Author:
Yuliia Didenko
Right at the entrance to the Kyiv History Museum, a boy meets your gaze. Oleh looks straight at you, his expression is deep and serious, not the way nine-year-olds usually do. He was five when Russia’s full-scale invasion began. During the siege of Mariupol, he didn’t step outside for twenty days, until his parents decided they had to break out of the city.
Those eyes saw his city burning during the evacuation. Now, on the beach in summer, Oleh builds bunkers instead of sandcastles. He thinks a lot about the war and does not understand why people invented rockets.
Those eyes saw his city burning during the evacuation. Now, on the beach in summer, Oleh builds bunkers instead of sandcastles. He thinks a lot about the war and does not understand why people invented rockets.
It is with this portrait, used for the exhibition poster, that “Thread: Transformation Rather than Brokenness” begins. On February 19, the joint project by the Voices of Children Charitable Foundation and photographer Marta Syrko opened at the Kyiv History Museum. The exhibition will run until March 1, 2026.
On the eve of the fourth anniversary of the full-scale invasion, Voices of Children brought together 15 portraits and 15 stories in one space. The photographs show how they’ve changed on the outside, while the texts tell how each child lived, changed, found support, and discovered new strength. The eyes of these children most precisely reflect their inner experiences, as well as the strength and resilience they carry despite the war.
On the eve of the fourth anniversary of the full-scale invasion, Voices of Children brought together 15 portraits and 15 stories in one space. The photographs show how they’ve changed on the outside, while the texts tell how each child lived, changed, found support, and discovered new strength. The eyes of these children most precisely reflect their inner experiences, as well as the strength and resilience they carry despite the war.
The stairs lead you to a hall on the second floor, and there, opposite the doors, you meet Ryta and her little daughter Stefania. Ryta first heard the sound of explosions at the age of ten—in 2014. That same year, she did her homework by candlelight for the first time. She had no school graduation celebration and no prom dress. Olena Rozvadovska, co-founder of Voices of Children, met Rita back in 2014 in Avdiivka. That very evening, Russian shelling began, and Ryta hid Olena in a neighbor’s cellar.
Today, Ryta is 22. New photographs from her wedding in a white dress, pictures with her daughter and husband are now placed into photo albums in a new home near Kyiv. Ryta works at Voices of Children, where she runs recreational programs. She is now herself a mother and a wife.
Today, Ryta is 22. New photographs from her wedding in a white dress, pictures with her daughter and husband are now placed into photo albums in a new home near Kyiv. Ryta works at Voices of Children, where she runs recreational programs. She is now herself a mother and a wife.
This is how the next story is born. This is how the thread stretches on, helping all of us hold together. This experience fills us completely. The immense power lies within this experience: the kind that can break you, yet also keep you standing. The war continues, but we hardly ask anymore when it will end. We just keep living. With this exhibition, we sought to convey the voices of children. Voices of strength, faith, love. But also, uncertainty, anxiety, and loss,
A blue thread runs through each portrait, connecting the exhibition into a single whole. It stretches from one face to another, from one fate to the next. The thread was strung between the portraits by the children themselves. The participants in the exhibition were weaving their stories into a shared path.
Marta Syrko is a master of portraiture. In 2025, Forbes included her in its list of 10 Women Preserving and Shaping Ukrainian Art and Culture. While working on “Thread,” she reflected on transformation—that moment when a person is still vulnerable, yet already being changed by experience.
These portraits are not about trauma as an endpoint. They are about process and a new form of strength born out of loss. And about the thread that connects a child to their memory, their dream, and their future,
Lidiia Karpenko, First Deputy Director General of the Museum, called the exhibition one of the most sensitive projects in the institution’s history.
We see how children used to grow up before the war and how they are growing up now, in entirely different circumstances. Looking today into these children’s eyes, despite all the pain and experience they have endured, we still hold on to hope that everything will be alright,
After the official opening, a panel discussion titled “Transformation Rather than Brokenness” took place in the hall. The most important voices belonged to the project’s participants themselves.
The first speaker was 18-year-old Liza. She is from Oleshky in the Kherson region, a city that is temporarily occupied by Russia. It endured flooding after the Kakhovka dam was destroyed. She shared that the war for her began not in 2022 but in 2014. That was when she first began to understand what was happening around her. Since then, Russia has always been perceived by her as a threat. Liza moved to Kyiv and enrolled in the Academy of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, where she studies practical psychology.
The first speaker was 18-year-old Liza. She is from Oleshky in the Kherson region, a city that is temporarily occupied by Russia. It endured flooding after the Kakhovka dam was destroyed. She shared that the war for her began not in 2022 but in 2014. That was when she first began to understand what was happening around her. Since then, Russia has always been perceived by her as a threat. Liza moved to Kyiv and enrolled in the Academy of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, where she studies practical psychology.
We will have to rebuild cities, I understand that. We will have to physically rehabilitate people who were injured. But it is just as important to rehabilitate people psychologically, both adults and children. I want to be part of that process. So that one day, over time, I will be able to tell myself that I made a real contribution,
In 2025, Liza spoke in The Hague, sharing her story of life under Russian occupation. She wants to speak. She also wants her story to be heard. Liza believes it is critically important not to forget about children who remain in occupied territories. It is important to speak about them every day, at every opportunity. Because, she believes, the moment we stop mentioning them, hope will dissolve.
I truly want the eyes of these children to reach into the soul of everyone who looks at these works. So that they do not allow silence and instead compel us to do everything possible to prevent such stories from repeating. We are here now and have the opportunity to speak, to be heard. But someone at this very moment, who is at our country’s borders, at the front line, or under occupation, does not have that opportunity. And among them are children,
Another participant, Maksym, is from the village of Podoly in the Kupiansk district. Russian forces occupied it almost immediately after the full-scale war began. For a year and a half, his family lived without communication or electricity. In September 2023, the village was liberated by Ukrainian forces. Soldiers gave Maksym and his sister a Starlink terminal and a generator so they could continue their studies.
The family remained there for about another year. Later, Ukrainian soldiers warned them: they could no longer stay. Two weeks after that warning, a drone carrying an explosive warhead struck the roof of their house.
The family remained there for about another year. Later, Ukrainian soldiers warned them: they could no longer stay. Two weeks after that warning, a drone carrying an explosive warhead struck the roof of their house.
My mother was just stepping outside to hang laundry. She was already opening the door when it happened. A few more seconds—and she might not have been there anymore,
After that, they evacuated to Kharkiv and have been living there for a year. Maksym dreams of becoming a teacher and wants to work with children—the same kids like he once was when the war began. It is this dream that keeps him going.
Transformation comes in two forms: physical and internal. Physical one happens when you change on the outside. And internal—when something much deeper changes within you. When your world can turn upside down, and you completely rethink your views, your goals, and yourself,
Kateryna Rashevska, a legal expert at the Regional Center for Human Rights, spoke about the systemic challenges in protecting children’s rights. She recalls how the arrest warrants for Putin and Lvova-Belova gave many people, who had lost wives, children, entire families, a sense that justice was finally possible. Yet today, her hope that Putin will one day stand trial is growing weaker.
We find ourselves in a situation where everything we believed in no longer works. I understand that eleven years ago I was naïve and romantic. At the same time, I try to convince both you and myself: we still can change the world for the better. But only on one condition: if we take off the rose-colored glasses and acknowledge the obvious: the world order that existed after the Second World War no longer exists,
She reflects that perhaps for Ukraine justice is not about punishing someone guilty. Perhaps, today its most important manifestation is different. First, to create conditions under which we can regularly return children from under Russian occupation. Second, to preserve all of this for history.
Sofiia Stetsenko, a psychologist at the Foundation who works in Sumy, knows what children bring to sessions. She explained that children’s requests vary greatly, and are not only about heavy or traumatic topics. They ask typical childhood questions: how to make friends, how to play when there is no electricity, how to live on and who to become in this life.
Sofiia Stetsenko, a psychologist at the Foundation who works in Sumy, knows what children bring to sessions. She explained that children’s requests vary greatly, and are not only about heavy or traumatic topics. They ask typical childhood questions: how to make friends, how to play when there is no electricity, how to live on and who to become in this life.
Most often now she is asked directly or indirectly whether post-traumatic growth is possible. Whether it is possible to move forward after everything endured and not break. Sofiia is confident that it is. She explained how this transformation occurs: a person gains new experience, reassesses their thoughts and aspirations, and changes their worldview.
There are portraits of children. There are the children themselves. And thanks to them, we see that growth is possible. Sometimes it means taking off rose-colored glasses and shattering the illusion of a safe world in which we once lived. Breaking illusions is always painful, but that is precisely what transformation is,
War is trauma. Ukrainians, she noted, carry collective trauma and may also experience personal losses and hardships. When prolonged exhaustion is added to this, the outlook is not simple. Yet it is precisely here that strength and faith can be born: if I have already survived this, I can survive more.
Of course, we are not talking about forgetting. Rather, about gaining new experience, entering a new dimension, and learning how to live within it. Stetsenko reminded the audience that those who are 10 years old today will, in another ten years, shape our history.
Of course, we are not talking about forgetting. Rather, about gaining new experience, entering a new dimension, and learning how to live within it. Stetsenko reminded the audience that those who are 10 years old today will, in another ten years, shape our history.
At the conclusion of the discussion, Olena Rozvadovska read the key words from each of the fifteen stories. These are the words of children that reflect what keeps them going when things are hard. Guests heard almost a collective portrait of a generation, as these statements formed one thread:
- “I dream of having a house in the Carpathians.”
- “Avoid withdrawing into myself.”
- “I can understand kids in a way few others can.”
- “To find strength in memories of home and in the love of those closest to me.”
- “My new strength is not being afraid of anything.”
- “To cope with panic.”
- “Not to stop dreaming.”
- “Music remains my main source of strength.”
- “I dream of becoming a teacher.”
- “My greatest dream is my father’s return from captivity.”
- “I am so happy about video calls from my dad.”
Next to Stefania’s portrait, the caption is very simple: “To be continued.” She has not yet had time to share what she relies on. Her answer lies ahead.
It was important for us to capture this moment: how children from different parts of the country are living through the present. So that someone might be inspired, recognize themselves, and ask: what can I do for children? We will have to endure a great deal of indifference and moments when it seems there is no justice. But the question is different: What do we rely on? Each of us will have our own source of support,
The exhibition “Thread: Transformation Rather than Brokenness” is open to visitors at the Kyiv History Museum (7 Bohdana Khmelnytskoho Street, second floor) until March 1, 2026. Visit to see with your own eyes the transformation of an entire generation of children who are forced to grow up in war.
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