Asya Marakulina

In spring 2022, I was helping a family from Mariupol as they made their way out of Russia. We talked extensively, and they shared their harrowing escape stories with me. One detail in particular stuck in my memory: they recounted how they ran while covering the eyes of their small daughter, trying to shield her from the sight of torn bodies strewn across the ground. How is such a thing even possible? How? I have no answer.
 

When I began this series of ceramics, I aimed to process this haunting image, one I hadn't even witnessed myself. All I wanted was to somehow put an end to this horror war immediately. But I can't. It's difficult to accept; it's difficult to live with. But I have my imagination. I wonder: What if the war were to suddenly stop? What if all the destruction and the corpses gradually became inhabited and utilized by small creatures as food and shelter? Nature is wise, indifferent, and persistent. It doesn't judge; it simply carries on with the continuation of life.
 

Working with clay helped to somewhat temper these intense and traumatic emotions. They didn't disappear, but sometimes the clay takes us on its own journey. It's the boss; because it's nature. Over time, the series evolved into something different, more focused on forest spirits, where every little thing is a miniature universe. Additionally, my ceramic pieces became shelters for plants I rescued from adverse conditions. Some were discarded, some were withered, abandoned, or decaying. I find joy in saving and nurturing them. Moreover, my hobby became intertwined with my artistic practice.
 

So, the story became one of transformation and the healing power of artistic expression. Through art and the materials themselves, through aiding those who are more vulnerable than we are, healing becomes possible.