Interview with an artist, researcher, and curator on projects restoring cultural heritage

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Mosaic is not just an art form — it’s a part of Ukraine’s cultural heritage. The technique of assembling mosaics dates back to ancient times. In Ukraine, it has undergone several revivals, each shaped by the country’s shifting political landscape.
During the Soviet period, mosaics were used as tools of Russian propaganda — and at the same time, as quiet acts of Ukrainian cultural resistance.
What happens to these mosaics today? How does artist Anastasiia Leliuk work to restore them, create new ones, and engage local communities in the process? This story explores her path, her motivations, and her vision for the future of Ukrainian monumental art.
The word mosaic comes from the Latin musaicum — “dedicated to the Muses.” It describes an artistic composition made of small fragments of stone, smalt, glass, or tile. Each mosaic tells a story — a visual narrative crafted with materials and color.
Early mosaics were made of natural stones. With the invention of smalt — colored glass in Byzantium, the art form became more vivid, durable, and expressive.
Anastasiia Leliuk is an artist working in the field of monumental art. Her interest in mosaics began during her learning a technique that bridges architecture and fine art at an art academy.
“In 2014, during the period of decommunization in Ukraine, monumental art came under more active destruction — and, as a result, more active study. That’s when I began working on art projects in Dnipro as part of Studios of Living History by Insha Osvita, which supported decentralization. Together, with my friend and researcher of monumental art, Tetiana Zhuriі, we organized tours and workshops to promote the idea of preserving these works.”
Today, Anastasiia focuses on restoring mosaics, though she occasionally creates new ones.
“Creating new mosaics is the next stage — one we are just approaching. But restoration feels more urgent. Many mosaics without official heritage status are simply decaying. I don’t want to lose what can still be saved.”
One of Anastasiia’s recent projects, curated in collaboration with cultural manager Tetiana Tadai, is a mosaic created for the “Obrii Trypillia” shopping center in Kyiv region. The developers were inspired by Borovyter, an exhibition dedicated to Ukrainian artist Alla Horska, a monumental artist, dissident, and human rights activist who became a symbol of artistic resistance in the 20th century. Horska’s fearless defiance of Soviet oppression ultimately cost her life: she was murdered by the Soviet secret services.
“That exhibition made people realize that mosaic is a powerful technique — and reminded us of Soviet monumental propaganda in the 1960s, when Alla worked. For Ukrainians, mosaics became a tool of resistance. Artists were commissioned to depict ‘leaders,’ yet they sought ways to create something more profound. It was an act of reclaiming Ukrainian identity — of searching for and shaping it.”
For the Trypillia project, Anastasiia drew inspiration from Trypillian culture, using its ancient motifs to reflect the region’s history.
Kyivan Rus (11th–12th centuries). Ukraine’s oldest mosaic heritage lies in St. Sophia Cathedral, created by Byzantine and Ukrainian masters. Mosaics from St. Michael’s Golden-Domed Monastery were dismantled by the Soviet authorities in 1937 and taken to Russia, and have never been returned.
Postwar period. After two wars, rapid and economical reconstruction was necessary.A decree to “simplify architectural forms” was issued in 1995, leading to the rise of Khrushchevka apartment blocks — quick and affordable buildings designed to meet urgent housing needs. To add visual interest to these plain structures, mosaics were incorporated on facades. However, their themes were strictly controlled.
Monumental propaganda (1960s). The Soviet regime started using mosaics as instruments of propaganda even more, glorifying the Party, labor, industrialization, and space exploration. Mosaics became emblems of the Soviet ideological landscape.
In the 1960s–1980s, a new generation of artists — the Sixtiers — emerged in Kyiv, Lviv, and Dnipro. Through monumental art, they sought to preserve Ukrainian identity. Mosaics became a form of quiet defiance and national expression.
After the collapse of the USSR, state support for monumental art disappeared. Today, most new mosaics are created for churches or private commissions. The cultural meaning of the medium remains deeply rooted in Ukraine’s history.
During Soviet times, large-scale artistic projects were approved only through official channels — under the strict control of the Artists’ Union and the Communist Party. Yet artists found creative ways to embed Ukrainian imagery despite censorship.
“For example, Ada Rybachuk and Volodymyr Melnychenko incorporated motifs inspired by Maria Prymachenko — whose art was banned — into the interior of the Kyiv Palace of Children and Youth.
To avoid censorship, they invited a friend to pretend to film an ‘official’ report of the unveiling, though the camera had no film. This act created the illusion of prior approval and allowed the work to survive.”
In addition to working with mosaics, Anastasiia explores land art — creating artworks from natural and eco-friendly materials that coexist with their environment.
“It’s an art of minimal interference. The idea is not to produce new materials, but to engage in dialogue with nature.”
During her participation in the Mythogenesis Land Art Festival in Ukraine, she learned to design installations that organically blend into landscapes — a continuation of her philosophy of restoration and connection.
Mosaic is not just an art form — it’s a part of Ukraine’s cultural heritage. The technique of assembling mosaics dates back to ancient times. In Ukraine, it has undergone several revivals, each shaped by the country’s shifting political landscape.
During the Soviet period, mosaics were used as tools of Russian propaganda — and at the same time, as quiet acts of Ukrainian cultural resistance.
What happens to these mosaics today? How does artist Anastasiia Leliuk work to restore them, create new ones, and engage local communities in the process? This story explores her path, her motivations, and her vision for the future of Ukrainian monumental art.
The word mosaic comes from the Latin musaicum — “dedicated to the Muses.” It describes an artistic composition made of small fragments of stone, smalt, glass, or tile. Each mosaic tells a story — a visual narrative crafted with materials and color.
Early mosaics were made of natural stones. With the invention of smalt — colored glass in Byzantium, the art form became more vivid, durable, and expressive.
Anastasiia Leliuk is an artist working in the field of monumental art. Her interest in mosaics began during her learning a technique that bridges architecture and fine art at an art academy.
“In 2014, during the period of decommunization in Ukraine, monumental art came under more active destruction — and, as a result, more active study. That’s when I began working on art projects in Dnipro as part of Studios of Living History by Insha Osvita, which supported decentralization. Together, with my friend and researcher of monumental art, Tetiana Zhuriі, we organized tours and workshops to promote the idea of preserving these works.”
Today, Anastasiia focuses on restoring mosaics, though she occasionally creates new ones.
“Creating new mosaics is the next stage — one we are just approaching. But restoration feels more urgent. Many mosaics without official heritage status are simply decaying. I don’t want to lose what can still be saved.”
One of Anastasiia’s recent projects, curated in collaboration with cultural manager Tetiana Tadai, is a mosaic created for the “Obrii Trypillia” shopping center in Kyiv region. The developers were inspired by Borovyter, an exhibition dedicated to Ukrainian artist Alla Horska, a monumental artist, dissident, and human rights activist who became a symbol of artistic resistance in the 20th century. Horska’s fearless defiance of Soviet oppression ultimately cost her life: she was murdered by the Soviet secret services.
“That exhibition made people realize that mosaic is a powerful technique — and reminded us of Soviet monumental propaganda in the 1960s, when Alla worked. For Ukrainians, mosaics became a tool of resistance. Artists were commissioned to depict ‘leaders,’ yet they sought ways to create something more profound. It was an act of reclaiming Ukrainian identity — of searching for and shaping it.”
For the Trypillia project, Anastasiia drew inspiration from Trypillian culture, using its ancient motifs to reflect the region’s history.
Kyivan Rus (11th–12th centuries). Ukraine’s oldest mosaic heritage lies in St. Sophia Cathedral, created by Byzantine and Ukrainian masters. Mosaics from St. Michael’s Golden-Domed Monastery were dismantled by the Soviet authorities in 1937 and taken to Russia, and have never been returned.
Postwar period. After two wars, rapid and economical reconstruction was necessary.A decree to “simplify architectural forms” was issued in 1995, leading to the rise of Khrushchevka apartment blocks — quick and affordable buildings designed to meet urgent housing needs. To add visual interest to these plain structures, mosaics were incorporated on facades. However, their themes were strictly controlled.
Monumental propaganda (1960s). The Soviet regime started using mosaics as instruments of propaganda even more, glorifying the Party, labor, industrialization, and space exploration. Mosaics became emblems of the Soviet ideological landscape.
In the 1960s–1980s, a new generation of artists — the Sixtiers — emerged in Kyiv, Lviv, and Dnipro. Through monumental art, they sought to preserve Ukrainian identity. Mosaics became a form of quiet defiance and national expression.
After the collapse of the USSR, state support for monumental art disappeared. Today, most new mosaics are created for churches or private commissions. The cultural meaning of the medium remains deeply rooted in Ukraine’s history.
During Soviet times, large-scale artistic projects were approved only through official channels — under the strict control of the Artists’ Union and the Communist Party. Yet artists found creative ways to embed Ukrainian imagery despite censorship.
“For example, Ada Rybachuk and Volodymyr Melnychenko incorporated motifs inspired by Maria Prymachenko — whose art was banned — into the interior of the Kyiv Palace of Children and Youth.
To avoid censorship, they invited a friend to pretend to film an ‘official’ report of the unveiling, though the camera had no film. This act created the illusion of prior approval and allowed the work to survive.”
In addition to working with mosaics, Anastasiia explores land art — creating artworks from natural and eco-friendly materials that coexist with their environment.
“It’s an art of minimal interference. The idea is not to produce new materials, but to engage in dialogue with nature.”
During her participation in the Mythogenesis Land Art Festival in Ukraine, she learned to design installations that organically blend into landscapes — a continuation of her philosophy of restoration and connection.
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