Yesterday’s peace, today’s war
First, a woman’s voice and a haunting song, then a screech as she pulls the scotch tape, flattens it against the atelier’s immense windows. Methodical, the tape zigzags across the panes like lightning, or snakes. She is Maryna Semenkova, a photographer and performance artist; she explains that when Putin’s forces invaded, the Ukrainian government ordered the people to tape their windows, lest the bomb blasts turn the glass into shrapnel.
photo & video by Luca Papini
International conflicts, invasions, senseless massacres: if only we had a stronger torch than art for these dark depths. Yet Atelier 11 has been sheltering creatives for a hundred and fifty years. World famous artists, that rocked the foundations of their craft, and influenced entire generations. Artists like Amedeo Modigliani and Chaïm Soutine: mismatched brothers of la bohème, one the pinnacle of manners, the other impatiently tapping his fork on the plate when the waiter was slow.
Art is more than a torch; it’s also a shield. In the absence of state protection and sponsorship, Atelier 11 has always been defended by the very artists it harbours – when Maryna tapes the windows, she participates in a longer arc of artistic guardians who refuse to allow Atelier 11, also known as the historic Cité Falguière, to be absorbed into apartment blocks, heritage forgotten.
Artists still need the support and love of local organizations, like L’AiR Arts, whose tireless champion Mila absorbed Atelier 11 into her larger portfolio of artistic endeavours, for example the pre-COVID residency, where Paris Lit Up’s talented team was responsible for the writing component of an international multi-disciplinary residency. PLU arranged a gauntlet of literary events including multiple workshops, an open mic night, and a walking tour. My role was to brush the dust from Farewell to Arms, apologize profusely for Hemingway’s warts, and deep dive into the literature of conflict following WW1.
Malik Crumpler holds a workshop for L’AiR Arts residents in January 2020
PLU’s friendship with L’AiR Arts has weathered the storm; The PLU team arrived at Atelier 11 in force: Ed, Leah, Ursula, Chris, Jonny, Sebastien and myself, but it was Ed, I think, who brought the bottle of champagne, still chilled. And that, my friends, is how you turn a business meeting into a proper French soirée, but also the cheese and the glittering banter bouncing from the taped windows high above. We were celebrating – Mila had agreed to host the upcoming PLU9 magazine launch in Atelier 11 over a thrill-filled weekend of workshops and performances from 17-19 June.
Barely had the glasses stopped ringing from the toasts and cries of “santé!” when Mila invited us into the subterranean multimedia haven, where we watched videos that unpacked Atelier 11’s storied history while drinking champagne and Ed read the film’s subtext in his huge theatrical voice, and eventually we made it all the way to Maryna Semenkova. The window guardian. The atelier’s last resident. Who fled Ukraine in frantic flight – she and her boyfriend trying to escape the city as all the familiar things turned unfamiliar, yesterday’s road blockaded. Yesterday’s boulevard obstructed by soldiers with rifles. Yesterday’s cars transformed into today’s rumbling tanks. Yesterday’s dreams shattered by tonight’s bombings. Yesterday’s peace, today’s war.
Afterward we all sat in silence in the subterranean multimedia haven. The projector flickered and the screen reverted to white brick. Sometimes when the glasses run dry like this I feel it’s my duty to talk “as a veteran,” so I said the thing in my heart: that Maryna expressed it perfectly. The feeling of being trapped in war, whether you’re a civilian or a soldier, the uncontrollable destiny. That’s why they call it a theatre of war – because we’re all compelled to play our parts.
For a moment there, I confess, the trapped feeling was coming back, and for an instant it didn’t seem like a subterranean multimedia haven; it felt like a stone coffin. Even as they popped open the next bottle of bubbles, my friends became my jailors and in my panic to breathe free air my goodbyes were hasty.
Rebuilt myself on the street with deep breaths. From inside wafted laughter and the clinking of glasses even though, overhead, the Atelier 11 windows still wore tape. As if one day soon the bombs will fall in Paris, too. I imagine the tape will remain until Putin’s aggression ceases, and Ukraine is finally free. Since the start, L’AiR Arts has hosted solidarity events for Ukrainian victims: children’s programs; residencies for artists from war-torn zones; and artistic showings enhanced by vats of borscht. Feel helpless in the face of international conflict, yet compelled to make a difference? You’re not alone. Follow this link to make a meaningful contribution.
Fast forward – the aftermath of war. I recognize the way the tape clings fiercely to its shards, casting shadows like teeth. It’s the same way we hold onto art, a dream of healing and reconciliation, even if inside we’re still shattered glass.
With thanks to artistic communities like Atelier 11 and L’AiR Arts, I’m confident one day the tape will come down. Maryna will return home and plant a garden.
Written by Matt Jones