A Day In The Life Of An Artist

A Day in the Life of Artist Oleksandra Malyshko, Living in the Frontline Zone of Ukraine

Every time I wake from a sleepless night filled with explosions, I ask myself: “Why am I still alive, and what can I do through my art?” I’m not a religious person, but I want to believe that an invisible world exists around us, and that there is some spiritual pattern behind what happens. I also want to believe that we exist forever — though in what form, and how eternity actually works, is still a mystery to me. Don’t you wonder, too?

Not long ago, I visited Kyiv to stay with my relatives and paint together. It was a real challenge. I’ll write about that experience later, along with some photos. But today, I want to tell you about a day in the frontline zone — in Dnipro.

After that short trip, I found myself missing home and my hometown — the place where I paint outdoors at plein airs, meet fellow artists, and organize exhibitions. When I got back, I immediately organized an exhibition for artist Galina Shevtsova. I felt proud to contribute to my city’s cultural life — to help revive its artistic spirit. For me, it feels like a mission. It’s not financially rewarding, but it’s about preserving and restoring culture in my homeland.

Here are some photos from the exhibition, and a link to Galina’s wonderful paintings:

https://www.instagram.com/magdagusinska75/?locale=ru

After the event, I brought the paintings home from the exhibition space. I’d missed them. There are no buyers these days — people simply visit exhibitions to escape the war, to find a moment of peace. So, sometimes, I take my paintings with me on walks.

That evening, I went to a local lake with several of my works. Everything felt calm. I set up the paintings on tripods and managed to take some photos. My daughter and I bought street food from a nearby café and had a lovely evening by the water.

It felt like a perfect moment — like nothing could go wrong. We came home, happy, and went to bed. But in the middle of the night, the explosions began. Drones flew overhead, with that terrible, distinctive sound that wakes you no matter how deeply you're sleeping. Then came the blasts, the gunfire.

My daughter hid in a niche between the double metal doors. I sat near the entrance to our apartment. Sometimes I tried to sleep, only to get up again. That night felt endless.

Every morning after nights like this, I sleep deeply, as if escaping reality. I can’t quite understand how peace and war can coexist. And I still wonder how we keep living — why all this is happening. I have the most peaceful profession, and yet I constantly question whether it still has meaning. Why do I paint landscapes and flowers while destruction happens around me?

If you’re reading this, I’d love to hear your thoughts — or your words of encouragement. Maybe you're a philosopher and someone has already written the answers. If so, please share them.

More info: Instagram