Museum on the Frontline

My friend and colleague Olesya Ostrovska, an art expert in Kyiv, has graciously agreed to allow me to share this post, published last weekend, about current conditions at the National Art Museum of Ukraine, originally written as a post on Eurolution.doc Ukraine on Maidan, a Facebook page dedicated to sharing perspectives on current events in Ukraine "without cliche' or manipulations."  I know the museum well, having often visited met with colleagues, observed school programs and presented workshops there.  It's hard to believe, but as you can see in the photo above, the street protests are literally happening on the steps of the museum.  (Photo via ЄвроМайдан – EuroMaydanon on Facebook). 

Street fighting keeps on continuing in Kyiv, Ukraine. Not long ago, we wrote about “clashes of pro-Europe protesters with the police” but after the first protesters died of gunshots and torture the “clashes” turned into an all-out street war. The ‘battlefield’ is located meters away from the town’s prominent European Square and within a five minute walking distance from the Independence Sq. or “Maidan” – an epicenter of several month-long peaceful protests… peaceful until recently. Street war is going on in a generally safe city, which keeps on living its regular daily life. All is seemingly usual: people go to work, but, in their offices, many of them collect money for medications and warm socks for the protesters. People take rounds checking downtown pharmacies for first-aid supplies requested by Maidan doctors (appeals are posted on the Internet and passed along through social networks). Most pharmacies are short on bandages and first-aid stuff – demand significantly exceeds supply. 

Many people keep on coming to their offices located right in the hotspot of the street fights near that European square. One of places like this is the National Art Museum of Ukraine , the largest and the most respected art museum of the country. The riot police (Interior Troops of the Ministry of Interior of Ukraine) took their positions right at the doorstep of the Museum: “Molotov cocktails” hitting ground right next, stun grenades explosions - to which the museum workers have already become quite used – and black smoke billowing from burning car tire barricades hundred meters away… Maria Zadorojna, 38-year old museum director, has stayed in the museum for seven days in a row, from the first day of clashes when visitors had to be evacuated right through the police’s defensive formation. She considers that leaving the museum even at night is risky. Not because of her own safety. Because of the museum exhibits. Although the museum is officially closed, many Zadorojna’s colleagues spend all their time here as they are charged with keeping the museum exhibit collection safe: unique medieval icons, Ukrainian baroque paintings, avant-garde art of the early 20th century. Not later that a week ago, some masterpieces of the collection could be seen in dark-green and red painted halls at the first floor of the museum. The place was full of visitors and their kids attending museum’s art classes…. Now the first-floor exhibition is evacuated. 

During the first days of confrontation, the entire museum staff, regardless of the positions and despite the lack of invaluable in such conditions equipment, hours after hours dismantled and transferred to safety the works of art trying to protect them all. Now the halls are empty and prepared for any turn of events: one can see fire extinguishers everywhere, windows are closed with protective shields to prevent any damage from “Molotov cocktails” or stray bullets, the floor and the windows are constantly cleaned of soot coming from burning barricades built of used car tires. Museum workers consider the soot as a separate dangerous threat as, when it settles on icons, it can seriously damage them. Yuliya Vaganova, deputy Museum director, said that the riot police probably already know her and her colleagues quite well, thus letting them pass through the police checkpoints on the way to Museum pretty quickly. One can get around the “battlefield” on the way to the Museum yet the police let people pass only if they have museum worker’s identity cards on them. Therefore, some colleagues have to stay in the Museum for their “night shift” while the others bring them food and necessary supplies next morning. As of now, a temporary ceasefire between the protesters and the riot police is announced at the European square. The smoke is not so thick, the soot from the tire barricades is not so intense, and, hopefully, the Museum will live through a quiet night. But an improvised “field hospital” remains open. It’s been set up by protesters in nearby the National Parliamentary Library of Ukraine, right across the street from the Institute of Literature and Arts with its archives. Another night on an unusually quiet frontline. 

Translated by Andriy Zin

The Ukraine I Know

Many of you, Uncataloged readers probably have never thought much about Ukraine, except as my posts from and about Ukraine have appeared,  or when your museum thinks about traditional Easter celebrations and those painted eggs.  And perhaps you read my previous posts about the current protests (here and here).  But even casual readers of the news or Stephen Colbert watchers have noticed that something big is up in Ukraine.  Now what you see are armed policemen, burning tires, big crowds on the square,  and beaten protestors. As I do my best to follow the events of these days on Facebook and Twitter,  I think about my time in Ukraine, worry about friends and colleagues, and as a result, have decided to share a few words about the Ukraine I have come to know, a far more complicated place than the news pictures show--but a place that absolutely deserves our support.  So please forgive the non-museum related post--but it was museums that got me to Ukraine in the first place five years ago.

Many of the protestors are like you and me.  You might have come across reports that the people protesting on Maidan (the main square) are terrorists or provocateurs.  I urge you to watch this video. I know my former students from  the National University at Kyiv-Mohyla Academy and many of my friends and colleagues have been out every day protesting.  It's not surprising that educated Ukrainians, many of whom have had opportunities to study or travel in western Europe or the United States, feel deeply committed to the concept of a civil society.   But several things have surprised me as I watch the protests.

First, when I first visited Ukraine, it seemed really difficult for many Ukrainians I met to think that they could stand up and make a difference--and that extended to things big and small.  At one point, I encouraged some colleagues to begin a museum educators group and someone said, "but who are we to start it?  It must be official."  What I see in the protests is that now,  many Ukrainians have realized that it's their time to stand up.  (of course, it's not everyone--I just read a translated open letter to "kitchen philosophers"  who stay at home.)

Second,  that I see so many faces of everyday people in the crowds:  not necessarily intellectuals,  or well-off people.  They look like the woman who sold me vegetables, or the man sitting next to me on the mashrutka going to work.  This protest is no longer about affliliating with Europe,  but it's about the right to live in a civil society, where corruption does not infuse every aspect of life (and make no mistake, it does).  It's beautiful to watch the courage and determination of everyday people (because now, even going to a protest carries a jail term--or worse).  On this year's Martin Luther King day, his words particularly resonated with me.

But other things don't surprise me.

• Trust and Mistrust As an outsider and an American, I found this very complicated when I first came to Ukraine.  If you know a person--they are family, or you went to school with them, you absolutely trust them.  If you don't know them, you probably don't trust them.  The protests seem to have both reinforced this and at the same time, changed it a bit, as the protest movement moves beyond small groups of people you know into a larger movement.
• Making Do.  Ukrainians have amazing skills in making do.  I've seen all kinds of creative fixes in all kinds of living and work situations and the protests are no exception.  A home-made catapult?  We're on it.  Torn down by the police?  We can build another.  Need to feed a lot of people?  We'll bring out the giant soup kettles.  Wearing helmets outlawed?  We'll wear colanders and pots for protection.
• It's Cold Outside   I've laughed at several video pieces where I've seen foreign journalists interviewing someone and the Ukrainian interviewee interrupts to offer a hat, or mittens, or to say the journalist's coat is clearly not warm enough.  I often had people tell me the same.
• The Language of Organization  in English translation, the language often sounds very Soviet to me as an American but fascinating to see that language used in a different context. 
• Singing  Ukrainians are beautiful singers and singing has been a part of the protests.  One of my very first events I went to, on a very cold January evening, was a choral concert.  It's funny, I rarely remember hearing the national anthem sung,  but it is now sung regularly on Euromaidan. 
• Social Media I've been able to stay in touch with friends via Facebook since I first went to Ukraine.  The protestors use of social media has been fast, comprehensive and a combination of moving and funny.   The film collective Babylon 13 is making great short films,  called Cinema of a Civil Protest.  They're well worth a watch.  And independent journalists have covered the protests tirelessly despite being directly targeted by the riot police.
• Not Everybody's a Good Guy   There are right-wing nationalists on the side of the protestors.  To my mind, single-minded ethnic nationalists are not good guys really anywhere and some of these groups have made no secret of their aims.  However, it doesn't discredit the entire protest. And of course, there are plenty of people, from the president on down, whose goal is to preserve, not Ukraine, but their personal wealth and privilege.  Hopefully their time is soon ending.
• There's Support Coming from Everywhere in Ukraine  Many Ukrainians often dismiss the east of the country as Russian and corrupt.  I've spent a fair amount of time in Donetsk, as recently as last May, and like everywhere I've been in Ukraine, I've been lucky enough to meet passionate people who care about the future of their country.  It's not a division between east and west, but a division between people who want a civil society with human rights and those who don't.

Make no mistake. Sometimes I found life in Ukraine (at several points, living just blocks from where the protests are in Kyiv) incredibly frustrating.  Bureaucratic rules,  a brusqueness that often shaded into rudeness, a reluctance to change, a sense of different values than I hold.  But honestly, sometimes I find that in the United States too (having just spent more than a few hours this week trying to track down a package from the Postal Service).  I can't predict what happens next in Ukraine.  But here's the Ukraine I know:

• Talking with my graduate students about Ukraine's past and trying to puzzle out how museums might make a difference.  
• Sitting in a kitchen in a Crimean Tatar settlement, thanks to my friend Barb, and learning how to make dumplings from Lenura.
• Doing a workshop on visitor friendly museums in Kharkiv,  and hearing one participant announce at the beginning that interactive elements were "not for our people" and having her change her mind by the end of the day.
• Moved to tears by the staff at the Museum of the Great Patriotic War, as we worked together on an exhibit project,  when they brought out letters and other archival materials documenting how people--all kinds of people--had helped others different than themselves during World War II.
• Sitting in a tiny cheesemakers' hut in the Carpathians,  eating cheese, bread, cucumbers and tomatoes, talking about the world.
• Walking across in front of St. Sophia's at night, looking down to St. Michael's and thinking," this is a great city."
• Hearing high school students in Donetsk share their oral history interviews with family members who worked in the mines.
• And more conversations than I can remember: in the car to Opishne with Ihor;  on the train to Donetsk or the veranda of the Bulgakov Museum with Irina;  and with more people than I can count in kitchens, in cafes,  on the street, in museums, train compartments, and of course as part of the Pickle Project.  Ukraine is a beautiful place but it's the people that matter to me.

When I was there, often people I know would say, a bit laughingly,  at the end of a conversation with me, "Linda, you are so optimistic!"  It sometimes seemed a quality in short supply.  But, for Ukraine, although I worry greatly,  I still remain optimistic in every way for all of you.  To your future!

Families, Part 2

I was surprised by the number of comments that came as a result of the post about defining family audiences.  Evidently it's an issue for us as museum workers and as museum-goers.   If you're in California,  you might be interested in a session chaired by Margaret Middleton at the California Association of Museums conference, "Welcoming 21st Century Families in Museums" which sounds like a lively conversation on the topic.  I really appreciated those of you who shared your own issues as a museum-goer in the comments.  It's all too rare that we really think from a visitor perspective and how that perspective should inform our work00each thoughtful comment drives that work further.

But yesterday's news that the new National September 11 Memorial Museum will have a $24 admission charge but that families of victims will not pay any fees, brings so many questions to mind.  Here's just a few.

• How will the museum define "victims' families"?
• How do you prove you're part of a family?
• How long into the future does the concept of "victim family" last?
• Are there other family rates at the museum?  How are those families defined?

 Your thoughts?

What's a Family Anyway?

I'm beginning work with the Rosenbach Museum and Library in Philadelphia re-visioning their family programming.  The Rosenbach's collections are incredible, including Maurice Sendak's archives and they undertake a wide variety of programming.  New opportunities abound with a merger with the Philadelphia Free Library Foundation so it's an exciting time to be pondering what makes a great family program with the staff.

But we began with some conversations with staff and docents about what a family is.  To museum educators, family programs has quite a specific meaning.  Generally, it's programming designed for parents and elementary age children.  But is that how we should be defining a family?  Here's some of the responses:

• They choose to be together and consider themselves to be a family
• Wide range of ages
• Group or unit that's somehow connected together but not necessarily living together
• Some relationship:  love, blood, dependency
• Self-defined as related to one another
• 2 or more people long-term invested in each others well-being
• Caregivers too?
• Extended family who choose to associate together
• A hierarchy of relationships, within an established group
• and, as one docent definitively remarked, "It's not the 1950s any more!"

That's a giant pile of definitions that go far beyond the parent and young child relationship so often assumed in museum family programming.  I've found the USS Constitution's Family Learning Forum website incredibly useful in so many ways, so I went back to check out what they said about family definitions.  On their site, Lynn Dierking came to much the same conclusion we did.  Here's her definition:

Two or more people in a multi-generational group that has an on-going relationship; they may be biologically related but not necessarily. In fact, the general rule is that if a group defines itself as a family they are one!

We asked the volunteer docents at the Rosenbach to share their most memorable family experience in a museum.  Lots of intergenerational work at play:  grandmothers sharing recent visits with grandchildren;  a look behind the scenes at Williamsburg with family members;  learning a story about a family at a historic site.  One docent shared the experience of going to the Philadelphia Museum of Art for an open evening event with friends, people she considered family.

Does this mean that we'll rename family programming at the Rosenbach?  Not necessarily, but I think we'll be asking this question as we go forward in conversations with all sorts of audiences and potential audiences and be particularly aware of barriers to participation that the lack of thoughtful language might bring.  How do you define families at your museum?

Surprise! My 5 Wishes for 2014

What will the new year bring?  Although at a New Year's Eve party the other night we made predictions and resolutions, serious and silly (think less,  climb more mountains, become a powerlifter were among the group's resolutions) I thought I'd just share my own five wishes for the museum field, and for my own work, for 2014.  Can wishes come true?  We'll see (perhaps with your help).

Wish #1  To be Surprised
My last museum visit of 2013 did just that.  I finally made it to the Museum of Jurassic Technology  It was, despite the fact that I knew about its approach,  surprising on many levels.  Surprise is an all-too-rare element in exhibitions these days, when much seems formulaic and overdesigned.  I'm looking to see exhibits that surprise and move me.  Got suggestions? 

Wish #2  To Connect
One of my most memorable museum experiences of 2013 was a very snowy Berlin day, with Twitter acquaintance Katrin Hieke, who made her way from Bonn to spend the day with me.  From a local history museum to the DDR Museum, from  the Jewish Museum to a walk past Checkpoint Charlie, I got the chance to learn about German museums, talk museums non-stop,  and in the process, gain a great new colleague resulting in a new project together.  I wish for more opportunities to talk with colleagues and learn about their cities and museums.  Upcoming in February are Amsterdam, Paris, Barcelona,  Rome, Florence, Istanbul and Athens, so be in touch if you're in any of those cities. (and in the US,  Philadelphia,  Albany, NY, and other locations coming up too!)

Wish #3  Creativity into Practice (particularly at the top)
Rainey Tisdale and I think of our book, Creativity in Museum Practice,  as part manifesto, part tool kit.  We both wish that 2014 brings inspired creative practice into museums everywhere.  Museum leaders need to be in the front line of this effort.  I also wish, and intend to make real, creative practice in my own work every day.

Wish #4  Standards as Creative Constraints
I think a lot about standards, having worked with AASLH and as a MAP reviewer for AAM.  I tell organizations that they need to understand standards and how to use them.  But too often, I fear that museums use standards as a crutch for not going further, for not being more imaginative.  It's easy to make a plan to address a backlog of collections, but it's far harder to make a plan to involve your community. A standard doesn't prevent you from doing something--I wish that museums think of a standards as a creative constraint to push your organization further in your overall development.

Wish #5  More Great Clients
The shameless, self-promotion wish.  Last year clients like the Harriet Beecher Stowe Center and Context Travel helped me learn so much.  Together we questioned assumptions; talked to visitors, to staff, to each other;  dreamed big dreams;  got inspired by great art, great cities, great literature (and more than a little bit of great food);  laughed, worked hard;  and together, took a risk or two,  knowing that we'd learn from success or failure.  If that sounds good,  I'd love to work with you.  Be in touch with your ideas.

 

 And finally, wish #6--as exemplified by my daughter and her cousins, above, have fun!

Vincent and Me: What a Great Docent Does

Over the holidays, I visited the Getty Museum in Los Angeles, and as always in museums, found myself lurking around galleries,  watching how people interact with each other and with the art.  It was a weekday, and there were lots of school groups.  I came into one gallery and saw Van Gogh's Irises at the end of the room.  I watched one docent with a school group.  Okay, I thought, but not great.  That group moved on, and another docent, who you see at the top of the post,  shepherded her group in, sat them down,  and began a conversation.   What I heard and saw integrated so many things that museum educators and interpreters strive for,  that I'll try to recreate it here (based on some rapidly scribbled notes on my museum map).

First, the docent had the group look closely at the painting.  What did they see?  "Flowers"  "How many different kinds of flowers?"  "What color are the flowers?"  "Oh, there's a white one over there that's different."     And with each question, she reinforced the answer and asked another question to go deeper.  The kids had nametags on, and she used every child's name when she called on them or they answered.  "You're a group with great imaginations!"

But after discussing the flowers she made a switch I didn't understand at first--telling the students (who were 8 years old or so) about the difference between a portrait and a landscape.   A portrait a picture of a person;  a landscape with trees or sky or flowers.  And, she continued, "some people think this is a portrait, a self-portrait, by the artist Vincent Van Gogh, and some people think it's a landscape.   The artist was lonely--so if it's a portrait,  where is he?"   One of the students quickly guesses that Van Gogh is the white iris, "because he stands out, because he's alone."     But maybe, says another, "You don't have to be alone.  Maybe another flower will come along and pick him."  In just a few moments, the conversation had gone from merely spotting colors to empathy,  to the idea that paintings can be about feelings, that they can be metaphors for other things, and to a bit of understanding about how an artist expresses himself.

And then she expanded the idea of portraits further.  "I want you to pretend that you are someone who wants your portrait painted,  What would you be?"   Hands went up,  and one by one,  she called students up to pose for their portrait.  "I would be a butterfly,"  starts one shyly.  By the docent's own active movements,  she encouraged deeper thinking,  "Would you have your wings spread like this?  or be resting on a flower like this? What colors would you be?"  and so on,  always asking questions that required imaginative answers and getting them,  getting the students to use both their minds and their bodies.

She noticed that only girls were volunteering. How about a boy?  After some giggling and shoving in the back, it was clear that no boys were going to volunteer.  Okay, she said, moving around to where the boys were.  "Let's imagine that we have a boy.  What shall he be?"  "A prince, said one student, and the conversation continued about a portrait of a boy.   After this, she wraps up, and says, "Time to move on, but before we leave this room, I'm going to just stop for a minute and show you my favorite painting, one with a secret."

I was sitting on a bench with a couple mothers and asked the age of the students.  Unqueried,  the mom next to me said, nodding at the docent, "She's great, isn't she?  I've watched some of the others and they're not as exciting!"   I totally agree and here's my quick list of great things she did right.

• Ask great questions.  Start with easy ones and build to more challenging ones.
• Accept differing interpretations (from art historians and students)
• Understand that emotions, even difficult ones, are a part of every child's life and that art can make a strong emotional connection.
• Use several different kinds of multiple intelligences.  There was something here for visual learners, for mathematical learners (counting the kinds of flowers),  for interpersonal and intrapersonal learners and for kinesthetic learners.
• Be adaptable.  I don't know if boys are reluctant to participate in every school group, but in this one, she didn't force them,  but physically moved back near them and made sure they were included in the experience.
• Be excited.  She loved art and you could tell.  She also loved kids and you could tell that too.

Thanks, unknown docent, for ending my museum-visiting year with such inspiration!

"Our History Museums will Include the Events of These Days"

As long-time readers of the Uncataloged Museum may know,  I have a special interest in Ukraine, starting from my time as a Fulbright Scholar and continued through ongoing visits and projects.  Not surprisingly, I've been following the events in Kyiv (more often misspelled in the US press as Kiev, the Russian spelling).  Several weeks ago, as protests began I wrote a post where I was so bold as to suggest what museums in the capital might be doing as the protests, now called EuroMaidan (for European integration and held on Maidan,  the main square) became more powerful, stronger and expanded out from the idea of integration with Europe. It became hundreds of thousands of people working towards a more civil society, turning away from the corruption that characterizes Ukraine's current leadership.  (If you want to keep up, the Kyiv Post, in English, is the best place to find information).

I first met Ihor Poshyvailo (pictured above with his wife Tania on Maidan in a photo by his son, Boghdan Poshyvailo) my first week in Ukraine and since then I've been privileged to consider him both colleague and friend.  He is deputy director of the Ivan Honchar Museum in Kyiv, the National Center of Folk Culture.  This week I asked if he'd answer some questions about what his museum and others are doing in this revolutionary time, and what he sees for the future.  Many, many thanks to Ihor.  This is a bit of a long post, but please take the time.

Your museum has made a statement in support of the protestors on EuroMaidan.  Can you tell me what the statement says, why the museum made it, and how the decision was made to issue it?

The first statement on our museum FaceBook page was made spontaneously on December 1st, and it said that the Honchar Museum supports the protest rallies which took place all over the country and that we will join the next day public meeting in Kyiv. And it ended with a call in caps: LET'S PROTECT OUR UKRAINE! The next statement was much more conscious  on December 10th we had a staff meeting and agreed unanimously to support the protests and blame the riot police for crimes. Next morning - December 11th at 1 am - there was another riot police attack on Maidan and we created a text of an official statement and published it on the museum Facebook page at 4 am.  In the evening - after agreement with our director,  Petro Honchar - we posted it on our website.

 

It said that we officially support the civilization choice of the Ukrainian people - Eurointegration; that we blame the government for failing to sign the agreement and the police attacks and beating of peaceful students and protesters. That as a cultural and educational institution we recognize the importance of human rights for civil society and an independent state. As a center of folk culture we  glorify the eternal traditional virtues of our ancestors - freedom, faith, honor, democracy and humanism. We appealed to the government and president to guarantee freedom of speech and etc. and we join offiical statements of other museums in Kyiv and Lviv as well as Ukraine ICOM Committee and Council of Directors of Lviv Museums.

I know other museums have also done similar efforts--can you tell us about them?  Is there any coordination of museum responses or just individual museums?

I know that mostly museums in Kyiv and Lviv responded. In Lviv (quite understandably - their local government support the protests) the Council of Directors of Lviv Museums coordinated protest statements of a number of Lviv museums. In Kyiv it was individually. Among the first was 'oppositional' Pavlo Tychyna Memorial Museum, which opened its doors to protesters and proposed to them tea and rest. Also Museum of Kyiv History (quite unexpectedly as it is run by the City Hall and personally mayor of Kyiv whose headquarters were taken by the protesters) and about a dozen of its branches in Kyiv including your favorite museum of Bulgakov, museum of Pushkin and a number of others.

Because virtually all museums in Ukraine are government run and funded,  do you worry about repercussions?      

Of course, there was and still is such a worry of  repercussions in this or that way - in the same way that it is known that a driver of the metro car was fired just for telling people in subway cars how to get to Maidan when the central three stations close to Independence Square were closed to try and keep protestors away.   Also there are stories when commanders of the riot policemen from Kirovohrad and Poltava who rejected the command to go to Kyiv and were fired for this. And a bus of pro-Maidan activists who regularly took people and sound equipment to Maidan were fired this night in Kharkiv. Of course, in case Maidan fails there are lots of ways of repercussions and museum directors are well aware of this possibility: that's why not many museums even in Kyiv declare their attitudes to the events.  Another fact - director of the famous here Museum "Territory of Terror" in Lviv was summoned for questioning by the investigation department of the prosecutor's office in Lviv region as "a witness" to events on EuroMaidan in Lviv.

I've seen, thanks to Facebook, two different efforts of the Honchar Museum on Maidan itself.  Can you tell me about the installation of the Didukh?  What does it symbolize and why did you decide to do it?  What was the reaction of people?

On two days our museum,  together with the studio Ethnotoloka organized a flash mob, installing a Didukh (see top photo) on Maidan at the foot of the Independence Monument. Didukh is a very important traditional symbol for Ukrainians which was the same symbol of Christmas and New Year as a New Year's Tree now. It's a Christmas decoration, symbol of sacrificing the best harvest. "Didukh" literally means "the spirit of ancestors" and was made out of the first or the last wheat harvest. It symbolizes the household's wish for an abundance of nature and a bountiful harvest for the upcoming year. Traditionally it was placed in every Ukrainian home before Christmas.

As we virtually shifted all our public educational and performance programs to the Maidan, so we decided to install Didukh there as a beginning of the traditional Christmas celebration in Kyiv and a symbol of Ukraine. Many people liked it, they made pictures before Didukh (as it's very big), asking what does it mean, where it's possible to buy it for their homes etc. Before that we had a celebration of folk holiday Kateryna on the main stage of Maidan and today we had there a celebration of Andriya - reproducing the folk holiday, and organizing folk dancing on the Maidan.

We organise dancing every evening on the Independence Square, so our presence is constant there. We made the decision to shift our programs to Maidan from the very beginning in order to reach new and wider audiences, to join and support the protesters and because some people at the beginning of the protests wrote to us on Facebook when we announced our December program questioning whether it's ethical to celebrate in the museum when all attention of the country is focused on Maidan.

I see now that you're collecting examples of posters and other items from Maidan--really contemporary Ukrainian folk art.  Are you documenting in photographs or actually collecting the work?  Why did you decide to undertake this?  

We are documenting in photographs. It's not easy to collect the work as what's interesting for our collection is still working and hangs on that Maidan "New Year's Revolutionary Tree."  The  Lviv Museum of History asked people to bring everything connected to EuroMaidan there for future exhibitions.

We decided to do it for two reasons - first - because you sparked me with this idea and second - a lot of materials - oral stories, songs, creativeness (even in making barricades or ways of warming and  ways of laying firewood), some art expressions are in fact urban contemporary folklore, which is quite new for us but very important. And of course they will become a part of Honchar collection.

And one blue sky question:  imagine Ukraine ten years from now.  What do you hope it will be? 

I don't just hope but believe that in ten years we will be a part of the EU, our government will be less corrupt and much more controlled by the strong civil society; our history museums will include in their exhibits the events of these days, and we will remember with great appreciation students who firstly sparked this revolution which helped us first to change ourselves, to feel us as one strong nation, and secondly change the country with this historical civilization choice. Nowadays, there are fears that Ukraine will be split in two parts or become another Belarus according to Putin and Kremlin strategies, but I do believe in the  better future of my nation and this confidence goes not from my idealistic inner self, but from hundreds of thousand twinkling eyes, hot hearts and real deeds of the Maidan protesters I witness and feel personally during these three weeks of the Revolution.     

Photos:
Top photo by Boghdan Poshyvailo for the Ivan Honchar Museum
Additional photos from the ЄвроМайдан – EuroMaydan Facebook page:
Maidan on December 14 by Alexander Dvoretskyi and others, uncredited, but if you know who deserves credit, please let me know!