!["Some of our older attendees [pf the open reception] were very worried that we were going to strap them down here and make them get a tattoo," Olga Liskiwskyi, executive director of the Ukrainian American Archives and Museum, said.](https://npr.brightspotcdn.com/dims4/default/20b0888/2147483647/strip/true/crop/3456x2129+0+88/resize/880x542!/quality/90/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fnpr-brightspot.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fd4%2F12%2Fdafe39614ad19ebf03085ac00a2e%2Finkasidentitytattoos-roniacabansag-03.jpg)
A new exhibition at the Ukrainian American Archives and Museum in Hamtramck documents a recent phenomenon across the Ukrainian diaspora: tattooing.
“Since the beginning of the war in 2022, there's been a significant uptick in the use of various Ukrainian symbols, whether they be folk symbols, or national symbols to represent the nation,” Olga Liskiwskyi, executive director of the museum, said.
The gallery, titled “Ink as Identity,” features the photos and stories of folks around the world who have gotten tattoos that symbolize their Ukrainian heritage. Most of the submissions were local, but some came from as far away as Canada and Ukraine.
The featured tattoos display a wide spread of Ukrainian art in its many iterations, themes, and inspirations. Common images include wheat, the Ukrainian flag, traditional Ukrainian embroidery patterns, and tridents.
“It's actually a very ancient symbol of Ukraine,” Liskiwskyi side of the trident. “It dates back to at least the 10th century, and it used to be on the coinage of Prince Volodymyr, who was the Kievan prince who baptized all of Ukraine. So this was his heraldic symbol.”
Roman Wonsul, a 43-year-old Dearborn resident, chose to go with a small sunflower, another common symbol of the country. The full-color design sits on the back of his upper right arm. Wonsul got the tattoo shortly after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in February 2022.
“And one of the petals is an upside down Ukrainian flag…” Wonsul said. “And the upside down flag represents the country in distress, and sort of my, you know, homage to the conflicts going on.”
On the same arm is another full-color tattoo that begins at the top of Wonsul’s shoulder, and runs down toward his elbow. The design is based on a painting done by his great great uncle, Ukrainian artist Edward Kozak.
“The image is of a Cossack holding a bandura,” Wonsul said. “And that represents the historical struggles of Ukraine, with war and the development of the country. And the bandura is a Ukrainian stringed instrument that was common to the Cossacks. So, I'm a musician as well, so I felt that this painting fit perfectly and represented me, my heritage, my family.”
Many other tattoos featured Ukrainian words or phrases in Cyrillic script. Sofia Kuczer, a 33-year-old Lansing resident, for example, has a phrase tattooed just under the crease of her right elbow that translates roughly to, “stay the course.”
“My grandmother … had this kind of, like, very practical Ukrainian sensibility,” Kuczer said, “And I just have always loved it, and it resonated with me. And I decided to get this tattoo three years ago now, [in] June 2021.”
Incorporating her Ukrainian heritage into her tattoo design was a no-brainer for Kuczer. The first-generation Ukrainian American grew up immersed in Michigan’s Ukrainian community.
“It was my whole life,” she said.
Kuczer recalled attending Immaculate Conception Catholic School, a school and church established by Hamtramck’s Ukrainian community in the 1930s. While Kuczer’s classes were primarily conducted in English, she and her peers were required to take a Ukrainian language class. On the weekends, she attended Ukrainian school and Plast Ukrainian Scouting organization meetings.
“And then in the summertime, we would go to a three-week summer camp. So that was my life for a really long time,” Kuczer said.
Other locals who submitted their tattoos for the gallery shared similar experiences. Veronica Rogalla, a 38-year-old Ferndale resident, also grew up attending Ukrainian school and summer camp. When she was 21, she met her husband, Matthew Michael Hotra, while at camp. Rogalla’s tattoo, which wraps around her forearm, features his Ukrainian name in Cyrillic script. A simple, black embroidery pattern with red, heart-shaped accents underlines the text.
“He went to Ukrainian scouting camp, he played on Ukrainian soccer leagues, he coached Ukrainian soccer leagues, went to Saturday school for Ukrainian school, things like that,” Rogalla said. “It's such an integral part of both of our identities. So I thought it was important to honor him in that way.”
At 38 years old, Hotra passed away in 2020, during the height of the Covid-19 pandemic. His stage 4 pancreatic cancer “came out of nowhere,” Rogalla said. He passed within six weeks of a diagnosis.
“I was grieving. I was in a very, very difficult space emotionally, spiritually, physically, emotionally, mentally – everything,” Rogalla said. “And I, I just didn't know what to do with myself. ... (I) wanted to memorialize him in some kind of way. And I tried so many different ways, but I thought, ‘What could I do to carry him with me, always?’”
A friend of Hotra helped her get connected with a local tattoo artist who helped her refine a design. The embroidery pattern is based on the rushnyk cloth that was used to bind their hands together during their wedding ceremony.
“While I couldn't get it to look exactly the same, I really love the line-work that I ended up with,” she said.
Liskiwskyi, the museum's executive director, has no tattoos of her own, but she said the stories folks shared for the gallery helped change her perspective on the practice.
“It made me appreciate that this is an art form,” she said. “And not to judge people for their decisions, you know, and to experience and appreciate the beauty and the thought that goes behind these images.”
