Sasha Samuels – Fine art + design

Impact through Art

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.” — Margaret Mead

What drove me to abandon my relatively safe and comfortable life to enter a war zone? I’m not Ukrainian, nor possess Ukrainian ancestry. Putin’s blatant atrocities aside, was it something more personal? Was it because I lost two uncles in WWII fighting fascism? Or witnessing the recent cult-like rise of authoritarianism in my own country? Could it be watching Putin dissolve protections for victims of domestic violence (I’m a survivor) and minorities, creating essentially an open-air prison for his citizens, dissidents punished harshly (or worse) for voicing their opinions? Or was it because I exposed a predator with Putin-like behaviors within my own family, bearing witness to the relentless, generational trauma he inflicted upon loved ones?

This is the story of my first trip into Ukraine (the first of what would be several), ten days spent in Lviv, painting soldiers recovering from their war injuries. Ordinary citizens: a carpenter, an artist, an IT engineer, and others voluntarily took up arms to defend their democratic way of life, and in doing so, became extraordinary. Each individual who sat for me was gifted his portrait as a personal thank you for confronting the horrific brutalities visited upon them, on their families, communities and freedoms, while bravely protecting democracy itself.

My goal for this trip was to help ten individuals. I could not have imagined my work being viewed by upwards of 8 million Ukrainians on Ukrainian national television station Suspilne and We Are Ukraine (at 8:06 minutes in). Being invited out for coffee by Nobel Peace Prize winner Oleksandra Matviichuk was also unimaginable. As an introvert, I certainly would never have conceived of giving a lecture at Princeton University about my advocacy. Yet all these things came to pass, and more.

Entering the War Zone

September 9th

On the train ride from Warsaw to Przemysl, I strike up a conversation with a dark haired woman named Imma from Kyiv. She asks why I am traveling to Ukraine. When I tell her my plan to paint portraits of the wounded soldiers there, and then gift them each his portrait, she breaks down in my arms, weeping. “Thank you! Thank you! There is still kindness in the world!” I reassure her there are a lot of us, so many more of us than the dark actors.

It turns out she is highly connected – she immediately texts her friend, the Deputy Mayor of Lviv, and puts us in touch. I have a call scheduled with the Mayor’s office tomorrow. Imma is strong, filled with passion and energy. Luckily, she warns me to arrive at the train station early; I was unaware that we have to go through passport control on the Polish side of the border, as well as on the train, as one enters Ukraine. The line the next morning is unusually long, and I’m gratified and relieved that I arrived well ahead of time.

As my train crosses the border, passing through small villages with a noticeable preponderance of tractors, the woman charged with checking my passport, machine gun slung over one shoulder, cracks a smile when she sees where I was from. Imma whispers to me excitedly “See? She’s happy that you’re here!”. The warmth from these women presages that my visit will be deeply appreciated.

Nestor, my young host, is waiting at the station when I arrive. (read more)…

Celebrity?

September 12th

This morning as I am preparing myself for my first visit to Unbroken, I’m shocked to receive a text message from Suspilne State Television requesting an interview tomorrow at Superhumans. My goal has been to uplift a handful of soldiers and their families, but.. this? A feature on Ukrainian national news? If aired, it could touch the lives of millions of Ukrainian viewers. I stumble around the kitchen, trying to wrap my wits around that while wrestling with my fear of public speaking. (My interview appears at 8:07 minutes in)

I’m reciting my new mantra “This isn’t about me”. I’m simply a small messenger of a larger story that serves a higher purpose. I’ll do fine, but at the moment it’s challenging to regulate my nervous system. Meanwhile, I’m expecting Unbroken to house, in addition to amputees, burn victims, those with facial reconstructions in process, etc.

With large kind eyes, brown hair and a ready smile, Julia from Unbroken arrives in a taxi to accompany me during my entire facility visit as liaison, translator, and new friend. (read more)

Air Raid Alert

Sept 15

After sleeping in a bit, I return late in the morning to paint at Superhumans, beginning with another young defender (also named Volodymyr) who, before his military service, was a sports trainer. Each time I look up to paint him, be bursts into a smile. He confesses he’s always been that way, and that positivity fuels his recovery. He lost his right leg near the hip, and aspires to become a physical therapist once he’s reached his rehabilitation targets.

Next is Oleksa, a veterinarian who also volunteered to defend his homeland. I enjoy painting his thick features and braided mohawk. I ask if he saw many animals killed at the front, assuming this might be especially difficult for him as his profession is saving their lives. He shares that he saw many horses killed by missiles. I ask what is in his future and he answers that he will be returning to his veterinarian practice, his office outfitted with special examination tables and other equipment as he lost both legs in combat.

Lastly, I paint Petro, man who looks like a Roman Cesare. An international delivery driver, when he heard of Ukraine’s full-scale invasion over the radio, he called his company from Spain, saying he was completing his last delivery, phoned his family, then volunteered for the Ukrainian army. Andriy enters the room and sits with us while I paint, telling me Petro’s story, how he was critically wounded fighting in a hotspot in the East when he stepped on a landmine. Both his legs were horribly damaged, he sustained massive blood loss, and flatlined five times before being put into an induced coma for nearly a month, with little expectation he would survive. But survive, he did. He has been instrumental in raising funds for more than a dozen evacuation vehicles for his unit. Before I met him, he traveled to Odessa to track down the surgeon in the field hospital who saved his life to thank him.

I turn to Andriy to share an idea I have that could help Ukraine’s cause, and add “…if perhaps it’s possible…” (read more)

Bomb Shelter

Sept 18

We awaken to yet another air raid siren around 2:00 AM. Again, I slip on my clothes hurriedly and meet Nestor outside my bedroom door. He is on his phone, checking texts. Then, he turns to me, saying in his broken English “We go to basement.” So we gather up the dog, head downstairs and meet his neighbor in the basement corridor. Rolling out an old mildew-smelling remnant of beige shag carpet, we sit and wait out the moments. Nestor checks his phone constantly. Finally, “The missiles have been diverted from Lviv to a town southeast of here.” So back upstairs we climb and back into bed. I am able to go back to sleep, and I have no idea how.

When the sirens sound, rows and rows of soldiers in uniform trot down the sidewalk, heading for the park. A former Soviet military academy, it was never built with a bomb shelter (WTF??). It’s just one more example of how little that country considers its own citizens. The scores of troops, some jogging, others walking, is another reminder of living in a country at war.

I elect to stay home again. The fatigue is catching up with me and I know I need to rest up for my long and grueling trip back over the border.

September 19

I pre-pack, and haul over to Superhumans to say goodbye and hopefully create one final portrait. (read more)