Nadiia and Fedir
Nadiia used to be a pacifist. But pacifism, she tells me, is a privilege of peace. "If someone wants to kill you, and you want to live, that’s no longer up for discussion," she says with a brief laugh. There’s pain in her eyes, but also a clarity and strength that deeply moves me.
Nadiia works in Dnipro, but she studied architecture in Dnipro and sculpture in Lviv. After her studies, she spent many years contributing to the cultural life of Dnipro as an artist. We visit one of these places together— the” Art alley'” a street hidden in the heart of the city, where Nadiia had the position of a curator. Walls full of art from various Ukrainian artists line the street gallery on both sides. If you look up, you see the sky in all its ominous beauty.
Amid the horrors of war, I am once again reminded of how vital it is for art and culture to endure—as a form of processing, of making visible the deep trauma of an entire society, and as a glimmer of light in the darkness.
About Nadiia Otriazha
Nadiia Otriazha, born 1989 in Dnipro shortly before Ukraine gained independency from the Soviet Union. And today, when Ukraine is fighting for this very independence, Nadiia lives again in Dnipro contributes for her country with her art. She is an artist in Dnipro, does not look away. In a quiet studio under the shadow of war, she sculpts the stories of the wounded—missing limbs, yes, but never missing humanity. Her sculptures give form to absence. They make pain visible, and in doing so, they keep the memory of each person alive.
Nadiia is in her studio when I see her again for the first time. She has hardly changed—at least at first glance. But it quickly becomes clear to me that everything around and within Nadiia has changed. In her words, I hear the weariness of war—a weariness that, as she says herself, has become the new reality.
Through her art, which includes various media, such as sculpture, ceramic, painting, illustration, Nadiia also shapes history. She is committed to challenging the distorted narratives of Russian historiography. Especially now, it is incredibly important to protect Ukrainian art and artists. Because they are the ones who are capturing and preserving what is happening in this moment.
Since 2024, Nadiia and Fedir Bushmanov have been running their own workshop together in Dnipro, Ukraine. As both artistic collaborators and life partners, they create powerful works of art that serve as a testament to resilience, remembrance, and cultural identity. Their artistic collaboration is a tender and powerful symbiosis. Whether they're building a new ceramic kiln , shaping sculptures, or meticulously painting and finishing their work, they move in perfect harmony—hand in hand, supporting each other at every step.
About Fedir Bushmanov
Fedir Bushmanov is a sculptor who doesn’t speak much — and doesn’t need to. His silence isn’t distance, but depth. Watching him work is like witnessing someone enter another world, one shaped not by words, but by form, rhythm, and patience.
Born in Kharkiv, Ukraine, and trained in monumental and easel sculpture, Fedir carries a quiet intensity into his studio. Since 2018, he has created alongside artist Nadiia Otriazha, and in 2024 they opened their shared workshop in Dnipro — a space that feels more like a sanctuary than a studio.
When he sculpts, everything slows down. He works with a kind of deliberate stillness — movements measured, precise, almost meditative.
Over the years, his sculptures have been part of many exhibitions and symposiums across Ukraine and beyond. But behind all the accolades and invitations is someone who returns, again and again, to the simplicity of making — of carving, shaping, listening.
Fedir doesn’t chase the spotlight. He creates to understand the world more deeply, and perhaps, to let the world understand him — not through words, but through silence turned into form.
Even in the presence of others, he remains anchored in his inner process. The material speaks to him, and he answers without noise, forming figures that seem to hold their own breath.