Without Asking Permission
Research Platform Exhibition
The exhibition of the PinchukArtCentre Research Platform “Without Asking Permission” unites works by Ukrainian female and male artists created in the period between two revolutions — from 2004 to 2014 — in which the body emerges as a tool of self-determination and resistance.
After Ukraine declared independence in 1991, artistic practices in the following decade were mostly marked by escapism and detachment from political reality against the backdrop of instability and chaos spreading across the country. In this context, the period after the Orange Revolution became a significant break that changed the perception of participation in political life and the possibility of influencing state processes. Amid deep social transformations, a new sense of personal and collective responsibility was formed. Female and male artists began to interact with the social reality unfolding around them, responding to it through bodily, often confrontational, practices. Their works reflected a shift from irony and alienation to presence and political engagement.
Mass rallies and civic protests of 2004 redefined public space from a center of power and state control to a place for expressing an active civic stance. Female and male artists tested the power of the artistic gesture: they took to squares and streets, challenging authorities, moral norms, and established ideas of social acceptability. In a context where the system of cultural institutions remained weak or entirely absent, public space became an activist environment — a place where artistic interventions did not require mediation or permission.
At the same time, a significant part of the practices of this period was aimed at rethinking ideas about the body formed by (post-)Soviet morality, culture, and patriarchal values. Undermining stereotypes about the “normal” body — conventionally attractive, heteronormative, and controlled — female and male artists instead proposed real, vulnerable, and imperfect bodies. Although these artistic gestures were aimed at granting subjectivity to those whose visibility was not manifested, the appearance of such bodies in public space was often accompanied by rejection and stigmatization.
A telling example was the exhibition “Ukrainian Body” curated by Oksana Bryukhovetska and Lesia Kulchynska, organized in 2012 by the Center for Visual Culture within the walls of the Kyiv-Mohyla Academy. Three days after its opening, it was closed by the sole decision of the university president Serhiy Kvit. The exhibition was one of the first dedicated to exploring corporeality in Ukrainian society and proposed to consider the body as a boundary of personal autonomy, a space of gender norms and stereotypes, and a tool of political critique. In some cases, resistance went beyond institutional censorship and took the form of direct violence from the viewers themselves. Later that same year, the solo exhibition of Yevheniya Bielorusets presenting the series “Own Room” was attacked: some works were torn down and damaged. Such events revealed that the body during this period was often perceived as a source of anxiety and fear and could not be represented in public space without the risk of condemnation or violent exclusion.
Unlike the previous generation, which mostly addressed themes of corporeality and sexuality to undermine established moral norms, female and male artists of the 2000s engaged in their conscious exploration, making visible forms of intimacy marginalized or pushed into the private sphere. Thus, the body became manifested and at the same time vulnerable, and the very right to choose identities acquired a political dimension.
The exhibition “Without Asking Permission” shows how female and male artists reflected on corporeality, responding to changes in Ukrainian society that occurred in the period between the Orange Revolution and the Revolution of Dignity. Advocating for equal rights and the importance of personal freedoms, they expanded the boundaries of perception and created new opportunities for subsequent generations of Ukrainian female artists. This period established the importance of uniting into communities, which allowed direct influence on political and social processes. It was precisely in such horizontal connections that the strength of civil society gradually formed.
Artists: Piotr Armyanovsky, Yevheniya Bielorusets, Anatoliy Belov, Myroslav Vaida, Danylo Halkin, Anna Zvyahintseva, Taras Kamennoy, Alevtina Kahidze, Alina Kleitman, Maria Kulikovska, Sasha Kurmaz, Serhiy Melnychenko, Mykola Ridnyi, Lesia Khomenko, group SOSka
Curator: Daria Shevtsova
Managers: Alysa Dovbnya, Kateryna Melnyk
Technical Management: Yevheniy Hladich, Yevheniy Sulima, Valentyn Shkorkin
Participants of the PinchukArtCentre Research Platform: Yevheniya Butsykina, Tetyana Zhmurko, Oleksandra Mykhailenko, Milena Khomchenko, Kateryna Tsyhykalo, Oksana Chornobrova, Daria Shevtsova.
In 2006, Mykola Ridnyi conducted the action “Lie Down and Wait”: the artist lay down on the ground near the entrance to the German Embassy in Kyiv, demanding a visa. This work was a reaction to the refusal to issue a German visa, necessary for participation in an exhibition abroad. To travel to the countries of the European Union, Ukrainian citizens at that time had to go through a lengthy bureaucratic procedure, which, however, did not guarantee obtaining the required document. Ridnyi transformed his experience of uncertainty and powerlessness before the system into an open protest in public space. His actions quickly attracted the attention of the police: the artist was forcibly removed from the building, threatened with punishment if he did not destroy the video documentation of the action.
An ironic continuation of the story was that after the update of the Ukrainian transliteration rules, the spelling of the artist’s surname in the foreign passport changed, effectively resetting his previous visa history. After the Revolution of Dignity and subsequent political changes, in 2017, a visa-free regime with the countries of the European Union was introduced for Ukrainian citizens.
In 2010, Anna Zvyahintseva created the work “Cage” — a textile object that in its shape and size reproduces the cage usually installed to hold defendants during hearings in Ukrainian courtrooms. The work was a reaction to political abuses of the legal system and persecution of civil activists, including members of the artistic association “Hudrada,” to which the artist herself belonged.
In this work, Zvyahintseva also refers to personal experience, where the cage becomes a metaphor for lost and stolen time. During the periods of trials against civil activists, the presence of people in the courtroom was important as it ensured the publicity of the process and prevented cases from being unnoticed or “swept under the rug.” Thus, for activists and public representatives who came to support the defendants, courtrooms became almost a second home. Since hearings often lasted for hours, people found various ways to fill the waiting time: some translated poems, some answered letters, some drew.
As a result of the adoption of the new Criminal Procedure Code in 2012, metal cages were replaced by glass booths, so-called aquariums. This was due to criticism from human rights defenders and the European Court of Human Rights, which emphasized that holding defendants in metal cages is humiliating and violates human rights.
Sasha Kurmaz’s work “I Sleep for the Revolution” refers to the events of Euromaidan, when in 2013 a wave of protest actions and demonstrations swept across the country. Society was outraged by the then government’s decision to suspend preparations for signing the Association Agreement between Ukraine and the European Union, which was supposed to strengthen the European vector of the state’s foreign policy, as well as by the violent dispersal of a peaceful student protest by the special unit “Berkut” in Kyiv.
During the rallies in the city center, activists occupied several administrative buildings. In particular, the Kyiv City State Administration became a place for rest, overnight stays, and medical assistance. In the video, Kurmaz captures the protesters at the moment of sleep: covered with blankets and plaids, their bodies resemble sculptural forms, and only a barely noticeable movement characteristic of breathing allows one to see the body under the layers of fabric. Thus, the artist depicts an intimate moment of vulnerability in the midst of political upheaval, when the body
The performance “Wildness” by Myroslav Vaida was shown in 2010 at the “Performance Art Days in Lviv. Performance School” festival. Guests of the event observed the sequence of the artist’s actions, the logic of which remained partly unclear but held attention with its unpredictability. Dressed in a business suit, the man first carefully greases a red carpet leading from the entrance to the building with pork fat, and then, naked but in ski gear, skis down the stairs and disappears into the bushes.
The work was created in the year Viktor Yanukovych came to power in Ukraine, when societal moods increasingly showed fatigue and disappointment with the new government’s policies. It was the Lviv Potocki Palace, on the stairs of which the performance took place, that became one of the presidential residences at that time. In this context, Vaida’s work acquires a political dimension, addressing the theme of excess power and wealth and their oversaturation, which can lead to political arbitrariness. The use of animal fat in the performance refers to the idiom “to go wild from fat,” hinting at luxury detached from reality. At the same time, this gesture can be read as a reaction to a state of powerlessness: on one hand as a sign of frustration, and on the other as an attempt at resistance and protest against despair.
The video documents the performance “How Much Can You Scream?” by Piotr Armyanovsky, conducted in spring 2011 near the Verkhovna Rada of Ukraine. The artist stands by a metal fence in front of the building’s entrance and continuously screams, directing his voice towards the parliament. Law enforcement officers approach him, try to start a conversation, push him, but he does not respond and does not stop screaming. Eventually, the artist’s voice gradually weakens, the scream becomes hoarse and almost fades away.
This gesture arises against the backdrop of political tension that intensified after Viktor Yanukovych’s victory in the 2010 presidential elections. The sharp increase in corruption, cancellation of social benefits, and pro-Russian reforms of the new government caused a wave of dissatisfaction among the population. Remembering the experience of the Orange Revolution of 2004, Ukrainian society increasingly asserted its position, using protest as a form of expressing their opinion. Armyanovsky’s scream here appears as a concentrated manifestation of this tension — a protest brought to the limits of physical exhaustion.
Danylo Halkin’s installation “Turnstile” was first presented in 2013 — on the eve of the Revolution of Dignity and the subsequent removal of President Viktor Yanukovych from power. The work is constructed so that further movement through the exhibition is impossible without interaction with it. The structure, consisting of a sequence of turnstiles, is an obligatory part of the viewer’s experience.
After passing through the first turnstile, the body’s movement becomes strictly regulated: the direction and speed are determined by the structure itself. It directly affects bodily sensations, causing discomfort and tension. In this way, the work embodies the experience of subordination, where the body is completely dependent on external restrictions. “Turnstile” becomes a metaphor for the grip of power and the interaction of a person with power structures, where even the simplest actions require permission and are subject to forced restrictions — freedom, movement, choice.
In his artistic practice, Taras Kamennoy often refers to his own experience. He carefully studies systems and rules that define social situations in which he finds himself. For example, after completing military service, the artist began creating graphic works using a pyrography tool on plywood. Their visual language resembled schematic drawings and instructions used to regulate army life and discipline.
The work “Strength Meter of Aggression” refers to hazing practices that were widespread in the army during the artist’s service. Violence by senior-ranked soldiers over junior soldiers was often accompanied by established rituals. Kamennoy bases the work on one such custom, which resembles an amusement park attraction: one must hit a mechanical object, after which the device shows the number of points scored.
In his performance, the artist reproduces this principle but directs the aggression at himself. He punches his own self-portrait, leaving traces of blood on the surface until the body refuses to continue the action.
In this way, Kamennoy, who by his own experience became part of the system and sometimes used privileges at the expense of junior soldiers, tries to resist imposed hierarchies and critically reflect on his own actions.
In their works, members of the group SOSka often referred to the study of 2000s subcultures. For example, in the video “Forest” a rock concert in the Kharkiv nightclub “Fort” is filmed. Shot in night mode, it captures fragments of one of the slams — a characteristic pushing in the crowd typical for heavy music parties. In the final edit, the artists replaced the original sound of the performance with a recording of birdsong, the intensity of which varies from quiet chirping to an anxious cawing depending on the events on the dance floor.
The work unfolds in the tension between aggression and care. In nature, predators may hide behind melodic singing; at the same time, birds can carefully care for each other while remaining aggressive towards other species. A similar polarity is manifested in the slam, where physical collision coexists with readiness to support the one who falls. The accumulated tension here turns into consensual aggression, regulated by unwritten rules of interaction. Like bird flocks, teenage subcultures form communities where conflict and solidarity become part of shared experience.
Anatoliy Belov’s artistic practice revolves around the understanding of corporeality, sexuality, and queer identities. He often created early graphic series for public spaces. In them, the artist drew the attention of a wide audience to the lack of visibility of LGBTQIA+ communities and revealed their vulnerable position amid widespread homophobic sentiments in the country.
Among such works is the series “My Porn Is My Right!”, which emerged as a reaction to the adoption of a law combating the distribution of pornography. The vagueness of formulations and the unclear definition of pornography created a situation where even private intimate photos could potentially become objects of criminal prosecution. The works depict naked male figures in interiors resembling private homes. At the same time, the mirror-written slogan from the series title creates the effect of a gaze from an identification room — an allusion to the police procedure of identifying suspects. Thus, the artist problematizes the boundary between private and public, raising questions about the right to privacy, where sexuality can exist without the threat of persecution.
Personal experience plays an important role in Anatoliy Belov’s artistic method. Using a variety of media — from street art to drawing, film, and music — he refers to stories from his own life, as well as the lives of his friends and community, exploring the limits of freedom of views and actions. In the artbook “The Most Pornographic Book in the World 2” drawings and original songs inspired by various ideas about sexuality and eroticism — from ancient sources to quotes from social networks — are combined. Another source of texts was internet queries related to sex, sexuality, and homosexuality. Together they form a contrast between bodily freedom, vulnerability, love, and manifestations of intolerance, homophobia, and prejudice.
The series “Own Room” by Yevheniya Bielorusets documents the lives of LGBTQIA+ and queer families she met during her travels across Ukrainian cities. In photographs taken in private home spaces, intimate scenes of closeness and daily routine contrast with a sense of forced isolation. Due to the risk of persecution for sexual orientation and gender identity, public space here appears as a zone of potential threat.
An inseparable component of the work is the texts accompanying the photographs. They are written based on conversations with heroines who agreed to share their stories. Despite the danger of social condemnation, they openly talk about their daily lives and the challenges they face.
In 2012, the artist’s solo exhibition presenting the “Own Room” series as part of the parallel program of the Kyiv Biennale of Contemporary Art ARSENALE 2012 was attacked: two men damaged the exhibition, tearing and scratching the works. This incident not only testified to widespread homophobic sentiments in society but also confirmed the fragility of the safety discussed in the series.
The heroines of Lesia Khomenko’s painting series “Dacha Madonnas” are women working in the beds of their suburban plots. Far from judgmental gazes, they are depicted in swimsuits or comfortable underwear for physical work, engaged in working the land or during a short break.
The artist refers to the culture of dacha life and offers a critical view of conventional ideas about the body formed by Soviet power and inherited by independent Ukraine. Young, athletic, and healthy — these were the bodies shown on propaganda posters, bas-reliefs, and paintings, in cinema and official documentary chronicles. These images reinforced norms about which bodies have the right to appear in public space and which should remain hidden and invisible.
In this work, Khomenko, who often refers to her own experience of academic education in her artistic practice, tries to rethink traditional approaches to life drawing. She avoids idealization, instead capturing the realities of everyday female labor. The lowered perspective here symbolically refers to the Soviet tradition of depicting heroines of labor.
Alevtina Kahidze’s work “I Can Be a Girl with Blue Eyes” consists of two videos with close-ups of the artist’s face. In slow motion, she tries to put on blue lenses that are supposed to change the natural brown color of her eyes. This process turns out to be physically uncomfortable: the eyes gradually redden from irritation, and the action itself acquires a tense, almost painful character.
This gesture was Kahidze’s reaction, who has Ukrainian-Georgian roots, to a comment that changing eye color would be “complimentary” for her and would look natural. In this way, the work raises questions about normative ideas of female beauty and imposed expectations of appearance. At the same time, this gesture can be read differently — as an act of emancipation, a conscious choice to define and change ways of representing one’s identity.
The heroes of Serhiy Melnychenko’s series “Schwarzenegger Is My Idol” are young athletes born in the 1980s and 1990s. Filmed in interiors of Soviet gyms that barely changed in the decades after the USSR’s collapse, they pose naked, emulating the aesthetics of bodybuilders from sports magazines. The young men share a fascination with Hollywood blockbusters, especially their heroes — strong, athletic symbols of physical perfection and self-discipline. Such figures as Arnold Schwarzenegger became attractive role models for teenagers forced to seek examples outside the limited social space of their hometowns. By capturing the gap between the global image of strength and the local reality in which these bodies are formed, the artist managed to convey the vulnerability, fragility, and sometimes naivety of youth hidden behind the muscular facade of discipline.
“My Pregnant Wife with Pregnant Me” is a watercolor diptych consisting of two small images of bodies. It is based on two personal experiences that Maria Kulikovska combines into a single statement about corporeality, loss, and the right to choose.
The first drawing relates to the story of the artist and her former wife from Sweden, whose marriage became part of Kulikovska’s performative practice. During that period, her partner was pregnant but later terminated the pregnancy. The second refers to the artist’s own experience of a later terminated pregnancy. Both stories intertwine, forming a complex narrative about closeness, responsibility, and bodily autonomy.
The work also reflects the complexity of decision-making in situations marked by forced migration, war, and occupation. In the context of instability after the Revolution of Dignity, bodily vulnerability becomes especially palpable against the backdrop of political upheavals leading to loss of control — both over one’s own body and life circumstances. The artist reflects on an experience where the desire for motherhood, freedom, and self-determination clashes with violence, external pressure, and the need for compromise.
In the series “Super A. Pet Your Heart”, which includes the video “Wonder-Butt”, Alina Kleitman plays with widespread stereotypes about women and imposed social roles. At the same time, she undermines them through deliberate hyperbole and transgressiveness, so the eroticized body appears not as an object of desire but as something disturbing and threatening.
The video tells the story of a modern superheroine — Super A, who as a child gained the ability to heal all diseases and troubles after an electric shock. However, this gift acquires an ironic dimension: the artist essentially turns her own body into an object of public display and creates a kind of advertisement for herself as a product. In this way, Kleitman explores mechanisms of objectification and commercialization of the female body, pushing them to the absurd. She shifts the focus from attractiveness to discomfort, forcing the viewer to rethink their own gaze and role in reproducing these stereotypes. Through a combination of humor and provocation, the artist creates a space for critical reflection on how desire, body, and power intertwine in contemporary culture.
