“I’ll Come Back a Different Man”

The exhibit that was held in a small hall at the Lviv branch of the Artists’ League lasted longer than any previous ones — not because it was extremely valuable in artistic terms but because it teaches an unusual moral lesson on how to appreciate a free, unfettered existence and creative effort, and to realize that every individual should be able to express himself with an open heart. For “a tightly shut heart is the most horrible prison.” I am haunted by the thought that the artists who painted all these pictures in a prison studio cared not only about how best to apply color to canvas but also about the lasting effect this will have on viewers, who cannot forget that each of these artists is a human being with his/her own precious universe and that there should be more kindness and compassion in this world.

Among the artists currently serving their prison sentences, there are only a few professionals, like Yaroslav Havrysh, who graduated from the Mukhina Academy in Leningrad. Most are self-taught artists, who copy portraits from a scrap of newspaper and use their soul, rather than a sure professional hand, to paint pictures. Havrysh’s works stand out from the rest, which raises the painful question: Why was fate so cruel to him?

He once had a normal life: he worked, had friends. Then, little by little, he took to the bottle and became an alcoholic. He would drink and steal, steal and drink, each time promising that this would be his last binge. “Now I’ve got six convictions. No family, no shelter. I’ve lost everything. All I have left is hope and the need to paint. Only then do I see the world in other colors and forget my sadness,” says Havrysh.

Kim Pokas has been doing time in reformatories and jails since he was twelve. His profile is the same: no family, no clear prospects. Although he never had an art education, he is clearly very talented. “Well, if my mum hadn’t died when I was eleven, maybe I would’ve made something of myself,” he says. His black quizzical and sorrowful eyes still beam with a desperate dream of a happy and productive life somewhere in the future. In every spare minute he leafs through a painting manual and collects magazine illustrations.

Oleksandr Krokhmaliuk, chairman of the Lviv regional branch of the National League of Ukrainian Artists, describes his visits to prisons: “Long narrow corridors, locked doors that will only be opened for you to come inside. The watchful guards look you in the eyes. You give them your ID and get a pass. Then you walk, ill at ease, past the bars and barbed wire. Now you enter the studio and see peace, eagerness, and interest in the eyes of the young men who, one way or another, have ended up in this restricted area.

“Can one create art in these conditions? Should one?” I asked myself. “But when I saw the gallery of paintings that these people had created, I understood everything. Yes, a keen thirst for beauty. And it doesn’t matter whether you are a professional, for art is now the mainstay of your life.”

The eight prison inmates whose paintings were exhibited undoubtedly find solace in creative work: it not only helps them grasp the meaning of contemporary life but also allows their thawed-out and no longer bitter hearts to cherish a hope for the future. The imprisoned artists owe this special link with the outside world to the exhibit organizers: the Board of Trustees, a civic organization that deals with penitentiary institutions in cooperation with the Lviv Oblast Administration and the Self-Help Charitable Foundation. The exhibit is not the only service that these organizations have provided for gifted people. A book of inmates’ revelations, poems, and pictures called I Will Come Back a Different Man, was published recently. I will say honestly that I read it with a mixture of admiration and horror. I was ready to weep and rejoice over the fact that the world is so rich in talent, yet so cruel and heartless at the same time. This is not to say that inmates should not be blamed for ending up behind bars, but sometimes there are circumstances beyond their control. Unfortunately, some of them were not born “in the right place at the right time,” a key factor to happiness. Still, these people have a philosophical view of life:

“If you are fed up with yourself, walk in a way that nobody even hears the steps of your shadow.” No matter how gloomy my lines may be, they are an ocean of bravery and love. “Two lovers try to find themselves in an absolutely empty apartment, on cloud nine. I wish I were there myself. If I only could find a job in your city.”

These lines are written by Ruslan Antonyk, one of the most talented poets whose work is featured in the book. Poet and songwriter Zenoviy Franchuk, who once knew Ruslan very well, revealed, “He was younger and quieter than me both in art and life. He was a better student than me and could have become a professor. I really hope he will return to great literature: he has many things to say and he will say everything that he learned in silence.”

But it will require the efforts of not just Antonyk but many other people for him to radically change his life, says Self-Help cofounder Valentyn Zbyral, who is very familiar with inmates’ problems. A former police major in charge of socio-psychological education of prisoners, now retired, Zbyral could not turn his back on his past career. His first project, Spiritual Revival of Convicts, was full of concrete things, despite the vague-sounding title. He planned to publish a book (incidentally, in cooperation with the International Renaissance Foundation), organize art exhibitions and soccer matches with well-known players, and even set up a non-governmental organization to supervise penitentiary institutions. Some might say that this was just another pipedream. At the heart of this project lies the fact that prisoners can openly discuss their problems and directly contact individuals with a great deal of public clout, those who are listened to by many people, including the authorities. This is another serious step toward a civil society in which not even a single sufferer’s voice will ever go unheard.

What do we know about a person who is cut off from others by barbed wire? Judging by the movies, it is a terrible, nightmarish world. But people from that world eventually come back to ours, bringing along their laws and habits. This means something should change for the better behind barbed wire, too.

“They don’t receive any newspapers. Why not give them unsold and scrapped newspapers? They have no books or sports equipment. I remember visiting a correctional facility in Mykolayiv on Constitution Day,” says Mr. Zbyral, “when we played a match symbolically called Renaissance. Everything resembled a real sports event — medals for the winners, professional referees Yury Shchepansky and Vasyl Kolychak, etc. The participation of such well-known soccer personalities as Yaroslav Hrysio, Lev Brovarsky, Gabor Wajda, Ihor Heryliv and others not only livened up the convicts’ dull routine but also made it clear that they have not been forgotten and can still become full-fledged members of society, if they want to.”

There are many gifted people among the prison population. But they lack such elementary things as paints, paper, or cardboard, if they are artists, and various tools, if they are metal workers, turners, or skilled cabinet-makers. All these people could have applied their talents to making necessary articles. They could have been selling them at a reasonable price and thus maintaining the “natural turnover,” i.e., making up for the shortage of colors and tools on the market. All this can be done if there’s a will. Convicts are not individuals who are forever lost to society, although sometimes we nudge them along this path. Can we really apply the term “lost” to a man like Bohdan Yavorsky, who wrote “A Prayer for Peace” — not under duress or out of opportunistic considerations but out of spiritual need?

Lord, use me as an instrument of peace to sow love where there is hatred, to sow forgiveness where there is insult, to sow faith where there is doubt, to sow hope where there is hopelessness, to sow light where there is darkness, and to sow joy where there is sadness.