I Live' at Atticus Gallery

In Svitlana Lushnikova’s exhibition I Burn, and Yet I Live, Ukrainian artist Svitlana Lushnikova weaves a haunting narrative of cultural endurance, rooted in Slavic folk traditions and imbued with profound contemporary significance. Her charred nalychnyky—the ornate, intricately carved wooden window frames central to Slavic vernacular architecture—are not merely aesthetic objects. They serve as testaments to the endurance of cultural memory amid historical and modern destruction. Displayed in a manner that echoes both fragility and defiance, Lushnikova's work resonates on multiple levels, invoking the enduring spirit of Ukrainian poet Taras Shevchenko, whose verses seem to permeate the very space of the exhibition.

The title of the exhibition, I Burn, and Yet I Live, is a direct homage to Shevchenko’s verse, encapsulating the paradox of cultural survival in the face of obliteration. In his poem Kavkaz, Shevchenko famously wrote, 'Our people’s spirit, though bound and scarred, still rises like a flame.' This profound image of defiance against oppression aligns seamlessly with Lushnikova’s use of the Shou Sugi Ban technique, a traditional Japanese method of preserving wood through controlled burning. The charred remains of the nalychnyky retain their intricate carvings—an assertion of cultural identity, much like Shevchenko’s insistence that, even in the face of cultural erosion, the core of identity endures.

In the exhibition, Lushnikova’s nalychnyky are more than decorative objects—they become liminal spaces, boundaries between the tangible and the spiritual, between the past and present. Historically, these wooden window frames adorned traditional homes in Ukraine and Russia, symbolising protection, identity, and aesthetic expression. The designs carved into these frames—flora, folklore, cosmological patterns—held deep cultural significance, believed to ward off evil spirits and connect the home with the broader world. Shevchenko’s poetic line, 'Our temples are in ashes, yet we still pray,' from Son (The Dream), is echoed in the blackened wood of Lushnikova’s frames, reminding us that, while the physical symbols of culture may be threatened, the spiritual essence remains unbroken.

The Shou Sugi Ban method holds particular significance in Lushnikova’s hands. Originating in Japan as a technique to protect wood from decay, the controlled burning process strengthens the wood’s surface, creating a protective charred layer. In I Burn, and Yet I Live, this method becomes a metaphor for cultural resilience. The charred outer layers of the nalychnyky may appear fragile, yet they conceal the strength of the surviving structures beneath. As Shevchenko wrote in Zapovit (My Testament), 'Fire purifies the soul, but does not destroy the heart of our land.' Through this lens, the blackened wood in Lushnikova’s works symbolises the endurance of Slavic culture in the face of countless trials, from imperial subjugation to modern conflict.

The burning process in Lushnikova’s work also reflects the violent history that has repeatedly threatened the cultural heritage of Ukraine and its neighbours. Yet, rather than erasing these cultural markers, the act of burning preserves their core, much as Shevchenko envisioned Ukraine’s cultural identity surviving the fires of history. Lushnikova’s works thus align with Shevchenko’s belief that 'Though the skies may darken, our spirit remains free' (My Testament).

The curatorial vision of Sasha Burkhanova-Khabadze is crucial to the exhibition’s impact. Burkhanova-Khabadze’s decision to display Lushnikova’s works in a dimly lit, minimalist setting amplifies the emotional depth of the sculptures. The subdued lighting not only heightens the visual drama of the charred wood but also evokes a sombre, reflective atmosphere, encouraging visitors to engage with the works as metaphors for loss and survival. In this carefully constructed space, the nalychnyky take on an almost spectral quality, their blackened forms hanging against the walls like ghostly remnants of a past that refuses to fade.

The choice to space the frames evenly along the gallery walls allows each work to stand alone, yet the collective arrangement creates a unified sense of cultural resilience. Burkhanova-Khabadze’s arrangement mirrors the layered significance of Lushnikova’s work, where each individual nalychnyk speaks to a personal history, while the grouping of frames suggests a broader cultural narrative. The effect is immersive, drawing viewers into a meditative contemplation of both personal and collective memory.

The spatial design of the exhibition also aligns with Shevchenko’s ideas about the endurance of national spirit. In The Heretic, Shevchenko writes, 'The chains may bind our hands, but they cannot shackle the spirit.' Burkhanova-Khabadze’s decision to place the frames so that visitors must navigate the space between them mirrors the tension between oppression and defiance—a core theme in Shevchenko’s poetry and in Lushnikova’s art. The viewer is invited to walk among these charred fragments, feeling the weight of their history and the strength of their survival.

Lushnikova’s focus on the nalychnyk is not merely aesthetic, but deeply political. Folk woodwork, particularly in Ukraine, has long been a symbol of national pride and resistance against external domination. During the Soviet era, many folk traditions were suppressed, and artists were forced to conform to state-approved styles. Lushnikova’s decision to centre her work on the nalychnyk—a quintessential marker of Slavic vernacular architecture—becomes a reclamation of cultural heritage. Her charred frames are visual protests against the forces of cultural erasure, standing in defiance of the attempts to obliterate the history and identity of the Ukrainian people.

In the current context of the war in Ukraine, the symbolism of Lushnikova’s work becomes even more poignant. The ongoing conflict has resulted in the destruction of countless cultural landmarks, homes, and historical sites. Lushnikova’s burned frames are not only metaphors for the past but urgent reminders of the present. The charred nalychnyky stand as witnesses to the vulnerability of cultural heritage under siege, much like Shevchenko’s declaration that 'Our temples are in ashes, yet our prayers endure' (Son). The resilience of these frames mirrors the resilience of Ukraine’s cultural identity, surviving even in the midst of violence and destruction.

What makes Lushnikova’s work particularly powerful is the way it creates a dialogue between visual art and poetry, between the material and the spiritual. Her burned frames are visual counterparts to Shevchenko’s poetic meditations on cultural survival. The intricate carvings that remain intact beneath the charred surfaces speak to the delicate bonds of memory, tradition, and identity—much like Shevchenko’s verses have endured the trials of history to inspire future generations.

The exhibition’s title, I Burn, and Yet I Live, encapsulates this dialogue. The flames that char Lushnikova’s nalychnyky do not consume them entirely; instead, they leave behind traces of what once was, echoing Shevchenko’s belief that even in destruction, cultural memory persists. As Shevchenko wrote, 'We are not ashes; we are embers still burning bright' (Kobzar). Lushnikova’s charred frames, like Shevchenko’s words, become symbols of a culture that refuses to disappear, despite the forces that seek to erase it.

Svitlana Lushnikova’s I Burn, and Yet I Live is a powerful exploration of the intersection of art, history, and politics. Through her use of the Shou Sugi Ban technique and her focus on the nalychnyk, she creates a visual language that speaks to both the fragility and resilience of cultural heritage. Under the curatorial guidance of Sasha Burkhanova-Khabadze, the exhibition becomes a meditative space where the viewer is invited to contemplate the persistence of memory and identity in the face of overwhelming adversity. Drawing on the legacy of Taras Shevchenko, Lushnikova’s work becomes a testament to the enduring power of cultural heritage, even in the face of destruction. Her charred frames are not merely relics of a lost past; they are living symbols of a culture that, though scarred, will not be erased.

Svitlana Lushnikova’s exhibition I Burn, and Yet I Live is currently on view at Atticus Gallery in Bath (11a Queen Street), UK, running from 12 October to 9 November 2023.

Tom Denman, residing in London, is a distinguished freelance art critic whose perceptive articles have featured in eminent publications such as Art Journal, ART PAPERS, ArtReview, Art Monthly, Burlington Contemporary, e-flux, Flash Art, Ocula, and Studio International. He earned his PhD in Italian Studies from the University of Reading, focusing his research on Caravaggio and the noble-intellectual milieu of seventeenth-century Naples. Presently, his critiques primarily explore the subtleties and emerging trends within contemporary art.