Can art heal trauma? What does it mean to live as a Belarusian exile in the shadow of Russia’s war against Ukraine? Is losing one’s homeland a unifying experience? Elena Rabkina, born in 1989 in Vitebsk, Belarus, is a multidisciplinary artist, curator, and activist. Her works have been exhibited all around Europe and beyond. In an interview with novinki, she reflects on art, exile, and finding ways to move forward.

Miłosława Ryżczak: How did you end up in Berlin?

Belarusian curator, artist and activist Elena Rabkina.

Elena Rabkina: Since the full-scale invasion of Russia in Ukraine started, it’s been very intense. I lost Belarus in 2020, moved to Ukraine, to Odesa, settled, and healed. I really had my base. I was doing my art, getting my Masters in Rehabilitational Psychology and working with the Red Cross. There was actually an exhibition coming up when the war started. Losing two homes in two years was very traumatic and I wasn’t sure what to do. I started applying for art residencies because the only thing I could do was art. That’s all I had energy for. Art really helps you process what is happening. This is what I wrote in my grant applications: “I need a place to contemplate what’s going on.“ I was very direct. Within two weeks I was already going to Vienna for an art residency. I arrived in Berlin in September of 2024. Before that, I was in Amsterdam, and before that, all around Europe (Poland, France, Portugal, Finland, Hungary and other countries).

M.R.: One could say that such hard experiences make art more credible, give it more depth. Would you agree with that?

E.R.: I think of all professions, being an artist is the one which is mental health friendly. If you’re a doctor and you fall into deep depression, that’s a problem. But if you’re an artist and you’re super depressed, it’s okay – it gives you credibility. There is this idea of artists as misunderstood, struggling creatures, which I honestly don’t agree with because I think it validates the toxic working environment of being an artist. I want to see more structures supporting art, because it’s a space to create ideas, for people to connect and release experiences, to feel understood and seen. At the same time, it’s something very common. People with a lot of pain tend to do art. But I’ve met artists who don’t have trauma – you don’t have to be traumatized to make good art.

“Art is a space to create ideas, for people to connect and release experiences, to feel understood and seen.“

M.R.: Do you think it works the other way? You said in another interview that creating art was healing for you. Do you think it can help viewers of your art heal their traumas?

E.R.: I think so. I recently did a work about my Belarusian passport that brings me so much trouble. I’m scared to lose it because I cannot come back to my country and replace it. When the war started in Ukraine, all my money got blocked because I have a Belarusian passport. I’m discriminated against or bullied, denied access. People still think that Belarus is a part of Russia, which is outrageous because Belarus fought for a century against the oppression of the Russian Empire. It then fought for a second century against oppression by the Soviet Union, in which the Russian language was favored while everyone else’s cultures and languages were minimized.

I made this piece called “Other notes, or the owner of this passport is under protection of the Republic of Belarus.“ I didn’t expect people to connect with it so much. But it was very interesting because many people with different passports wrote to me saying “we understand you, we really get you“, not just Belarusians. For a person with the stigma of holding an undesired passport and being judged for the place you were born – which you have no control over – to be represented helps.

“Other notes, or the owner of this passport is under protection of the Republic of Belarus“, 2025, mixed media.

In the end nothing changed, the regime is still a regime, I don’t see any future for obtaining a passport, and my passport will expire before I can receive any new one. But being able to express those feelings freed me from them to a certain extent.

M.R.: What do you think the West gets wrong about Belarus?

E.R.: Belarus has been and still is a very undiscovered country.  My country has not been flooded by tourists; it belongs to itself. But it’s a very high price to pay.

I wish I could have shown you what it was like before 2020. It had a very booming IT sector and a high percentage of higher education. Belarusians are usually hardworking and just want to do their thing. Money doesn’t really play a big role like it does in Russia. Barely anyone has “a lot of money“ there. What really matters is your reputation and your friendships, because everyone’s connected. If you’re an asshole, people will know and you’ll be cut off.

I feel sad about all of that. It was such an interesting place to be. I worked with social entrepreneurship. It was so thrilling to look at young businesses. At this point it’s smashed, and it’s been five years. I’m starting to feel like I’m not sure if I have rights to speak of the country now because the distance between me and Belarus is growing.

There was a huge part of my time where I was grieving that the Belarus I know and love just doesn’t exist anymore. It’s really sad and it took me a lot of work and therapy to accept it. At this point, I want to acknowledge that I lost a lot, but it also benefited me by creating much more empty space that I could update and fill with new things. This experience of losing my home and being traumatized also made me know myself much better. I had to construct myself back piece by piece. My art became better, not only because it’s critical but because I connected to myself on a much deeper level.

M.R.: Do you think that Belarusian culture is now being created mainly in exile, given that everything at home is suppressed and free speech no longer exists?

E.R.: Art exists, but underground. We should acknowledge those who are still in Belarus. I’m in touch with Belarusian curators and art managers. Many people left, some are in prison, but life hasn’t stopped. There are just different ways of living. The spiral of violence rolls on, but when I lived in Belarus, there were times when it was safe to speak Belarusian and times when it wasn’t. For me, it’s like weather: sometimes it’s safe and then it’s not.

I’m looking for opportunities to bring Belarusian artists to Berlin, which I did for the exhibition “There is No River without Sources” at PAKD Gallery. But it’s dangerous. They came here, but we couldn’t put their names up. Everyone has to evaluate their own safety. There are no clear rules.

Exhibition view: “There is No River without Sources” at PAKD Gallery.

I cannot dedicate my entire life to living in fear of Lukashenka and letting him in my head, measuring all my actions according to him. At the same time, my parents live in Belarus. Before, I felt very responsible. Now I think it’s their choice and their risk to have a daughter like me, doing the art I do, and staying in the country. It’s not unique to be persecuted by the KGB in Belarus – so many of us are.

What hurts me the most are people equating Belarusians to Lukashenka. So many people are in prison – we have a Nobel Prize winner in prison, human rights activists in prison. We have had this president since 1994, that’s over 30 years! How is it possible that despite all evidence available, people still legitimize his power?

M.R.: There has been noticeable tension between Ukrainians and Belarusians in recent years. How do you experience this dynamic personally? Do you feel Belarusians are often equated with Lukashenka’s regime, and is there anything you would like to say to Ukrainians in that context?

E.R.: It’s very nuanced. We should acknowledge that Ukraine is the biggest country in Europe, with diverse regions. Taking this into account, when I ran from my government to Ukraine, Ukraine as a country didn’t support me at all. I didn’t receive any support from the Ukrainian migration center. Despite me being extremely traumatized – my friends are in prison, there’s torture, rape, persecution of journalists, doctors, teachers – an insane level of violence and injustice that’s easy to document with thousands of people in protest – this indifference was shocking.

“Belarusian Dream“, 2023, acrylic on porcelain.

M.R.: Did you get any help while in Ukraine?

E.R.: I ended up being helped by Red Cross Odesa. For two years I worked for them and gave lectures and programs on soft skills: team building, self-care, time management. People helped me. But at the same time Ukraine never stopped trading with Lukashenka.

But there are Belarusian names among the Heavenly Hundred. When Maidan started, Belarusian people came to fight for the freedom of Ukrainians, to support them, because they believed it was the right thing to do. Right now, there are at least three Belarusian divisions fighting for Ukraine. When the war started, many volunteers in Poland were Belarusians, because we understand what it is to have this big oppressor. We border Russia. If you think that’s an easy neighborhood, you’ve probably missed many clues.

At the same time, I was living in Odesa and I was very well integrated in Ukrainian society. I still have friends there. Since the (full-scale – edit.) war started, we have been helping each other get through this experience.

M.R.: I found it surprising when you said you received the most support from the Syrian and Iranian refugee communities. From an outsider’s perspective, one might expect Eastern Europeans in exile to naturally stick together. Do you think this shows that the refugee experience is, in some ways, universal across nationalities?

E.R.: I want to say a big thank you and shout out to all Syrian people because of all nations, it was Syrian people who understood Belarusians the most, be it in Vienna, Amsterdam, or Berlin. Second to them are Iranians. I need to say the way I was lifted up by Syrian people through this journey was insane. When I explained things to them, they often stopped me and said “Elena, we understand. You don’t have to explain, we get you. We know everything.“

I acknowledge we’re in different positions. Being a refugee is hard, but there are many different hards. You can be a refugee with marketable skills or business orientation. I speak English and some German, but other Belarusian refugees don’t speak foreign languages. I escaped, but we have Belarusian refugees who were imprisoned for two and a half years. The level of trauma they experienced is much harder than mine. Within one group, there are different types of hard. Between refugees from different countries: if you’re Ukrainian and running from the war, you get a lot of support.

Is it easier? Yes. Is it a competition? I don’t want it to be. If you’re a Syrian refugee, you might face chauvinism, nationalism, xenophobia, racism, Islamophobia – hardships that I, as a white woman, might not face. But pain is not a place of competition.

M.R.: What I was asking myself when reading about you and looking at your art: Are you an artist who’s taking on social topics, or more of an activist who does art to express herself?

E.R.: I don’t see my art as an activism, but if my art would be considered activism, I would be really flattered. In my opinion, it needs more tangible results to be considered as such. But maybe I’m too hard on myself. Of course, there’s this field where they can overlap. For example, when the war started, I created a board game about Belarusian language. As a sign of protest, many Belarusian people were switching into speaking Belarusian, though many of us grew up speaking Russian.

„Nazouniki“, 2022, board game.

I created a board game “Nazouniki“, because Belarusian people are very scared to makemistakes. I wanted to create a game for them to play and practice Belarusian. I printed 100 games and spread them to communities around 16 countries. We united one day to practice and play. I consider this activism, but also a bit more than an art form. If my art can bring some changes, I’ll be happy, but this is not the reason why I’m doing it.

M.R.: Who do you make your art for?

E.R.: I actually do art for myself. I don’t do art for anyone else. I do art because I have this inner necessity to express myself and I usually get triggered by strong feelings.

For example, when I learned the story of Matrona Markevich, the woman who created the ornament used on the Belarusian flag, I made this work “Prabach, Matrona“ (I’m so sorry, Matrona). Basically, the Soviets took her embroidery ornament and put it into their flag. At the same time, the Soviet Union killed her husband, she was an outcast, the widow of an enemy of the state, and she died in extreme poverty. Today her ornament is still used as a symbol of power that persecutes people like her.

“Prabach, Matrona“ (I’m so sorry, Matrona), 2025.

I felt so angry, first because it’s so unfair, secondly because it’s female labor being appropriated. They gave her ornament to some Russian painter who made his corrections. I was furious because in Belarus, national embroidery has a sacred meaning. I was thinking I need to make an art piece about it. I will fix it. I will put her embroidery back where it belongs. Her name will be mentioned. Her name was never mentioned till the 1990s.

M.R.: Did you learn to embroider especially for this work?

E.R.: I learned embroidery at school. Many people asked me about that before, you’re not the first. But it was really hard, much harder than it looks.

It took me a crazy number of hours, over 50 hours to do it. I found the original scheme in a book from 1953. I had to print it and calculate it myself and figure out how to embroider it. I wanted to have good material, closest to the linen she might have had. I found another embroidery made by her in a museum.

I still need to say I think this embroidery could be better. But as my Ukrainian friend told me, “Elena, remember you’re not trying to compete with her or beat her, but you want to commemorate her and do it to the best of your abilities.“

M.R.: To end on a positive note, what projects are you working on? What lies ahead?

E.R.: I work on my Artistic Research and Social Innovation Foundation and I am open to new collaborations. I keep doing art – I have projects but don’t like talking about art in progress because it takes away the freedom to change my mind. I’m beginning a collaboration with the Volnya Initiative, which helps former Belarusian political prisoners, because I want to expand my psychological practice. I want to make a practical contribution to society. My art focuses so much on my feelings that I’m seeking a balance between my artistic voice and my social engagement.

All images in this publication were provided to us by the artist.