Letters to the Dead and Copies of Home: How Artist Illia Todurkin Materializes Memories

Interview conducted by Lesia Liubchenko, Content Lead of UFDA

Illia Todurkin is an artist whose work teeters between personal experience, traumatic memory, and a deep interest in the transformative nature of art. His creations span a wide range of techniques: from monotypes, sculptures, and graphic works to digital reconstructions of lost spaces. In this interview, Illia shares his thoughts on his artistic journey, experiences of loss, depression, the importance of the artist community, and the role of digitization as a tool for memory and preservation.

Lesia: First, I’d like to talk about your background. You were born and spent your youth in Mariupol. Could you share how you remember your childhood, perhaps moments that influenced your art? How do you recall the city from that time?

Illia: My journey as an artist began after my father told me I lacked talent and that I could never be an artist. That drove me to draw a lot. Later, my father moved to live in Russia, and we started communicating less. When I declared that I would apply to the Academy [the National Academy of Fine Arts and Architecture], I sometimes spent my lessons drawing instead of studying the actual subjects.

After leaving Mariupol, I returned there a few times, and the city felt like a purgatory—a liminal space between nonexistence and life. I went back whenever life wasn’t going well, almost as a refuge from a world where things weren’t working out. I would recover there before returning to Kyiv or Odesa.

Lesia: So, you started drawing in childhood, but your father’s resistance actually pushed you to move forward?

Illia: Yes, his words stuck with me, and at some point, I decided to start learning on my own. By the end of school, I had made up my mind to apply to the academy. Later, after graduating from school, I found out about an art college and realized it might have been a better choice to start there. I didn’t get into the academy on my first try—it worked out the second time. But I didn’t stay long; I lasted half a year before I dropped out. I didn’t like it—it felt pointless.

Lesia: Is academic education essential for an artist, or is it just an option or a personal need?

Illia: Lately, I’ve been reflecting on what and how I draw, and I wonder if formal education might indeed be necessary. I’ve taught myself everything I know. There’s this feeling that an artist should have some sort of schooling or tradition, and I lack that. Recently, I’ve struggled with drawing in general. I don’t draw at all—I just observe how others do it.

Lesia: You’ve gone through a challenging period: health issues, depressive episodes. Do you think art helped you? Did it become a form of therapy or self-discovery for you during that time? Or, on the contrary, did the desire to create completely disappear during such difficult moments?

Illia: There have been various periods of depression. Sometimes, during a depressive episode, it was easier to draw—ideas and thoughts came more freely. For example, right now I’m in a depressive phase, and nothing is working at all. So, it varies. Sometimes, inspiration arises during depression, tied specifically to it, bringing certain images to mind. But at the moment, I can’t draw, and there’s no inspiration.

Lesia: By the way, have you noticed what influences your choice of materials for your work? You use a variety of techniques: graphics, monotypes, sculpture, and micro-journals.

Illia: Honestly, I don’t really know. With sculpture, for instance, it’s clear—you need a workshop, and without one, you can’t do sculpture. Similarly, you can’t work on large-scale paintings without a studio. So, it’s partly a matter of space. I draw in a notebook—it’s the least demanding medium in terms of space for creating an image. Everything else seems to depend on the availability of space or a workshop.

Lesia: What themes and imagery often appear in your work? For example, during depressive periods, things are directly tied to depression. And during brighter times, what do you feel drawn to depict?

Illia: I was about to say suicide, but in a better mood, it’s probably not suicide… I’ve always loved drawing monsters since childhood, and I don’t enjoy drawing people. Usually, it’s mutations—positive ones, unrelated to death. During depressive periods, it’s also mutants and monsters, but connected to death. I enjoy drawing trees and roots. I also like drawing organs—been into that since childhood.

Lesia: Organs because you wanted to be a pathologist as a child. So, you were drawn to the human body, its structure, and anatomy?

Illia: Yes, it’s fascinating.

Lesia: Regarding contemporary Ukrainian art, recent years have seen the rise of a strong community of young artists working in similar aesthetics and exploring related themes. Could you share your experience collaborating or communicating with other artists? What significance does the artistic environment hold for you? Who has influenced you?

Illia: Dasha Chechushkova and Margaryta Polovinko. During COVID, Margaryta and I hung out at her studio. And Dasha… Dasha is my closest friend. Margaryta was, too. Not anymore, though, because she’s gone [Margaryta Polovinko served in the 2nd Mechanized Battalion of the 3rd Separate Assault Brigade and was killed on April 5, 2025, during a combat mission].

Lesia: I’m deeply sorry about Margaryta; my condolences to you. I know you curated one of her exhibitions.

Illia: Yes, I did. At the time, she hadn’t had any exhibitions, and I was more actively engaged in the art world. I knew Pasha Kovach and thought it would be great to organize an exhibition for Margaryta since she hadn’t had that opportunity yet. It turned out really well. A lot of people got to see her work because Margaryta was somewhat in the shadows. It’s hard to assess who influenced whom, though. So, I’m not sure what to say about that.

Lesia: From the older generation, whose works do you admire?

Illia: Nikita Kadan, Kateryna Lysovenko, Krystyna Melnyk, Katya Aliinyk. Katya and I used to hang out in the dorms before her career began. She loved cooking unusual dishes and would invite me to help her make them.

Lesia: Returning to the topic of creativity, in the video The First Home from your project Duration, you mentioned that you try to give your works a function, whether experimental-research or direct. So, functionality in art is important to you, ensuring it serves a purpose. Could you elaborate on that?

Illia: Yes, there was a time when I wanted that to be the case. Nowadays, I’d say many of my drawings don’t have a specific function—unless you consider them a diary or an experimental field for invention. Some sculptures genuinely have a purpose—for example, a table, a trash can, or a pill bowl. But many of my sculptures and drawings are created to teach something, though I’m not sure what exactly. Lately, I’ve been struggling to understand my own work.

Lesia: You’ve had several exhibitions, including Preparing for Loss, where you created both physical and digital copies of your works. Could you tell us more about this project?

Illia: It started with me creating 3D copies of the places I lived because I knew everything was temporary and would eventually disappear. I wanted to recreate those spaces so I could always have a digital, territorial memory of them. I printed the apartments using a 3D printer—I didn’t want to lose the reality I had lived in. I didn’t want to keep losing my home over and over again.

Then I began losing personal belongings, and there’s always the threat that a bomb could destroy everything. I wanted to invent some kind of protective mechanism. So, I started creating 3D copies. The ideal dream was to have replicas of all my belongings in miniature format or stored on a computer, so if everything were destroyed, I could recover it from another device and bring it all back.

Lesia: I’d also appreciate it if you could share about Letters to the Dead. From my understanding, this exhibition reflects on the things left unsaid by those no longer with us—people who had certain ideas but couldn’t realize them directly.

Illia: Not quite. Letters to the Dead is about a specific person—Vladyslav Malashevsky, my friend. He slit his throat and died on the third day of the war. The exhibition is dedicated to him, but it’s not biographical. I wanted to create an event that he would have liked.

We joked, on the first day of the war, about starting a publishing house for the dead—a press that would release materials from people after their deaths, giving the feeling that the dead had returned from the other world through this publishing house. This exhibition was, in a way, a “letter to a dead man.” It was like showing him what I had prepared for him to see and what I had to say to him.

Lesia: You also had the Suspensus project, which, as I understand, was a precursor to Preparing for Loss.

Illia: Suspensus was a group exhibition. My project within it could be considered a preliminary version of Preparing for Loss. Back then, it was called Preparing to Lose Everything. Later, I realized that it’s impossible to prepare for loss, at least for losing everything. For example, you can’t truly prepare for the loss of loved ones. So, the focus shifted to preparing for the loss of material possessions.

Lesia: What technical challenges did you encounter when creating 3D models of your works? As I understand, digitization was a more traditional way for you to preserve your works or create models and sculptures of the objects around you. Were there any technical issues with that process?

Illia: I remember there was a game-like space where the sculptures were placed. It was difficult because I couldn’t compile it into an actual game—I had to navigate the space directly in the game editor. There were also copies of my sketchbooks, and they presented challenges, too. I couldn’t prepare them for printing myself, so I sent the files to a guy I had worked with before. He took care of it for me.

That didn’t sit well with me because my goal was to learn how to do it myself and to make the process easier. In that sense, I feel like I lost a bit, personally and creatively.

Lesia: Do you consider digital copies to be valuable artworks in their own right, or are they primarily a method of archiving and preservation?

Illia: They’re more like reminders of the original works. They’re not equivalent to the originals. These copies serve as something that enhances memory. The goal was to materialize memories, making them more tangible. In my view, the copies I created act as an extension of the memory tied to the real objects. It’s like I have my personal memory, and then there’s this additional layer—the material or immaterial digital copy—and together they form something that feels almost real, a sort of “plus-plus” effect.

Lesia: What are your thoughts on the idea that a work of art can exist independently of its physical medium? And how do you see interaction between the viewer and artwork occurring specifically in the digital realm?

Illia: I didn’t really create these for the audience so much as for myself. However, viewers can still perceive something through these digital copies. I’ve also had the idea of encouraging viewers to reflect on making their own copies of what’s meaningful to them—to create their own kind of reservation or history of their objects and memories. This way, they could preserve a piece of their personal history.

Lesia: What is your overall attitude toward initiatives aimed at preserving art in digital formats? For example, the Ukrainian Fund of Digitized Art, which you joined.

Illia: It’s absolutely great. For me, for instance, an Instagram account feels like a separate piece of art, a distinct image you create with the specific sequence of photos and posts. A website, on the other hand, feels like a more regulated image. And of course, the quality of the photographs is crucial—it’s like a library of artworks. Instagram is something alive, constantly being updated, whereas a library is static. In short, I really like such initiatives.

As part of its initiative to digitize and preserve Ukrainian art, UFDA has digitized 34 of Illiia Todurkin’s artworks in the highest possible resolution. We invite you to explore his works and learn more about the artist here.