For many Ukrainian women artists, the Austrian cultural scene initially became a place of forced pause – without familiar institutions, clear rules, or knowledge of the language. Yet it was precisely within this uncertainty that new informal networks of support began to emerge: mutual aid, the sharing of resources, solidarity, and collaborative projects. Together, they have formed what can be described as an alternative infrastructure of cultural presence.

Over the course of four years of forced migration, most of these artists have learned German and have begun to integrate more confidently into the local cultural landscape. While this infrastructure is far from perfect – shaped by challenges and differing paces of adaptation – it has opened up new opportunities and new forms of visibility. Ukrainian women artists are not merely integrating into the local cultural scene; they are actively shaping it through new themes, lived experiences, and ways of interpreting them.

In this article, we explore how Ukrainian women artists who found themselves in Austria after the full-scale invasion, particularly in Graz, are building their public presence through informal networks of support. How visibility is born in an unfamiliar environment, and at what cost it is achieved, we discussed with visual artist Elmira Shemsedinova, theatre director Vladyslava Chentsova, and cultural manager Marsel Osovska.

Our responsibility is to find a language for difficult conversations about war

Vladyslava Chentsova arrived in Graz by chance, following an opportunity to work on a theatre project responding to the full-scale invasion. Originally from Kharkiv, she graduated from the University of the Arts and now works as a director, actress and puppetry artist, combining theatre with documentary storytelling.

One of her most striking works in Graz was the performance I SHE HER, based on real stories of Ukrainian women. In this piece, she explores themes of female identity and inner strength, tracing experiences of childhood, coming of age, motherhood, and maturity against the backdrop of profound personal and societal transformation.

In Graz, like many other artists, Vladyslava had to start from scratch: from learning the language and finding her place in a new environment to staging performances in German and conducting workshops for local audiences.

Vladyslava, how do you feel living in Graz?

I still find it difficult to fully accept that I live in Graz. I arrived here by chance – there was an opportunity to stage a performance to make the topic of the Russian invasion more visible. My partner is serving in the military, and I try to return to Ukraine from time to time. Even though I have lived here for almost four years, have work and social connections, I cannot say that I feel fully settled. But this is more of an internal feeling than an objective reality.

Have you encountered stereotypes or expectations as a Ukrainian artist?

Overall, I was lucky to meet very open and supportive people. They helped not only with words but with actions: suggesting new opportunities, explaining how institutions in Graz function, assisting with grant applications, and supporting my language learning.

What was the reaction of the Austrian audience to your performance about Ukrainian women, I SHE HER?

It was difficult for me to fully grasp the audience’s reaction because, at that time in 2024, my German was not yet strong enough. Communication barriers remain a challenge even now. At the same time, many women said that such conversations are deeply needed and currently lacking. It was not only about the war, but about women’s experiences more broadly and the challenges women face regardless of nationality.

Why was it important for you to speak about women’s experiences?

It was a difficult period. I struggled to return to theatre because it felt as though nothing could change the harsh reality of war. There was even a sense of rejection – a desire for more radical and concrete action. Yet at the same time, I understood that theatre is part of my identity. I was in constant dialogue with other women, even while we were in different countries. It became a kind of circle of support. From this, the idea emerged to speak about our experiences – both among ourselves and with others.

What forms of support work best for you personally?

It is very individual. For me, what matters is multiplicity, not only speaking about trauma, but also expressing strength through art. As an artist, it is important that local audiences do not perceive us as coming from a ‘third-rate’ country. That is why I want to share my work and highlight our strengths. It is also very important to me when I am not offered collaborations with Russian artists. It shows that the person understands the context.

Was there an expectation for you to speak only about the war?

I would say the opposite: there is often an expectation not to speak about the war. It seems to me that people who have not experienced war prefer not to talk about it, because otherwise it disrupts the illusion that the war is somehow not present. At the same time, I believe it is our responsibility to find a language for this conversation. We can no longer speak about the war in the same way we did at the beginning

What does it mean for you to be visible in another country?

It means being part of the artistic landscape, this diverse weave of cultures. It is quite a complex question who exactly creates this visibility. But I believe that there is great strength in the professional community and in mutual support. The exchange of resources, shared initiatives, and the opportunity to apply for grants are all essential.

What transformations have you gone through over these four years?

I have gone through many stages of rethinking myself in the context of the war. One important moment was distancing myself from Russian culture, which helped me understand who I am, who Ukrainians are, and what culture and art stand behind us. This has allowed me to better understand my identity. At the beginning, there was a sense of paralysis, when many things happened almost automatically. But now I feel that I can create the art I love and understand – already in German.

What are you working on now?

On 9–10 April, the premiere of my new performance Alles nur da oben will take place at Theater am Lend. It’s a German-language production for both children and adults.

Is this performance no longer about the war?

I feel that everything I do is, in one way or another, connected to the war. Even if not directly, then metaphorically. My experience and my identity are shaped through this lens. I understand that for some people, a performance for children about the inner world may not be about war. But for me, it is about the image of the child as the image of the future – something we must protect. So even stories connected to themes of the future, responsibility, and care are, for me, also about the war. Perhaps this experience will remain with us forever. It has profoundly changed me. It was a harsh departure from naivety, from a state that could be called childhood.

In Graz, there is a strong public demand for art and a living tradition of supporting it

Elmira Shemsedinova arrived in Graz after being forced to leave Kyiv due to the ongoing Russian attacks. An artist of Crimean Tatar origin, she works with themes of memory, loss, and identity. She is the author of numerous solo exhibitions, one of which, Tense Horizon, was created in Graz and attracted the attention of a wide audience.

Elmira is a fourth-generation artist. Through painting and graphic art, she returns to the themes of Crimea, the deportation of the Crimean Tatars, and the continuity of a culture that endures despite the loss of home. Following her forced relocation, she was able to integrate into the local art scene and establish strong connections with both Ukrainian and Austrian artists.

 Elmira, what helps Ukrainian artists build their visibility in Graz?

In my view, Graz is quite unique in how it supports artists and encourages new collaborations. From the very beginning, a large artistic community formed around Office Ukraine Graz. The organisation launched a mentorship programme: each artist was matched with a mentor. I would even say not just a mentor, but a friend within the local artistic community. These were experienced individuals with an established artistic background and exhibition history, carefully selected according to each artist’s practice.

This is how I met the artist Isa Riedl and Franz Konrad, who offered me the use of his studio on a flexible basis. Isa introduced me to galleries and explained how the local community works. What I truly appreciate is the effort to create a welcoming environment in Graz where you can visit people, enter their studios, meet others, experience new things, and not feel like an outsider.

Was your artistic practice interrupted after your relocation?

No, I did not stop my artistic work. However, since 2013 there has been a noticeable shift in my practice. At that time, I created a large series dedicated to Crimea. It was through this theme that many people first learned about my work. These were pieces about the loss of home and about identity, particularly Crimean Tatar identity. But I truly felt support for the first time in Graz. Here, together with a curator, I realised my first solo exhibition, Tense Horizon. It was supported by a three-month scholarship from the Ministry of Culture, which I received twice. On both occasions, I was able to realise substantial projects that were presented in Austria.

Do you feel competition as an artist in Graz?

There are around thirty galleries in Graz, which is remarkable for a city of this size. By comparison, Kyiv has roughly ten active galleries, while Kharkiv, despite its scale, had only two. Lviv has slightly more, but still not enough. In Graz, however, there is a distinct microclimate in which galleries function actively. I found this deeply impressive. And when we took part in Gallery Weekend for the first time last year, it was very meaningful for me. It was here that I truly felt part of a community –a Ukrainian community that is integrating into the Austrian one. I did not experience this in Kyiv, where support was far more limited. I understand that the current situation is shaped by the war, but overall, Graz has a strong public demand for art and a living tradition of supporting it.

Did you find your niche here?

I would say I am still in the process. I cannot claim that I have fully found my niche in the market yet, as I am still trying to understand how things work here. We, as Ukrainian artists, already differ from Austrian ones because we come from a post-Soviet academic background. I have a very solid academic training, as do many of my colleagues. As a painter, I feel that this is somewhat lacking in Graz, because painting itself is not very prominent here. There is a strong presence of contemporary art, with various formats I have a very solid academic training I have a very solid academic training – broader or more niche, but painting, in my view, is underrepresented. So I feel that I am doing something that is relatively rare in this context.

Does the theme of war remain present in your work, despite a broader expectation to move away from it?

We cannot simply discard the theme of war from our background. It will remain with us for a long time. At the same time, there is indeed a certain fatigue surrounding this discourse. Austrian audiences tend to expect works that address universal human concerns, as well as feminist and ecological themes. In my work, there is no direct depiction of war. Instead, I explore themes of trauma, transgenerational memory, and events that have touched us. There are many internal resonances connected to the Crimean Tatar experience, because Crimea was the first territory occupied by Russia. My family lost the home built by my grandfather, and this loss is reflected in my work. A significant part of my practice is therefore connected to Crimea. I also see that this theme has become increasingly relevant to European audiences following the annexation of Crimea.

What makes the visibility of Ukrainian art in Graz possible?

Language, without question. Once I fully realised that I wanted to stay in Graz and develop my work here, I understood that German was essential. It opens up new opportunities for artists. More broadly, I would say that our visibility is largely built through collective initiatives and collaborative projects. One example is the studio-gallery ZIEGEL, founded by Ukrainian artists. This space has existed for two years now, and for us it is essential not to work exclusively with Ukrainians. If we connect with projects by Austrian artists or curators, we also offer them space.

This is something I truly value. We are not focused solely on ourselves. Thanks to Office Ukraine Graz and everyone who supports us, we have already achieved a strong level of visibility. Our work still operates as a volunteer initiative, but we have received support from the state of Styria to cover rent. We have our own space and organise numerous exhibitions, artist talks, workshops, and concerts. The residents of Graz are gradually becoming accustomed to our presence and are increasingly attending our events.

You have to create your own visibility. Don’t wait for permission.

Marsel Osovska is a 20-year-old cultural manager and artist from Vinnytsia. She is currently studying intercultural management and is integrating into the artistic environment of Carinthia. Starting out as an artist, she gradually moved into cultural curating, focusing on organising projects and creating opportunities for other artists.

In her practice, Marsel explores themes of migration, war, and the interaction between different cultural communities. She seeks not only to integrate into a new environment, but also to create space within it for Ukrainian discourse.

Marsel, what stereotypes have you encountered in Austria?

When I first arrived, I was 17. At that age, people are usually just finishing school and entering university, so I felt a bit of prejudice and lack of trust during internships and work. Now I work confidently in this field, but at the beginning I was not taken seriously. There are also cultural differences. For example, Austria is a high-context society, where many rules and norms remain unspoken. If you cannot read them, difficulties arise. Ukrainians, by contrast, tend to communicate more openly. This difference can sometimes lead to misunderstandings.

What is the atmosphere within the cultural environment now?

It seems to me that cultural initiatives are currently coming together rather than competing. A lack of funding has actually led to greater solidarity: different teams collaborate. Even people who may have tensions in their personal relationships come together to continue creating artistic projects. There is a shared feeling that everyone lacks resources, yet everyone is trying to cope with this together and support one another.

What are you working on now?

At the moment, I am doing an internship at a cultural centre at the university in Klagenfurt. I am also developing my own projects. One of them is an exhibition-performance project we are creating together with curator Oleksandr Halishchuk – Ich habe mich in DACH verliebt. It explores relationships between people with migration experience and local residents. We want to create a space where these different communities can interact both socially and on a personal level. It will be an exhibition with performative elements, focused on dialogue and mutual understanding between different communities.

Is the perception of the war changing within the cultural environment?

I see a certain fatigue around the topic of war. At the same time, the presence of Russian cultural content is growing again. Russia is becoming romanticised among younger audiences. I believe we need to speak about the war even more loudly. We need to find new creative approaches and artistic forms. But the main task now is to push Russian presence out of the information space. For me, the question is not whether to speak about the war, but how to keep it from fading from view.

Have your works been exhibited?

Yes, they have been presented twice at group exhibitions. I also had my first solo exhibition in Villach, at Kulturhof. I began to paint about the war roughly a year after relocating – not about displacement or migration, but about the war itself. For example, I have a painting where a ghost walks hand in hand through the city with a Russian nuclear bomb. For me, it represents the idea that wherever I go, the Russian trace follows alongside me. A person can be taken out of war, but war cannot be taken out of a person.

What does it mean for you to be visible in another country?

In my view, you have to create your own visibility. If you do not connect with people in local communities and build your own network, no one will do it for you. There is no need to wait for permission or to ask for the right to be present. You simply have to be, to show who you are, collaborate, and build your reputation in that way.

What are the main challenges for Ukrainian artists in the Austrian cultural sphere?

First and foremost, of course, language. Although I said that one must actively integrate into the community, without the language it is extremely difficult. The second important aspect is cultural codes. You need to understand how local cultural mechanisms work: how to apply for projects, negotiate, communicate, and maintain the appropriate pace and distance in professional relationships. And, of course, it is very difficult to secure funding for projects. It is challenging even for Austrians and even more so for Ukrainians.

In what forms do informal support networks for artists take shape?

They can be very simple: giving advice, sharing opportunities, joining a project not necessarily as a co-organiser, but by helping in small ways –for example, distributing flyers. For me, that is also support. Emotional support is equally important. The cultural community may not be the primary source of stability, but when you are heard not only as an artist, but also as a person who has experienced war, it makes a significant difference.

For me, it is important that art and cultural work can be not only a form of self-expression, but also a way of creating connections and support. I felt a strong desire to create more opportunities – both for artists in general and for Ukrainians in particular. I now have a very clear goal: to introduce Austrian audiences to the Ukrainian context.

These three stories do not offer quick victories or simple answers. Instead, they reveal a process in which visibility does not emerge on its own. It is built through daily actions: performances, projects, and a continuous presence. Ukrainian women artists in Austria are not merely integrating into a new environment. They are transforming it, bringing new meanings and a renewed sensitivity to women’s experiences, memory, and identity.

Text by Olha Volynska