Viktoriia Makarova: Through Darkness to Light

Sunny Childhood

I was born in Kherson, the sunny city of Ukraine. From childhood, I was drawn to the line of rhythm. I could spend hours looking at drawings in books, transferring them into a notebook and creating my own worlds. But even while painting, I was constantly searching for myself — that ideal place, that work that would truly bring me joy.

There were many attempts, successes, and failures. After school, I entered to study as a hairdresser, but the craft did not bring satisfaction. True happiness for me was always painting and canvases. I saw the world a little differently — in my own colours. The hairdresser’s diploma remained on the shelf, since all my interests leaned towards art.

A year and a half after graduating from college, I got a chance to enter the Academy of Arts. This was the first real step towards my dream. I finally did what satisfied me. After graduation, I worked as a graphic designer in a prestigious company. But endless edits, digital screens and deadlines gradually exhausted me. The soul longed for painting — paints that smell of oil and acrylic, a canvas that responds to the touch of a brush.

My searches and experiments with different techniques eventually led to opening my own studio. Unfortunately, this fell on the peak of the pandemic, and I had to close the business. But there were always the dearest people nearby — my mother, grandmother and stepfather. They supported me in that difficult time, and I am infinitely grateful to them for this.

War and Occupation

In February 2022, the lives of every Ukrainian changed forever. russia — this dark empire of evil — invaded Ukraine, bringing death, destruction and boundless pain. That morning, millions of people woke up from explosions, sirens and news that was impossible to believe: the neighbouring state began a full-scale war, seeking to erase Ukraine from the map of the world.

Kherson, my hometown, ended up under occupation among the first. Russian soldiers came not as liberators, but as invaders and terrorists. They entered cities with cannons and machine guns, set up their checkpoints, tore people out of homes, broke apartment doors, and looted shops. Fear reigned in the streets: searches, abductions of activists, torture, interrogations, executions for the slightest resistance.

The city, which had always been sunny and warm, turned into a cage. The russians terrorized residents, shut off mobile connection and the internet so that we could not speak with the world. They killed those who went out to peaceful rallies with Ukrainian flags. They took people in broad daylight, and no one saw them again. Houses, schools, hospitals — everything became a target for russian shelling.

And this was only the beginning. Because today, in 2025, russian terror has not stopped. Kherson still suffers from daily shelling: artillery, kamikaze drones, and aerial bombs. The streets of the city are strewn with craters from shells, and the air smells of smoke and gunpowder. People live in constant fear: to go to the market or to take a walk with a child can cost a life. The Russians purposefully strike residential neighbourhoods, hospitals, and kindergartens — in order to break the spirit of Kherson residents and all of Ukraine.

For six months, I lived in fear, with hope to break out of this horror and survive. It was incredibly hard to leave everything: friends, apartment, native streets. Ahead were long searches for volunteers who would agree to take our family in full, with two dogs and a cat.

For many volunteers, pets became a complication for the evacuation of our family. There were also fraudsters. A whole month of searching. Finally, we found those who would help. The road was frightening; each kilometre mark could be the last. But we reached Zaporizhzhia, then Kremenchuk, Kyiv. We survived. And most importantly, we stayed together.

The Long Road to Canada

Our path of emigration began in Poland. Housing, work, and everyday difficulties. And then — another blow: the death of my grandmother. Pain and despair. But after darkness, the sun always rises. For me, this light became my first pregnancy.

I submitted documents for a visa to Canada. At the visa centre, they, for some reason, told me that the chances of getting visas were almost none. “You will not succeed,” said the girl at the counter. So we decided to move further — to Germany.

And there — a refugee camp. Five months of life within walls where foreign destinies mix into one grey mass. At that time, I wanted to cross this period out of my life. And suddenly there was a clearing in the cloudy sky — at the same time, two acquaintances from Canada wrote to me. I checked my visa status and saw what I had dreamed of: the visa was approved. I was in the sixth, almost seventh month of pregnancy.

We chose the Spartan path: a day in the airport, nine hours of flight, exhausting waiting at passport control — and here it was, Canada. Cold air met us as something native.

Grassroots

Arriving in Canada, we lived for two weeks in a hotel thanks to the Canadian government programme to support Ukrainians fleeing the war. Later, only four days remained. Having no other housing perspective, we looked for any help.

And just then — in a moment of despair, oppressive uncertainty — one Ukrainian woman advised me to contact Grassroots Response to the Ukrainian Crisis (Grassroots). I filled out the application on the organization’s website — it was the last hope.

A volunteer called who, considering my pregnancy and the animals, doubted the possibility of finding suitable housing. I, of course, was in despair, emotional exhaustion and a complete lack of understanding of tomorrow.

But in dark times, good people are clearly seen — Grassroots volunteers managed to find an understanding and ready-to-help Canadian family who took us in. These people — Katie and Steve. We lived with them for eight months. They helped us settle, were there when my little daughter Yevochka was born, and supported us in everything. I will never forget their care and kindness.

A New Home and New Breath

I am thirty-five. My family and I live in Canada — this is not just a mark on the map, but my home.

Canada gave me two greatest gifts — my daughter and a new, safe life filled with my beloved art. Here my paintings find viewers, here I feel myself an artist for real.

From time to time, I conduct master classes in the Grassroots project “Healing Art” in painting for women who also come from Ukraine. It is not only about technique — it is about freedom, strength, faith and energy that I share with others. This is our Ukrainian community — a place of strength, peace, and creativity.

Dreams and Future

I am grateful to Canada for extending its hand at the moment when it seemed that the world narrowed to darkness and despair.

For giving a roof over our heads when my mother, two dogs, a cat and I were left without a home and without confidence in tomorrow.

For allowing us to feel safe — a luxury denied to millions of Ukrainians in a time of war.

For the fact that in its people I saw not indifferent people, but new friends, Grassroots in life.

For giving a chance to my little daughter to be born under a peaceful sky, in a country where children’s laughter is not interrupted by the roar of explosions.

For the fact that my art here finds a response in the hearts of Canadians who value not only technique, but also the energy of freedom that comes from each painting.

Canada became for me not only a new place of residence. It became a space of hope, a country where strangers become close, where the past is not crossed out, but receives new support and new meaning.

I dream of my own gallery-shop, a space where art can be seen, felt and taken with you, where people who value beauty and inspiration will gather. I hope that I will have enough strength and opportunities to continue the path of art and give it to people.

I know — the future can be unpredictable, but despite all difficulties, I believe in myself, in my family and in the good that exists.

Victoriia Makarova.