Today, I’m joined by Tetyana Fiks, a Ukrainian cultural manager and curator based in Kyiv, whose work highlights the power of art in times of conflict. Born and raised in Ukraine, Tetyana has played a central role in promoting Ukrainian culture on international platforms, with significant contributions to projects such as the War Fragments Museum, the Bouquet Kyiv Stage Festival, and Kyiv Art Sessions.

The War Fragments Museum, which exhibited at the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development (EBRD) in London, uses epoxy resin-encased war artifacts to convey the personal stories of Ukrainians affected by war. Through this work, Tetyana emphasizes culture as a universal language that fosters empathy, identity, and resilience. She delves into the ethical considerations of preserving and displaying wartime artifacts, the production challenges her team has faced, and the crucial role of partnerships in sustaining these efforts.

Her involvement with the Bouquet Kyiv Stage Festival and Kyiv Art Sessions further reflects her dedication to making Ukrainian art accessible to global audiences. Through storytelling, artistic expression, and memory, Tetyana Fiks continues to champion Ukraine’s cultural resilience in the face of adversity.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: How do soft disciplines—such as the arts and cultural fields—contribute to the development and preservation of a society’s identity? And in what ways can these disciplines be effectively conveyed to international audiences as instruments of cosmopolitan diplomacy?

Tetyana Fiks: Do you mean in Ukraine specifically or in general?

Jacobsen: In general, we’ll narrow it down to Ukraine shortly. You’ll see where I’m going with it.

Fiks: I ask because we’re living through extraordinary times in Ukraine. So everything feels different here. But for me, culture is an international language. Everyone can understand cultural expressions—paintings, music, performances- no matter where you live. Culture allows us to communicate across borders and deliver important messages.

As a cultural manager, it’s essential for me to share these messages through Ukrainian culture and to highlight them internationally—especially because Ukrainian culture was suppressed and overshadowed by Russian culture for a long time.

Now, even many Ukrainians are discovering their own culture anew, so it is not only important—it is vital. Culture can also be a kind of weapon in that it shapes identity and perception, which we need to understand.

Jacobsen: How would you compare and contrast your experiences—not just with different cultures themselves but with how they evolve? Culture is not a fixed thing. It’s shaped by what people do.

Fiks: Are you referring to the cultures in Ukraine, the UK, or the U.S.?

Jacobsen: Primarily Ukraine and London since both are relevant to your work. But if you want to also reflect on the U.S., we can include that. How do these cultures feel and express themselves from within? And how are they perceived from the outside? Having that dual internal and external perspective can help you see where misunderstandings arise when cultures are interpreted out of context.

Fiks: I prefer not to discuss others’ mistakes in interpreting cultures. But yes, when you’re positioned between different cultural spheres, you notice how culture is often misunderstood. Each society has its own cultural rhythm, values, and symbols. Understanding those—both from the inside and the outside—is crucial for meaningful cultural exchange.

For culture, freedom is crucial. No matter if you’re an artist or an art manager, you should feel free in what you’re doing because art is about freedom. Of course, not all artists can work freely, but still—whether it’s Ukrainian culture, British culture, or the culture of any other country—they’re all different because culture is always tied to a specific context. It’s heritage. It belongs to a place and its people.

But in general, culture is important for me—and, of course, for many others. As I said before, it’s an international language. Whether it’s Ukrainian or Spanish, it’s interesting to me. When I go to another country, visiting a museum is the only way to understand it truly.

Only after that do I feel, “Yes, now I understand this country.” That’s how I connect emotionally and intellectually with a place and its people.

Jacobsen: You mentioned that Ukraine is experiencing a special moment in time, and that’s an important point. How do you bring culture forward uniquely during such extraordinary times?

Fiks: It’s a very interesting time because now the world knows about Ukraine. But often, the only thing people speak about is the war. And, of course, people are tired of hearing about war. We are tired too—but we have no choice. People outside Ukraine have a choice.

So we—my project, my colleagues, my team—try to speak about the war through the language of art. For example, we try to address the war through artistic means with the War Fragments Museum. We realized that people can understand the message when it’s conveyed through a beautiful piece of art.

It doesn’t hurt you at first glance. It becomes painful to read the story behind the piece and understand what it represents. But visually, it’s still a work of art. And that’s powerful. It’s the best way—not just for our project, but many artists and cultural managers are doing this. They are talking about the war and saying, “Look what we are going through,” but they are doing it in a way that isn’t overwhelming or traumatic for the audience.

So, if you want to speak now about Ukrainian culture and art, you must address the war. But if you’re a cultural manager, you cannot harm people emotionally with your work. You must find a way to deliver the message without being too harsh—at least try.

Jacobsen: What is the process of collecting and preserving war artifacts in the cubes?

Fiks: So, it’s a resin. So yes, you can damage a cube, but you can’t break it easily. That was important for us because the resin is long-lasting. It will survive for many years.

We collected all the artifacts and stories in February 2022 and 2023. We also went on expeditions to different cities and villages—some of which were occupied or near the front line—because we wanted to show the stories that most people would never see in the news.

It was important for us that these stories and these people not become just statistics—because they have names. The cities have names, and we wanted to make them visible. So we collected the stories. We talked to people. We spoke with soldiers who had gone through captivity. These experiences will always stay with us. Our team still remembers every story, every face, and every person we spoke with.

It was painful, but I’m glad we did it. It changed us—my team and me—and gave us a deeper understanding of the project. At first, we didn’t think we would go on expeditions. We thought we would write to volunteers and ask them to send us their stories and artifacts.

We received maybe 20 artifacts this way, but then we realized that was not enough. That could not be the core of this project. If we wanted to truly be part of it—and for the project to become part of us—we needed to go. We needed to talk to people and find these stories ourselves. And we did that. I’m grateful we did because it transformed the project.

Jacobsen: How do the artifacts from places like Kherson, Mariupol, or Sumy differ in terms of what they represent—historically and emotionally—compared to artifacts from other cities?

Fiks: I can’t compare artifacts. Even two artifacts from Mariupol—I can’t compare them. Each cube contains someone’s life. And every life is unique. You cannot compare one to another.

That’s why each cube is important. Of course, you might expect that artifacts from Mariupol or Lviv would be different—and they are. But they all carry a piece of the war inside. A war of this scale spreads across the entire country. Maybe Lviv is not on the front line, while Kharkiv is—but all the artifacts are still about war. They are about people. And that’s why I won’t compare any artifact or story.

Jacobsen: How do you balance historical documentation with emotional storytelling?

Fiks: We try to keep that balance because it’s important. Facts matter. Facts are things you can verify—true and check them online. But emotions matter, too, because this project is about people.

And no matter where you live—whether it’s the U.S., Canada, the UK, or Spain—when you read a story about a woman giving birth under missile strikes, you can imagine that. Or when a father buries his 13-year-old son next to the house because he can’t leave his home—you can imagine that, too.

I don’t even know how to describe it. But it’s personal. And as a human being, you understand this. It’s not about philosophy or abstract ideas. It’s about the basic things we all need—eating, living safely, giving birth in normal conditions. These are universal experiences.

Jacobsen: How does the museum aim to combat—using that word carefully—war fatigue or the desensitization that can come with prolonged exposure to war and suffering?

Fiks: Honestly, I think we’ll only truly understand that after the war is over. Right now, yes—we are tired. But it’s more than tiredness. It’s real fatigue.

Still, we know we have to keep going. We have to fight. We must support those on the front lines—our soldiers, our military. And we can’t allow ourselves to say, “Oh, I’m tired, I’ll do nothing.” We don’t have that luxury.

Everything you’re saying—yes—is something we must face once this war is over.

Jacobsen: Have you received contributions directly from soldiers? So you go there and gather stories in person—someone finds an artifact in the rubble of an administrative building, a primary school, or something belonging to a loved one on the front line. Maybe that soldier is now injured and cannot return to combat. Have you had moments where people heard about your project and gave you something, saying, “I want this to be preserved in resin and remembered”?

Fiks: Yes. I was amazed when Azov soldiers—who had been in Mariupol, were captured, taken to Russia, and eventually returned—shared their stories with us. We interviewed them after they were released from captivity while they were still in the hospital.

They gave us the one thing they had kept with them during captivity in Mariupol. I told them, “This is something you could give to your children or grandchildren—priceless.” But they said, “No. We want this to be part of history. We want it to be in a museum. We want this story to be told.”

I was deeply moved. When I say “I,” I’m also speaking on behalf of my team because this is a team project. We felt a huge responsibility. They gave us something that is beyond value. And then it became our mission—not to make the project famous—but to speak through this project, to speak with it.

So yes, we have these stories—especially from soldiers of Azov—and I’m very grateful we had the opportunity to talk to them. It was important for them to tell their stories, and it was important for us to listen.

Jacobsen: Soldiers have protocol. Politicians have messaging strategies. First responders have procedures. Doctors have ethical guidelines. For cultural managers and museum professionals, what is the protocol for the ethical and responsible handling of artifacts—even if those artifacts are embedded in resin and cannot be shattered, only damaged?

Fiks: The question of ethics was crucial for us. We had to ask ourselves with every story: “Is this, okay? Are we doing the right thing?”

Because we are living through the war, too, we are under missile strikes. We are not sitting in another country, calmly evaluating everything from a distance. No—we’re here. We’re under pressure and stress, like everyone else.

So we thought about it a lot. But we truly tried to make the project as ethical as possible. And I believe we succeeded—because we haven’t received a single message from any soldier, any official, or any private person saying, “Your project is unethical,” or, “You shouldn’t be doing this,” or, “You’re misrepresenting our stories.”

That tells me we’ve managed to approach this with the care and respect it demands.

But it was a hard question for us. With every story, we asked ourselves: Is it okay to share these things? Is it ethical? We questioned ourselves constantly.

Jacobsen: What is the importance of collaboration and partnerships? As you noted, museums do not come together alone—there’s a team. But what about teams working with other teams? How do you build partnerships? How do you maintain them? And how do you determine which ones are appropriate, especially for a project as sensitive as this?

Fiks: Of course, collaboration is important. In every field, it matters—but especially in cultural work. We collaborate with museums and galleries within Ukraine, and we also collaborate with partners outside of Ukraine. But for us, there are some key principles.

The most important is that the organization or person supports Ukraine. They cannot have any ties to Russia. That’s essential—because we cannot present the stories of Azov soldiers, for example, while collaborating with someone with connections to Russia. So our partners must support Ukraine, have no relationship with Russia, and not travel to Russia, among other things. Those are our non-negotiables.

Jacobsen: What has been the short-term impact of the exhibitions and the museum?

Fiks: That’s correct—our project is not just about the museum. We have two goals. One is to exhibit the resin cubes in Ukraine and internationally. The second is to raise funds through them. People can purchase a cube from our website, and the proceeds go to one of three charitable foundations we support.

Out of 300 cubes, we now have about 130 left—so we’ve already sold more than half. But we decided to reserve 30 to 40 cubes to donate to museums in Ukraine and abroad. We want this to become part of historical memory.

I should have said this initially: our project is about memory. Memory is essential to every nation because it shapes the future—it shapes future generations. We created this project for them to help them understand what happened. So yes, we will keep several cubes for permanent collections, but we are also using the rest to raise support. That balance is working well so far.

Jacobsen: What is your favourite cube?

Fiks: Oh, I can’t say that I have one favourite. But I really loved one—it has burned wheat inside.

Jacobsen: Burned wheat?

Fiks: Yes. It came from the Mykolaiv region. During the harvest season, there were heavy strikes in the area. The fields were burning—but farmers kept working to save the grain. Because in Ukraine, grain is everything. It is our bread—our symbol of life.

There are many photos of grain fields on fire, yet farmers continue to gather what they can. One of those farmers sent us a handful of scorched grain. The grains were whole but darkened by the fire. We turned that into a cube.

I loved that cube. It was sold in just one day.

But truly, I can’t say I have a favourite. These cubes are part of us. This isn’t just a project about art—it’s about war, about our people. And it will always be part of us. I don’t have a favourite cube or a favourite story. All of them are part of us, the team.

Even when someone buys a cube, I’m always happy—because it means we can help the foundations we support. But when I’m packing the cube, I always pause. I feel, “Okay…I understand I have to let it go,” but it’s still hard for me every time.

Jacobsen: The way the cubes are shaped—do you design them, so they are faceted in a way that allows light to reflect through them? So you can see the object more clearly no matter what angle you view it?

Fiks: They all have the same shape and size—15 centimetres by 15 centimetres. We have professional partners who manufacture them. This isn’t something just anyone can do. It takes a lot of resources, expertise, and time.

The epoxy resin we use was developed specifically for this project. It’s very difficult to produce a cube of this size that is still so transparent, so we waited a long time for this resin to be developed. Once we had it, we worked closely with our partners to figure out how to embed the objects to make them look like they’ve always been there.

But it wasn’t easy—it was a long and complicated process. I’m really glad we succeeded in producing the cubes exactly as we envisioned them. It’s a full production, not something that can be done in an office setting.

Jacobsen: I noticed in the online photos, especially from the angles at the vertices of each cube, that there’s a reflective quality—almost like the object inside is mirrored or glowing. Was that something you specifically requested from the resin and cube designers, or did that effect emerge?

Fiks: That effect wasn’t something we planned. It became apparent while we were already producing the cubes. We didn’t predict or request it in advance—but it turned out beautifully.

Jacobsen: How long are these cubes expected to last? Since this is a custom-made epoxy resin, does it have a longer shelf life than standard epoxy once it’s set?

Fiks: Yes. These cubes are designed to last forever. As I’ve said before, you can damage them but not break them. That was part of the idea. They will work like amber capturing history inside them.

Jacobsen: That also sounds like a metaphor.

Fiks: It can be seen as a metaphor. But yes, they are full solids. They will last. I hope they will last forever.

Jacobsen: What was Evgeni Utkin’s role and vision in founding the War Fragments Museum?

Fiks: Evgeny is a special person for all of us on the team. Before the full-scale invasion, he brought us together for another project. Without him, we would never have met or created the War Fragments Museum.

He supported us throughout the entire process—during the preparation period, during production, and once the cubes were ready. He helped in many ways, and I couldn’t list them all. He’s an incredibly important figure in this project. Without him, it wouldn’t exist in the way it does now.

Jacobsen: Were there any moments when the project nearly didn’t happen?

Fiks: There was one serious challenge. When we started producing the cubes, we had a donor and specific milestones to meet. But then a rocket struck the production site where the cubes were being made. We had to postpone everything.

Still, we overcame that delay and finished production in time to meet our project milestones. So yes, it came close, but we made it happen. That was the one major incident. Thankfully, everyone was alive.

Jacobsen: Is there a particular quote from any of the stories—an excerpt or phrase from the descriptions that stand out to you?

Fiks: A quote? I’m not sure I understand the question.

Jacobsen: Ah, yes—so the cubes, as I understand, come with descriptions or accompanying stories. Is there one of those—not necessarily your favourite—but one you’ve been thinking about recently? Something that continues to resonate with you because of its poignancy?

Fiks: Yes, now I understand what you mean. I still carry some sentences from those stories in my mind. I remember certain lines. Not just one—I have a few of them that stay with me and that I think about often.

But they are painful, so I prefer not to say them aloud. I think everyone who’s interested should visit our website and find their own quote. Your quote will be different, depending on your circumstances, your thoughts, and your life. Everyone interested should find their own.

Jacobsen: Tetyana, thank you so much for your time today. It was a pleasure to meet you, and I appreciate your expertise.

Fiks: Thank you so much, Scott. It was nice to meet you, too. Thank you for having me.