When security guarantees fail: Ukraine's message at the Venice Biennale

Artist Zhanna Kadyrova (R) and curator Leonid Marushchak pose with the "Origami Deer" sculpture in Prague on March 12, 2026. Rescued from the city of Pokrovsk in 2024 before its occupation by Russian forces, the sculpture—originally created by Kadyrova and Denys Ruban in 2019—is part of the "Security Guarantees" project heading to the 61st Venice Biennale. (Michal Cizek/AFP/Getty Images) Prefer on Google by Valeria Radkevych The 61st Venice Biennale is now underway, with the world's premier international art event having been in the spotlight not for its showings, but for its controversy and internal strife. On April 30, just days before the opening of the festival, the jury collectively resigned in protest over Russia and Israel's planned presence in the event, declaring that with a "responsibility toward the historical role of the Biennale," they could not judge art from countries whose leaders are charged with crimes against humanity. This development, coupled with widespread international pushback against Russia's involvement in particular, has exposed fractures within the Venice Biennale as an institution. Ukraine, also set to participate in the event, now stands at the epicenter of broader cultural and geopolitical tensions, one that echoes the core theme of its pavilion this year: Security Guarantees. This theme, drawn from the Budapest Memorandum of 1994 — in which Ukraine relinquished its nuclear arsenal in exchange for western assurances of its sovereignty — now takes on renewed urgency amid these tensions, where aggressor states are welcomed into international cultural events even as conflicts continue. "Are these really security guarantees?" asks Culture Minister Tetyana Berezhna, who serves as the commissioner for this year's Ukrainian Pavilion. "The established world order and established ideas need to be rethought." The standout artwork of the Ukrainian Pavilion is "The Origami Deer," a sculpture by Zhanna Kadyrova installed in 2019 in a park in Pokrovsk, Donetsk Oblast. The deer occupied a plinth that once supported a Soviet military aircraft — a nuclear carrier, to be precise. In Ukraine, public space has long been shaped by monuments that reflect the country's shifting political and historical identity. Since independence from the Soviet Union, and more decisively after the EuroMaidan Revolution (2013–2014) , many Soviet monuments have been dismantled as part of an ongoing redefinition of Ukraine's public space and historical memory. Kadyrova's artistic vision entered this charged context and reworked one such monument into a new form. A symbol of military power turned "public art" was once again transformed, but this time into a fragile, folded structure that followed the logic of paper origami, shifting the identity of the space while keeping its memory intact. "Origami Deer" (2019) by Ukrainian artist Zhanna Kadyrova during the press preview of the 61st Venice Biennale in Venice, Italy, on May 5, 2026. (Simone Padovani/Getty Images) For several years, the work remained part of the city's everyday environment. This changed in 2024, when the front line approached Pokrovsk. The sculpture, originally conceived for a fixed location, had to be evacuated. "Generally, when I worked on the sculpture, I couldn't imagine that its meaning would shift so much," says Kadyrova. "It was conceived as a permanent object, and I couldn't imagine that this sculpture — for me, first of all, a symbol of the internally displaced people of Pokrovsk — would make it all the way to Venice. The initial concept is already history. What we are presenting here is our reality; it is about our present and our future." "When we initiated the evacuation of the sculpture from Pokrovsk Park, our primary concern was to preserve the work of a significant Ukrainian artist, our friend Zhanna Kadyrova," recalls co-curator Leonid Marushchak. "Very quickly, it became clear that the evacuated sculpture was part of the peaceful landscape of Pokrovsk, which gave new meaning both to the work itself and to all the processes connected to its history, its present, and its uncertain future. The 'Origami Deer' was fortunate. But in threatened territories, a great deal of public art remains, and under the conditions of war, it does not always receive recognition as a valuable object or a chance to be preserved." The documentation of the sculpture's evacuation and relocation is presented as a multi-channel video installation inside the Ukrainian Pavilion. It traces the journey of "The Origami Deer" across Ukrainian cities and then across Europe on its way to Venice, situating the work within a broader context of displacement. "The Origami Deer" is consistent with Kadyrova's broader practice, which often engages with public space and its monuments. In her "Origami" series, she applies the logic of paper folding to sculptural form, translating a light, manual structure into reinforced concrete. The title of the Ukrainian Pavilion's exhibition, "Security Guarantees," draws inspiration from a term that once defined a major international agreement meant to guarantee long-term peace for Ukraine. In 1994, Ukraine signed the Budapest Memorandum, giving up the world's third-largest nuclear arsenal in exchange for assurances from Russia, the United Kingdom, and the United States of its sovereignty and territorial integrity. The Budapest Memorandum is a 1994 agreement by which Ukraine gave up its nuclear weapons in exchange for security assurances from the U.S., U.K., and Russia. (Getty Images / GIF: The Kyiv Independent) These assurances did not hold. Russian annexation of Crimea in 2014, the invasion of parts of Luhansk and Donetsk oblasts , and the full-scale invasion in 2022 exposed its limits. The exhibition brings together documents, sculpture, and moving images alongside the presentation of "The Origami Deer," to underscore the gap between the language of international diplomacy and the reality that often follows it. "Security Guarantees" confronts the legacy of the Budapest Memorandum not as a distant chapter in history, but as a living reality shaped by the consequences of its collapse. Rather than retreating into abstraction, the project follows the concrete paths left by these broken promises. Nowhere is this more vividly embodied than in the story of "The Origami Deer." Visitors of the Ukrainian Pavilion during the pre-opening of the 61st Venice Biennale in Venice, Italy, on May 6, 2026. (Marco Bertorello/AFP/Getty Images) Installed on the plinth of a former nuclear-capable aircraft — the very type of weapon Ukraine relinquished — the work is directly linked to the history of disarmament. Its later displacement, forced by the advance of the front line, unfolds within the conditions that the agreement was meant to prevent. Kseniia Malykh, the co-curator of the Ukrainian Pavilion, told the Kyiv Independent that "The Origami Deer" was not just a metaphor in this sense. "Through this trajectory, the logic of recent decades becomes visible: security guarantees existed on paper, while life, both human and cultural, repeatedly faced the need to rescue itself." The intent of "Security Guarantees" is to show the world that Ukraine's ordeal is not just an isolated event, but emblematic of a wider geopolitical failure. When these security guarantees don't hold, a country's culture — the very foundation of its identity — is put at risk. Across Ukraine, the war waged by Russia has reshaped public space, damaging or destroying monuments, altering historical sites, and forcing both people and cultural objects into movement. "In Ukraine, the war altered the meaning of stability. It reshaped cultural space and exposed it to constant risk," Berezhna told the Kyiv Independent. "More than 1,700 cultural heritage sites and over 2,500 cultural institutions have already been damaged or destroyed." Cultural heritage is also being systematically looted from Russian-occupied territories. These facts show that culture exists within political reality and reflects its consequences." In this context, "The Origami Deer"  extends beyond a single work. Its displacement represents a broader crisis in which cultural heritage is no longer fixed, but increasingly subject to instability. "The Pavilion brings together archival materials from the Budapest Memorandum and documentation of the evacuation of the Origami Deer. These two narratives belong together. One is the story of a country that was given security assurances and is forced to defend its survival. The other is the story of a sculpture that was created to remain in place and was forced to move," Berezhna said. "The Origami Deer carries this connection: what was built to remain permanent was dismantled, and what was meant to stay became exposed. It reflects a broader condition shaped by war, where stability becomes fragile. In this way, the sculpture reflects the experience of Ukraine today." Valeria Radkevych is an editor and cultural professional with experience in editorial writing, research, and curatorial practice, working at the intersection of art, politics, and contemporary European issues, with a strong focus on Ukraine. She is experienced in producing and editing critical texts, interviews, and long-form articles for international publications, as well as shaping cultural narratives for diverse audiences.