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Article by Orysia Paszczak Tracz
Ukrainian Canadian Freelance Writer,
Researcher and Scholar
Winnipeg, Mannitoba, Canada
For unrepentant and certifiable pysanka nuts (yours truly being a prominent member), the appearance of a book on pysanky is truly a major event. New books are not that common, and not all published are really worthwhile. Just because someone has amassed a collection of pysanky or has come up with a "new" explanation of what the symbols mean does not make a book noteworthy.
For me at least, there needs to be that connection to the origins of pysanky and the beliefs surrounding them, and the respect for what they have meant to Ukrainians over the millennia. I'm not necessarily a traditionalist in this case, and am in awe of someone like Tania Osadca, Oksana Liaturynska or Nadia Nowytski, or the younger pysanka writers (some exhibited last year at The Ukrainian Museum in New York). These original artists take the essence of our precious folk art to a new, higher level, and do it so well because they understand its roots.
Last month, I received as a gift the book "Pysanka" by Vadym Mytsyk and Oles Fysun, published by Rodovid in 1992 in Kyiv (60 pp., $9 U.S. in Ukrainian). This is a small book about the pysanky of the Cherkasy Province, the land where Shevchenko was born and spent his childhood. This book is the first regional publication about this miniature of Ukrainian folk art, and covers pysanky from the times of Kyivan Rus' to the present. It is the result of extensive, lengthy research and presents the talents, worldview, and love of their homeland's beauty of the people of Shevchenko's land.
Someone hoping to find a collection of ornate, super intricate pysanka designs will be disappointed. Those pysanky are not the Hutsul ones, or the even more intricate North American ones (sometimes pysanka writers do not know when to stop, and think that the busier the design is, the better it is). No, the pysanky from the central regions of Ukraine, including Cherkasy, are much simpler in design, with fewer colors. And the lines are not even always straight!
But these pysanky are truly traditional - from the time when it was the symbol on the shell that was important, and not the fineness of the lines. The color plates are arranged by the pysanka writer, with a separate list of names and locations. Mr. Fesun, an artist living in Kyiv, is the compiler and illustrator of the pysanky reproduced in the book.
He writes: "Through the language of the pysanka, countless creators have brought to us, through time, the genetic memory of the Ukrainian people, visibly preserving [our ancestors'] thoughts about the world and their ancient faith. After having analyzed for over 20 years the wealth of pysanka riches, I have often thought that in these wondrous lines we may be able to uncover the pre-Slavic or even the earliest Ukrainian written language."
The author of the seven-page text is Mr. Mytsyk, an ethnographer who writes that "the Ukrainian pysanka is sunlight and the world of the soul, the breath of heaven and the soul of the earth, the genius of our people. From the pysanka, as from the unattainable Yaitse-Raitse of folktales, there flows an endless stream of creative power of our folk artists."
These quotes are from the page giving the two authors' photographs. Within the text, they no longer wax poetic, but provide straight facts. Mr. Mytsyk discusses the ceramic pysanky from medieval Kyivan times uncovered in archaeological digs in regions on both banks of the Dnipro. These pysanky contained a bead inside and were used as rattles to make noise for spring [Slava Gerulak of New York had recreated some of these quite a few years ago]. The author gives other examples of this ritual noise-making.
He mentions the work of Danylo Scherbakivsky, the ethnographer, archaeologist and museologist who committed suicide in 1927 as a protest against the desecration and destruction of Ukrainian art and artifacts by the Soviets. In examining pysanky from this region, Mr. Scherbakivsky had written that "the most archaic examples of pysanky come from, of course, Pravoberezhia [the right bank of the Dnipro]."
Mr. Mytsyk notes that the totalitarian ideology of Communism caused great harm to pysanka writing. "Beginning with the 1930s through the 1980s, pysanky were spurned by the official government as something connected to the Christian religion. Many folk artists were forced to abandon their art." But not all. It is ironic that the pre-Christian pysanka became such a "danger" to the Soviets. This writer's theory is that it is not so much the Christian symbolism that threatened the Russians, although that played a role. Because the Russians do not have pysanky in their tradition, this was one folk art that they could not claim as their own, the way they have done with so much of Ukrainian heritage. But, "folk art, including pysanka writing, is a living thing. It cannot be stopped, just as you cannot stop the flow of water." Mr. Mytsyk explains.
As the book "Pysanka" underscores, "Small in size, but deep in meaning, the Ukrainian pysanka became the personification of the image of the world and of the folk artist and her world view."
The book is available from ArtUkraine.com. Contact us at artukraine@voliacable.com
The Ukrainian Weekly, April 22, 2001, No. 16, Vol. LXIX, www.ukrweekly.com ( Article copyrighted by The Ukrainian Weekly and by Orysia Paszcazk Tracz)(For Personal Use Only)
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