I suffer so much when I read the sad news about the waiting of the Ukrainians for ammunition and equipment and about the Russians getting closer to my two beloved towns. Why beloved? Well, because I was there. And by getting to know them, I fell in love with them.
We arrived in Sloviansk at night, looking for accommodation for the male crew members in a resort of family houses. It’s freezing so at least we don’t have to worry about getting stuck in rutted mud tracks full of water. However, some are so deep that even the frost can’t solidify them. Even through the darkness, we can see that almost every house has a green or grey SUV of varying make or quality parked in front of it…the windows are blacked out or boarded up.
The new outbuilding in the yard, which is one of the small sources of income for its owner, is inconspicuous, its walls covered with future unfinished camouflage netting. The enclosed courtyard gives an illusory sense of security – suitable for smokers.
We women proceed by phone to the arranged apartment in the apartment building, almost on the top floor. Katka murmurs under her breath, „At least we won’t get crushed by the roof when it gets here.“ Without an elevator, we drag our bags up a staircase decorated with an in situ installation, based on Christmas, and other decorations. At home it would have annoyed me; here, in an empty apartment block, it evokes more sympathy and love for those who had to flee. We unlock the apartment, and a room with absurdly colorful decorations and incredible chandeliers is waiting for each of us. The windows are boarded up, so for the next 5 days we’ll be living here, we won’t be able to tell the time of day by the light outside – it’s like a little bunker on the fifth floor.
The next day we meet at the only restaurant-café-dining room in the centre. The fantastic Ukrainian cuisine offers from early morning to late evening a variety of incredible main dishes, including soups or desserts. Sloviansk, like many other medium-sized cities in Ukraine, is significantly marked by building and architectural development during the communist era. You may find it repulsive, but when you live there all your life, it becomes a part of you and thus inevitably a carrier of certain „values“ or memories. Nevertheless, I try to find a kind of aesthetics in the city – and I am finding it. Directly across the street from the mission house is a theater whose large side facade is made like a mosaic of light bricks – quite minimalistic. And then there’s an administration building or a health centre – again made of white bricks. The wide boulevard has certainly seen some quiet Sundays, the historical buildings refer to the history of the city, which dates back to 1645, when the city was a fortress, founded by Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich to protect the southern borders of Russia from the Tatar invasions. Originally the fortress was called Tor, but the present name of Sloviansk has been used since 1794. Even graffiti or street murals carries a kind of refinement of the old times… you won’t find such in our region.
On the way to see Father Andriy, we see bombed-out parts of the city. Paradoxically, we also see trolleybuses running according to the timetable. The headquarters of the Catholic mission is again in a brick house – a common architecture, reminding us that Ukraine is the neighbour of the Norsemen and the Balts to the north. The interior of the mission consists of the main space of two connected rooms – currently arranged as a humanitarian warehouse and a chapel at the same time. Stucco ceilings and a crystal chandelier give the chapel an air of grandeur. Apart from the striking figure of Father Andriy, the moment when a handsome young soldier, two metres tall, entered the room remains in my memory. Father Andriy asks him, „So what have you come for, son? To confess? Come on.“ He takes him to the chapel. After confession, they both go back, Father Andriy bids the blue-eyed young man farewell with a cross on his forehead. He forces me to do the same. I feel like hugging him and I can barely hold back my tears. He doesn’t even smile, just turns and walks away without a word. He is my son’s age. The next day we arrange a shoot, Viera wants a nice place. We meet in a large city park. The entrance portal is a typical little architecture from Stalin’s time, or rather a reference to it. Admittedly, after a while, I’m starting to like the monumentality of these portals in space. The park itself is breathtaking despite the winter: the frozen pond, the benches and bridges over the stream, the pavilion for cultural events, the quiet carpentry workshop that nobody even wants to lock up anymore, even though the tools are lying on the floor, the wild ducks, the children’s playground – a pirate ship, built with the help of EU funds, with a Ferris wheel at the end of the park.
And all the time, a cleaning crew of women circles around us, tirelessly trying to keep the park or the city tidy and clean day in and day out. When the next day the low sharp winter sun shines on the city again, its poignant beauty is only disturbed by the fact that you meet mostly soldiers, old people, here and there young women with children, stray dogs, and then women in black with white flowers, hurrying somewhere with an absent gaze… my Sloviansk, my Ukraine…