There are many theories of museum strategies, described in articles and books, that we draw upon. They address economy, ethics, community engagement, education, climate change, decolonization, and more—topics that allow us to explore difficult questions and see ourselves as part of global processes, as part of one vast ecosystem. Yet sometimes we face existential challenges here and now. In such moments, it is vital not to lose one another, to remain a network that supports, that clearly defines its ethical boundaries and questions of justice, but above all, that values human life.
In times of war, we have not abandoned these concerns. Yet, as the Ukrainian writer Andriy Lyubka put it: for Ukrainians “everything here has been simplified to the very essence of things.” This does not mean reducing their complexity, but rather going straight to the core, casting aside what is non-essential. The Bohdan and Varvara Khanenko National Museum of Arts holds the most significant collection of world art in Ukraine, spanning from antiquity to the early 20th century: masterpieces from ancient Egypt, Greece, and European and Asian traditions. It was assembled by private collectors, Bohdan and Varvara Khanenko, at the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries. During the Soviet occupation, both the artworks and the residence were nationalized, and the founders’ names erased. After Ukraine regained independence, the museum restored justice and honored its benefactors. Today, the museum bears their names and continues to operate in the historic home where they once lived.
Until February 24, 2022, we were quite an “academic” museum of classical art—highly respected by Kyiv residents and visitors, a place of inspiration for many. We had programs for different audiences but rarely stepped into the field of contemporary art. In late 2024, we received the CIMAM Award for Outstanding Museum Practices—a recognition of the strength of our work and of shifting global norms.
We submitted our project as the strategy and activities we carried out during the first year and a half of the full-scale war launched by Russia against Ukraine. The architecture of our decisions—regarding safeguarding heritage, ensuring safety, maintaining public access, strengthening team cohesion, creating a space of solidarity, and keeping a voice in cultural policy—was deliberate. Each step was a response to challenges as they arose, and together they formed a balanced and consistent action program.
At the end of February 2022, we found ourselves alone within empty walls, under constant sirens, blackouts, and bombings. We focused on protecting the artworks and made several crucial choices: to stay and work, to defend the museum, and to keep it alive.
Only a few months later, we reopened for visitors in a half-empty Kyiv. We literally began to feel an attempt to erase our identity and memory. We realized that the sense of emptiness was not ours alone. Reopening brought us closer to the essence of the museum’s mission: to serve society, at all times.
Cleaning glass shards in the museum halls after the explosion on October 10, 2022. Photo by Yurii Stefanyak
So what can you do when your collection becomes inaccessible? When galleries are empty, yet not void? That is where the greatest challenge—and opportunity—begins: you are free to do anything, but are you ready for such freedom?
We began collaborating with contemporary artists and rediscovering ourselves through new projects: contemporary opera, youth research initiatives, partnerships with private collections. But our first step was caring for people. At a time when everyone was caring for soldiers, weapons, or evacuating children, parents, and pets, we said: “We can care for you. You can rest here. You need not carry responsibility—we will carry it for you.”
How did we do this? We opened our small inner courtyard, served coffee and homemade pastries, placed art books, bowls of water for pets, spread a carpet and beanbags—we created a hortus conclusus. It became a place of solidarity and care. We organized practical workshops—not about drawing, unfortunately, but about how to professionally pack family treasures and heirlooms in case they needed to be evacuated. Visitors valued this deeply. Every meeting was deeply emotional and helped us stay together.
The next challenge was how to make sense of what was happening to us and how to preserve memory. We began guided tours through the museum’s empty halls, called Shadows and Walls, telling the story of the institution. We also invited contemporary artists to join us in documenting and interpreting this moment and experience.
Museum courtyard 2022_photo by Veronika Treitiak
Another question was how to care for ourselves, as a team—not project managers or curators of contemporary art, but museum researchers and custodians of memory. To support them, we launched a biweekly program Behind the Secret Doors: once every two weeks, we unpacked a single object, told its story, and then carefully packed it for safety. Interestingly, most colleagues chose to present works that had never been shown in the permanent exhibition. Thus, during the war, many pieces met the public for the first time.
On October 10, 2022, a Russian missile struck in the heart of Kyiv just 20 meters from the museum. Our historic late 19th-century windows, doors, and part of the ceiling were shattered into tons of glass. At that moment, we could have broken down and said “enough.” But instead, we discovered new strength. Museums are often seen as “beggars”—always asking for help. Yet they also hold the unique power to focus and redirect collective energy. After the blast, one of Ukraine’s most famous singers, Jamala, offered to hold a special event to present her new album and raise funds for the museum’s windows. We appreciated it, but asked that the money be redirected to those who could prevent broken windows in the future—Ukrainian snipers. Later, earlier this year, we also organized a blood donation day in the museum.
Why did we apply for the award? Because every step our team took was a challenge; every action was an act of courage—not only staying in Kyiv, but also venturing into artistic practices previously unfamiliar to the institution. It also honors the courage and dedication of those museum employees who took the most fundamental step by joining the ranks of the Armed Forces of Ukraine to safeguard our heritage.
We kept constantly asking ourselves: Will this action or project strengthen those around us? Will it help preserve our memory? Will it protect our history from being erased?
For me, as director, it was crucial that the entire team was recognized, not only the leadership. CIMAM is precisely this kind of award—a recognition of collective practice. What matters is not only the treasures you hold, but how you act as an institution. Are you truly serving society today?
And if I were to offer one piece of advice, it would be this: be radically honest with yourselves, and ask what your institutions are truly doing for the benefit of society and the world. Try to get to the essence of things.