Despite ongoing Russian attacks, life continues – and education perseveres – in the Ukrainian city of Dnipro. This story highlights the remarkable efforts of Olha Skuratovska, a musicologist and teacher, and her colleagues who are prioritizing the well-being and creative development of children amidst the daily realities of war.Their dedication demonstrates the enduring power of community and the essential need for normalcy, even as Ukraine faces continued challenges more than two years into the full-scale invasion.
Despite ongoing bombardments, parents in the Ukrainian city of Dnipro are prioritizing their children’s education and well-being, seeking normalcy amidst the conflict. The resilience of families in the face of adversity highlights the enduring power of community and the importance of providing stability for young people in war-torn regions.
“It’s deeply moving to see parents bringing their children to classes after nights of shelling,” says Olha Skuratovska, a musicologist and teacher in Dnipro, eastern Ukraine. “On the first day of the war, we were all in a state of emotional shock. I realized something had to be done, because the parents of my students were just as frightened.”
Within 24 hours, lessons transitioned to a remote format, utilizing computers to maintain continuity. Skuratovska has dedicated 36 years to education, with a focus on the creative and holistic development of her students. “I am fascinated by the world of children,” she explains, “pedagogy is art in all its forms.”
The war has fundamentally altered her approach. Initially, students’ artwork centered on themes of Ukraine – their homes, nature, and birds – reflecting a hopeful anticipation of spring and, with it, peace. “It was a form of emotional expression, a true and honest art therapy,” Skuratovska notes. “We continued to work, and as soon as it was possible, we returned to in-person classes. Today, some children attend in the city, while others still participate remotely.”
Together with her husband, the late composer Volodymyr Skuratovsky, who passed away nine years ago, Olha pioneered a course in creative integrated development. She now continues this work with her pianist daughter. “The war has only underscored the importance of creative work with children. First and foremost, I am a musician: playing instruments, teaching music, and talking about composers is at the heart of our creative path,” she says. “But we also offer many other activities: drawing, ceramics, storytelling, animation. We also stage theatrical performances and hold classical music concerts linked to fairy tales.” Olha’s friend and colleague, talented theater actress Mariya Tkachenko, also contributes to this effort.
Skuratovska believes the most difficult aspect of the war for adults is witnessing the suffering of children – their expressions as air raid sirens sound and explosions occur, the pain of displacement, the loss of homes, schools, friends, and loved ones. “Like many of my generation,” she admits, “I live with a sense of guilt that we haven’t prepared a better world for our children. I fear they will inherit many problems.” Despite this, she is determined to help them find the strength to face future challenges, and, above all, to be happy.
Providing children with a peaceful childhood and a strong foundation is crucial, she emphasizes. Even during wartime, every child needs understanding parents, a stimulating environment, a space to communicate, build friendships, create their own worlds, and feel happy. “We are trying to offer them exactly these things,” Skuratovska says.
She recalls parents bringing children to art classes even after a night of bombardments. Despite fatigue, both children and adults are striving to resist the realities of war and open themselves to something brighter. This has become Olha’s guiding principle: “If everything around is collapsing, you have to build something extraordinary. You have to build more.” She stresses the importance of creating together – generating ideas, interpreting them creatively, and bringing them to life. Skuratovska believes children are an inexhaustible source of ideas and energy, capable of things adults cannot even imagine.
Many outside Ukraine question why families don’t flee cities near the front lines. Skuratovska explains that the situation is complex. Some have left, others are returning. Those who leave are acutely aware of the potential for family separation. Leaving is particularly difficult for the elderly. Many families face a difficult choice – to plunge into the unknown, risking family unity, or to stay, facing daily danger and the possibility that each explosion could be their last.
Skuratovska notes that Dnipro is a large city, and not everyone can leave. Someone has to remain. She herself considered the possibility. “I had friends who invited me to Europe, but I asked myself – what would I do there? Could I remain true to myself and work with the same dedication? I realized that I might be more needed here,” she says.
The large-scale war has prompted Ukrainians to deeply re-evaluate many aspects of their lives. “If before I was convinced that art could save the world, now I increasingly doubt this idea,” says the musicologist. “I have seen people who grew up in an authentic artistic environment, who understand moral values, but who today do not always act in accordance with their inner cultural compass. Sometimes a person chooses what saves their life, or makes their existence more bearable, but this choice is not always morally justifiable. Therefore, today I am more careful and less categorical in my judgments.”
Last summer, a former student of Olha Skuratovska visited the Ukrainian-language broadcasting department of Vatican Radio. She spoke about her studies in Dnipro, her dreams, and how the teacher’s initiative had helped her express herself. This led to the idea of inviting children to create drawings on the theme “My Dreams.” Olha enthusiastically embraced the suggestion, and the radio station recently received artwork from children in Dnipro.
“To help a child open up through a drawing and to have a specific story in it, we talk a lot about it. We do this differently with each age group,” Skuratovska explains. For the youngest children, she told a fairy tale about a magic flute that grants the wishes of whoever plays it. She then asked each child what dream they would like to depict. Some wished for a dog, others for a new home, and still others for a hike in the mountains with their parents.
Creating a physical and metaphorical space of light is challenging in a city where power outages are frequent. But the children provide the inspiration. “It’s like a mutual art therapy,” she says, “we, the adults, draw strength from the children, and they from us.”
Electricity is intermittent, available for only four to six hours a day, and the schedule is unpredictable. “It’s so exhausting,” Olha adds, “but we always try to do something that allows us not just to survive, but to truly live.” This isn’t just about securing batteries or generators. Recently, the school held a “lantern festival,” featuring a fairy tale told to the music of Grieg, lantern-making, and small electronic candles. Stepping outside, the streets were completely dark. The children walked with their lanterns, realizing that their own small lights illuminated the path, rather than street lamps. “These were magical moments,” Olha recalls. “In those moments, you feel the strength that radiates from within. I would very much like this feeling to remain in their memory,” says the teacher from the war-affected city.
Translated and prepared for publication by Inese Šteinerte
