The War That Destroys Us
Anna Püsök
2023. January
“We start in two,” the producer said to Ivana and Peter, as they sat down on the blue armchairs in the middle of the studio. Ivana’s hands started to shake; she rubbed them into her jeans.
“Okay,” Peter said and looked at his phone. Ivana took a long look at him; he was in his late 30s, blonde hair, blue eyes, sun-kissed skin. No surprise so many women watched his show.
“Are you ready?” he asked Ivana without looking up from his phone. The producer shouted ‘one minute’ from the side of the studio.
“I’m a bit nervous,” Ivana said and bit her lips. That made Peter look up.
“No offense,” he started, “but people usually are more interested in actors and singers, so we probably won’t have a huge number of people watching.” He put away his phone into his pocket.
The comment made Ivana’s muscles go tense, but she remained silent.
The producer counted down from 3, and the red light on the camera turned on. Ivana looked towards the camera, but the strong lights in the studio blinded her. Instead, she looked at Peter, who started the show as usual,
“Good evening, everyone! This is Late Night Conversations with Peter Salvy," he said and stopped to wait for the show’s opening music to end.
“Here in the Late Night Conversations, we have an ongoing section, where every first Friday of the month, we invite Ukrainian actors, artists, and sportsmen to acknowledge the war that has been going on in the past couple of months between Ukraine and Russia. After each show, we also donate to organizations and charities to help people in the warzone.” Peter said and the crowd clapped and cheered. “Today, we have a Ukrainian painter, Ivana Pelenkova, with us. Her recent exhibition, The War That Destroys Us, opened today in the National Gallery of Art and she decided to celebrate this huge step in her career with us tonight. Welcome, Ivana, and thank you for being here!” The crowd cheered louder than before, which made Ivana flinch.
“Thank you, I’m glad to be here,” Ivana said with a shaking voice.
“We know your art is incredible, but tonight, we want to get to know you…” Peter leaned slightly forward, “So let me start by asking you this… when did you start to paint?” he asked with a big smile.
“I actually always wanted to paint, but there were not many opportunities for young artists, where I’m from,” Ivana said and stopped for a second to clear her throat. “I only started to study art last semester, when I took my first art class called Painting from Life.”
“I bet you got an A, right?” Peter chuckled, and the crowd followed.
“I-” she stopped for a second and wrinkled her eyebrows, “I… actually almost failed that class, but that’s a whole different story,” she smiled briefly.
Peter’s eyes opened wider than usual, and his eyebrows would have gotten high up on his forehead if he hadn't had a tremendous amount of Botox there.
“I definitely wanna hear about it at a different time!” He said and looked at the crowd, “Raise your hand if you ever almost failed an art class!” Many people’s hands rose in the studio; even Peter raised his, and continued, “That means all of us can become painters here!” Peter burst out in laughter and held his stomach. Others laughed with him.
Ivana bit her lips and changed her position in her seat. After waiting a couple seconds for the crowd to quiet down, Peter continued, “I know you just started college, but you came to the US before that. Is that correct?”
“Yes, I was born and raised in Kyiv in Ukraine, but I got a fellowship in 2021 that allowed students to spend their final year of high school in Washington D.C.,” she said. It all came back to her at once like it just happened yesterday—that first time coming to America. First time leaving home.
2021. August
“Is there anything else that you want me to put in the washing machine?” Ivana’s mom shouted across the hallway from the bathroom.
“No!” Ivana replied.
A couple seconds later, her mom walked into Ivana’s bedroom, where she was sitting on the floor placing some shoes into her small carry-on bag. Her big suitcase was next to her, fully packed up, ready to be taken to the airport.
“How do you feel?” her mom asked and sat down next to her. Ivana looked up from her bag.
“Nervous,” she said, her face paler than usual. “What if they don't like me?”
“I’m sure they will love you,” her mom replied, and placed a kiss on Ivana’s forehead.
“Worst case scenario, I’ll just move back at the end of the year,” she said and closed her arms around her mom.
“You know, I wouldn’t mind if you did at all.” Her mom squeezed her a little. “I’m so proud of you!” She hesitated for a second, then said, “Your dad would be too.”
“I wish he was here,” Ivana replied. A tear ran down on her face, but it disappeared when she buried her face deeper into her mom’s shirt.
***
“As part of our special series acknowledging the war, we ask our Ukrainian guests about their experiences in America,” Peter said.
Ivana bit her lips and looked at the screen right next to the camera. There was a smaller screen showing the number of live viewers. About forty thousand people across the US were watching the show. Ivana’s hands started to shake again.
“How was your first time here? Was it an easy transition?” Peter asked.
“My mom was probably more excited about a lot of things than I was,” Ivana chuckled for a moment, then continued, “To be honest, I felt guilty about being here. I knew a lot of other students from my high school who wanted to do this program but couldn’t because of the pandemic.” Ivana said with a shaking voice. “I also know that my mom worked so much so we could afford plane tickets, health insurance and other things.”
2021. October
“Are you excited about your first American Halloween?” Ivana’s mom asked, sounding eager over the phone.
“Yeah,” Ivana answered briefly.
“Tell me more!” her mom nudged her.
“My host family decorated the house fully and Lily is taking me to one of her friends' houses.” Ivana replied.
“That is so exciting!” her mom’s tone was high pitched. “And what are you going to dress up as?”
“Just a witch,” Ivana sighed. “I didn’t want to make a big deal about the costume.”
“Aw, honey, but I sent you some money last week for it! I want you to enjoy your time there and have all these new experiences!”
Ivana’s heart sank in her chest. “I know mama, but I told you before, you don’t have to send me more money!” Ivana insisted.
“I know I don’t have to, but I want to!” her mom said, “and don’t forget to send me pictures! I want to show it to others.”
“I will, mama!” Ivana replied, tears blurring her vision “I wish you were here.”
“Me too, honey, but I’m really happy for you!” Ivana’s mom said.
“I miss you!” As soon as Ivana heard the tone of disconnection, she fully let her tears out.
***
“I was really homesick too.” Ivana rubbed her sweaty hands into her jeans when she answered Peter.
“Well, I think you were lucky with that fellowship,” Peter said with a straight face. Then, he put on a huge smile with his teeth showing and said, “and we are lucky to have YOU!”
Ivana smiled briefly and looked at the screen with the viewer count. Eighty thousand people were watching. The number made Ivana’s stomach flip.
“And what made you decide to stay here?” asked Peter. Ivana looked at him again.
“I was actually going to go home after I finished my fellowship, but I ended up applying to colleges here. I barely told anyone at the time because I didn't think I would get in.” Ivana felt her face go pale, but she knew people couldn’t see it, thanks to the makeup team’s work.
“But it sounds like it worked out perfectly!”
2021. December
“I’m so sad you can’t come home for Christmas,” Ivana's mother said with a shaking voice.
“Me too, mama, but the ticket prices are still so expensive because of Covid. Lily and her parents don’t mind me staying at their place for the holiday, though.”
“Yes, I know.” She started, her tone detached. “But I’m still sad. We must celebrate Christmas over the summer when you come home.”
“Okay, mama. Now, I gotta go, but I’ll call you over the weekend. I love you!” She hung up the phone and sat down onto her bed.
“Have you told her about the college applications yet?” asked Lily. Since they shared a room, Lily always overheard Ivana's conversations; she didn’t mind because she knew Lily didn’t understand Ukrainian. Ivana left her without response and said, “Are you ready for school?”
“Ivana!” Lily raised her voice slightly in disbelief. “You have to tell her!”
“I'll only tell her if I get into a program here,” she said, with a lump in her throat. “If I don’t, which is most likely, I'll have to go home anyway.”
***
“I want to talk more about your current exhibition, The War That Destroys Us.” The smile on Peter’s face disappeared. “It’s a powerful collection of paintings. Let me ask you… what was the main inspiration for the pieces?”
Ivana bit her lip for a second and said, “They represent some scenes from the 2022 war in Ukraine.”
“Yes,” Peter leaned forward and touched Ivana’s hand. He even squeezed it for a bit as a support. People in the crowd sighed in sympathy. The redness spiked up on Ivana's neck and face—she fought the urge to pull her hand away and just nodded.
“Where were you when you first heard about the war? Can you tell us more about that time?” Peter asked with watery eyes. Ivana felt a knot in her throat.
2022. February 24.
When Ivana opened her phone in the morning, the first thing she noticed was a message popping up on her screen from her mom. She tapped the screen, and started to read:
Ivana, Russia attacked us last night. We're hiding out in one of the bunkers under Kyiv, but I don’t have much connection to the internet. I’ll call you as soon as I can! I love you more than anything! I’m so glad you’re there in safety.
Ivana was confused reading the message. She opened up Google and typed in ‘Kyiv News.’ The first thing that showed up was an article from the CBC titled, ‘Explosions heard across Ukraine as Russia launches military attack.’
Her world stopped. She just stared at her screen for a couple minutes. The main picture of the article was horrifying—a woman crying while holding her baby; behind her, buildings fully destroyed. Tears started to run down on Ivana’s face as she realized what was happening. She picked up a pillow and screamed into it.
***
“Can you tell us more about the art of this collection?” asked Peter, which brought Ivana back to the present.
“Yes…” as she started speaking, pictures of her current exhibit appeared on the big screen behind them on the back of the studio. She looked at the small screen next to the camera, which now mirrored the big screen and said, “The primary style of the paintings is impressionism.”
“Well, that is impress-ive!” Peter burst out laughing. Nobody in the audience laughed with him. To ease the awkwardness, Peter cleared his throat and picked up a glass of water that was in front of them.
Ivana bit her lip and without looking at him continued: “I used thin and small brushstrokes to make the painting very realistic. The whole point of this style is that when you look at the painting, you feel like you are in the moment. You see what you would see in real life.”
“How do you feel about your exhibition?” he asked as he put the glass back.
Ivana sighed before answering.
“These pieces are close to my heart. They represent so many feelings; sadness, grief, anger, and loss of hope,” tears appeared in her eyes again. “Everything I learnt through the war.”
She didn’t look at the screen anymore; instead, she looked at the people in the crowd. An old lady, in the first row, covered her mouth with her hands. Another woman started crying and was rubbing her eyes. Some people though seemed uninterested. A younger man didn’t even look up from his phone. Ivana felt a burning feeling go up on her spine as she watched the man.
Peter was looking at the small screen, waiting for the slideshow to end. The last slide was a picture of Ivana, standing next to one of her paintings earlier that day, during the grand opening of the show.
“The exhibition is called The War That Destroys Us,” Peter started to talk again. “People talk about who the ‘us’ might refer to. Some say that it refers to all Ukrainians, but I have a feeling there might be something else.”
“Yes,” she looked at Peter. “This art,'' she stopped for a second to take a deep breath, “and the whole collection is dedicated to my mom.”
2022. March
The ringtone blared in the middle of the night, although Ivana was awake. The time on the screen showed it was just after 1 am. The screen said, ‘Mama,’ so she immediately pressed the green button.
“Mom?”
“I’m here, honey. I can’t speak for too long, but I’m here now,” her voice was not louder than a whisper.
“It’s so good to hear your voice,” Ivana sighed with relief.
“Yours too, baby,” her mom replied. Her voice sounded weak.
“Where are you right now? When will you reach the border of Hungary?”
“We’re close to Lviv now. We should get there in a few days.”
“Days? Lviv is only a couple hours away from the border.” Ivana’s heart started to beat faster.
“Honey…” Her mom began but didn’t finish. Ivana knew something was wrong.
“What happened?”
“We couldn’t keep going by car. We were driving by the city hall when the attack started. We had to take shelter… the car was a wreck when we got back to it.”
“Oh, mama,” Ivana’s throat closed up; she had trouble breathing. “Mama, I want to go home. I can fly to Hungary. We can meet there.”
“Ivana! You can’t come back,” she said; her voice turned strong and direct. “You need to stay there.”
“Mom, I can’t. I want to be with you,” Ivana said and started crying.
“Promise me you will stay there. Don’t come back. You can’t come back.”
“No, mama. Please—” Ivana exhaled heavily.
“Ivana! Promise me!”
“I promise,” she said between two breaths.
“I love you, Ivana.” The line broke before Ivana could finish her sentence.
***
“She must be really proud of how resilient you are.” Peter said, leaning back on his chair, and sending Ivana a half smile.
“Yes, I’m sure she would be,” she said. Peter opened his mouth but immediately closed it.
Ivana continued, “The truth is… she never got to see my paintings.”
2022. April
“Still nothing?” asked Lily, as Ivana finished her call with the National Police Department of Lviv. No one there seemed to know what happened to her mom, nor did any other police departments or organizations that she had contacted before.
“No,” she answered without looking up from her phone screen, pacing up and down in their bedroom.
“Maybe, she's already crossed into Hungary and is safe,” Lily said, trying to be comforting.
“Maybe,” Ivana started worrying her lips.
“They probably just haven't had the opportunity to contact you yet,” Lily stepped closer to her, but Ivana stepped back.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said with a firm voice.
“No, please, talk to me. I think it would make you feel better.”
“Just leave me alone!” Ivana shouted at Lily, then her face turned red. “I don’t want to talk about it, why don’t you get it?”
Lily nodded and left their room.
A couple hours later, a Ukrainian number appeared on the screen. Ivana picked up the phone immediately.
“Ivana Pelenkova?” a male Ukrainian voice asked.
“Yes?” Ivana’s heart started to beat faster.
“I’m Bogdan Vledomir. You called us before about your mom’s status.”
“Yes, yes! Do you have any updates?” She could hear the blood in her veins pulsating.
“We express our deepest condolences. We found Maria Pelenkova’s body near Polyana. She probably died in a recent military convoy shooting.”
Ivana felt her brain stutter, and time slowed down. In the next second, she collapsed on the floor.
***
“I’m so sorry about your mom. At least you were safe here,” Peter said and gave Ivana a tissue from the table. She took it into her hands and squeezed it.
“You know, Peter, there were times when I felt grateful for being here during that time. People also told me that I should be glad to be in safety,” she was looking at the tissue, “But do you know what else people said?” she looked up to Peter and raised her eyebrows. He shook his head.
“People joke about it. A lot. People said they at least got to see our ‘hot’ prime minister half-naked on a horse. People told me their exes should be drafted to World War III. I lost my mom and couldn’t go home, but people didn’t get it. People just never got how I felt… and I—” Ivana stopped and stared in front of herself.
“How did that make you feel?” Peter asked with wide eyes. For the first time during the show, it seemed like he actually cared about what Ivana was going to say.
***
2022. September
“Are you painting this again?” asked Dr. Stevens as he looked at Ivana’s canvas for her next assignment for Painting from Life.
“Yes, I—”
“Ivana, you’ve painted this before!” Dr. Stevens looked at her.
“Yeah, but I thought…” she started, “I lost my mom recently, and I—” she stopped for a second to look at the painting.
“Ivana, I understand that… But you need to do something else in my class or I won’t be able to give you good grades. This is our sixth assignment and you have been painting the exact same picture over and over again.”
“This is what I can paint,” she uttered with a shaking voice and looked up from the canvas.
“Look,” he said and ducked a little bit, so his head was on the same level as hers, lowered his voice and continued, “I am deeply sorry about everything that has happened to you, and I want to help you.” He swallowed before continuing. “But this is a class, and I can’t grade you for the exact same painting over and over again!”
“You don’t understand, this is the only thing I can paint,” Ivana raised her voice. She felt the heat rise up on her neck.
“But it doesn’t even fit the assignments anymore. The prompt was to paint something that you see around you daily, and—”
“And I painted the war. It’s still an issue in Ukraine,” she cut him off.
“But it’s not something you see around you!” he said and stood up again, crossing his arms in front of him.
“The war is still happening. People just don’t give a shit about it anymore!” her voice came out louder than before, which surprised her. Looking around, Ivana met her classmates’ eyes. A couple people whispered something to others. Ivana tried to catch her roommate Jessica's eyes, but the girl was looking at her own canvas, ignoring her.
“You can either paint something else or your grade for the assignment is an F. This is unacceptable behavior,” Dr. Stevens said and left her there, moving to see other students’ canvases, but Ivana continued.
“Americans are fucking ignorant. They shit on the world and joke about people’s death,” she shouted with a flushed face.
“Ivana!” Dr. Stevens said, “You can’t speak to me like that—” but she didn’t let him finish:
“You don’t even care about thousands of people dying and—”
“Ivana!” the professor shouted. “Get out of my class right now!” Dr. Stevens’ high note brought Ivana back. She stood up and left the art room, slamming the door behind her.
Ivana ran into Jessica, her roommate, in the library, later that day:
“Jess! Hi!” She caught the other girl’s attention. “Are you going home?”
“I’m going to go get dinner before, but yes after. Do you need a ride?” Jessica asked Ivana.
“No, I will probably go back to the art studio to continue my painting,” Ivana sighed briefly, “to submit later.”
“Okay, well…” the other girl bit her lips and said, “See you at home!” and turned around.
“Wait, Jessica…” Ivana started and grabbed the other girl’s arm before she could leave. “Did Dr. Stevens say anything after I left?” she asked and bit her lip.
“No… he mostly just tried to bring us back, I think. We finished early.” Jessica looked down at her shoes.
“Okay, good,” Ivana sighed. “Can you believe what he said?”
“Yeah…” she said and wrinkled her eyebrows.
“He was just so stupid and didn’t get me at all, and I just can’t get how insensitive he was,” Ivana’s face flushed.
Jessica looked up from her shoes; her lips were pressed together. “Ivana?” she said and slightly clenched her jaw. “Have you thought about that, maybe, he was right? You only talk about your mom and about the war, and you got a bunch of As for only one painting, and I get that you’re hurt, but it’s just too much to take anymore,” tears appeared in her eyes. “Maybe you should go to therapy or journal, but you can’t expect people to be your emotional trash can or just to accept everything you’re saying,” Jessica shrugged her shoulders.
Ivana’s muscles got tense and she wanted to punch her in the face. “I hope you never have to experience what it’s like to lose your parents!” she said and left Jessica in the library.
***
“I—” Ivana stared in front of her. Tears blurred her vision.
“You can tell us. We’re all here to support you,” Peter said.
“I—,” she couldn’t answer him. Memories came back to her in a rush. Her mom’s kiss on Ivana’s forehead the day before she left. Lily and their room together. Ivana tried to keep in touch with her since they moved to college, but Lily never texted her back. How Jessica moved to a different dorm room the night of their talk in the library. Dr. Stevens’ face during class when he told Ivana to leave—that thought made Ivana look up at the screen again. Seven hundred thousand people were watching the show at that moment. Ivana wondered whether Dr. Stevens was one of them. She rubbed her forehead.
“We know how painful this is for you. Maybe, we can move to a different question?” Peter laughed awkwardly and looked at the producer who was standing next to the camera. “So, if you could give any advice to young girls trying to be artists, what would it be?”
Ivana turned her whole body and looked at the big screen behind her and Peter. She was standing next to her painting—the one where a young woman is in mid-scream, lying on her side on top of debris that used to be a house. The one picture she used to paint so many times.
That’s me ran through her head, although she still hadn’t been back to Ukraine since August of 2021.
“Ivana?” Peter whispered angrily, but Ivana only heard her own blood pulsating in her veins, louder than before.
She kept staring at the painting. For the first time during the show, Peter looked at the viewer-count: almost a million people were watching.
“I—” Ivana began, but she had trouble breathing and grabbed her own throat. One thought stayed in her head: although so many people cared about her work now, the only person she really wanted to see her work will never see the paintings.