Oakland
Anya (Stasenko) and Slava (Leontyev) have known each other their whole lives, from strollers to art school, and now, through war.
The Sundance-winning documentary Porcelain War follows these two featured artists, along with painter Andrey Stefanov, as they remain living in Kharkiv, a city regularly besieged by Russian forces. Stasenko and Leontyev are life partners, but also well known porcelain artists, crafting deeply charming fantastical figurines covered in Stasenko’s signature swirling, layered, dotted, colorful illustrations. Through hand-held and aerial drone footage captured by Stefanov (his first go at cinematography), along with GoPro from local civilian soldiers, the film charters the deep well of need for laughter and art amid devastation and horrors, and the collective beauty and whimsy that remain alive within those fighting for their lives, land, and culture.
Three surprising and masterful animated portions, living within the confines of the worlds Stasenko creates on their porcelain figurines, and brought to life by BluBlu Studios, break up—not that it needs it—the rich tapestry of faces, plant and canine life, and structural devastation captured by the cameras. The accompanying voiceovers combine with the darling figures to great emotional effect, each movement, fire, and line more bitter-sweet than the last.
The three artists, and members of their militia community, shared the real-life turmoil of choosing to exist in a place where you are no longer welcomed to live and work, the love they contained bursting at the seams at all times, their need to fight for their lives and home as essential to them as any other portion of daily lives now.
With exquisite and excruciating detail—lingering macro-shots both in their ceramics and painting studios, army training—we are shown their processes, their daily routines. Other days, as bombs go off all around, loved ones chat by phone or whole communities shelter in subway stations, for once at peace with the area’s stray dogs. The juxtaposition of Stasekno’s illustrations atop the delicate ceramic creatures echo the softness, slowness, stillness of their practices against the many eerily beautiful drone shots, many of them displaying destruction and loss of life. Within their homes, the tight macro shots also help protect whatever limited privacy they may still have, while also baring some of their most intimate and personal stories and fears.
A nostalgia for how things used to be flits at the corners, but no one expects a return to what used to be, just holds a desire for a far, far better reality than the one they are experiencing. Described as a watery paradise, Crimea and their lives as artists represented a life of naturalistic and cultural ease. Now, rolling blackouts and nonstop shelling, training civilian soldiers and mushroom hunting around landmines are their norm.
PAs the film wears on, scenes of beauty grow sparser, grey and grime and grimness intercede. “In war there are no genders, only warriors,” a mechanical tech tells his commander. Noted. She climbs into a just-struck building, carries their wounded comrade out. Their Russian assailants, with no regard for human life on either side, happily deploy their own sacrificial troops in order to locate the guerilla Ukrainian forces, the lost lives seen as fuel to a machine. Simply remaining in Kharkiv the artists sacrifice their freedom and very possibly their lives, and yet they persist, to share and sustain joy and culture and love and beauty.
In one scene, as the couple splashes around joyfully in a river, Stasenko crafts a sailboat of autumn leaves as she speaks to the camera. Mast tall, sails ribbed, wide, and billowing, the small yellow vessel floats away. She is painfully aware, she says, as are all artists still living there, of how there is someone “holding an umbrella” above each and every one of them. And of how Leontyev’s special forces team is one of the strongest of those umbrellas. Fascists hate artists, so they must be doing something right.
The gut-wrenching and stunning visuals are backed by a soundtrack provided by DakhaBrakha, a Ukrainian quartet self described as “ethno-chaos”. With haunting vocals, sparse soundscapes, some accordion, a bunch of strings, and a birdcall or three, the invigorating and intoxicating melodies and rhythms layer and ebb, hypnotic. Run to listen—and see them live if you can, they’re on tour! Big time jealous of the folks getting their borscht workshop this week/end. And who doesn’t like a big hat?
Co-directed by Brendan Bellomo, Porcelain War is a truly beautiful and deeply human film. Watch it if and when you can.
