In the aftermath of World War II, a new architectural language swept across Eastern Europe. Concrete now replaced columns, sharp angles replaced ornamentation, and a vision of progress was cast in reinforced slabs of steel and stone. In Ukraine—a land long defined by its rich classical and vernacular traditions—this postwar movement found an unexpected home. Ukrainian Modernism, the debut monograph by Kyiv photographer and historian Dmytro Soloviov, brings these overlooked mid‑20th‑century buildings into sharp focus, celebrating a chapter of architectural daring too often dismissed as Soviet relics.
Slated for publication this month by FUEL, Ukrainian Modernism is more than a coffee‑table collection of glossy photographs. It is a testament to the creative ingenuity and ideological complexity that underpinned Ukraine’s own modernist moment. Soloviov, who spent years researching archives and traversing the country, assembles a compelling narrative across nearly 200 pages. He juxtaposes evocative contemporary images—capturing structures at dawn or under brooding skies—with rare period photographs, revealing both their original splendor and the scars of time.
From Monumental Murals to Floating Rooflines
Open the book to any page and you’ll encounter a striking altarpiece of angles and curves. Take, for example, the gleaming circular amphitheater in Kharkiv, its cantilevered canopy hovering like a saucer above tiered seating. Or turn the page to a government forum in Dnipro, its jagged roofline slicing into the horizon, defying the classical pediments that once dominated the skyline. Many of these edifices were commissioned to convey Soviet power and the promise of a socialist future—and yet, in Soloviov’s lens, they transcend propaganda, becoming works of avant‑garde art.
A recurring motif is the bold mural: vast mosaics and allegorical frescoes that merge form with narrative. These sweeping murals—depicting heroic workers or pastoral utopias—once animated blank façades, but today many are crumbling, graffitied, or lost beneath layers of stucco. Soloviov’s archival photographs revive them for a moment, inviting us to imagine the optimism that once pulsed through these public spaces.
Stigma, Neglect, and the Threat of War
Despite their aesthetic merits, Ukraine’s modernist landmarks have long wrestled with a fraught reputation. To some, they symbolize a painful Soviet past; to others, they’re an eyesore in need of demolition. Many have indeed been neglected, their concrete exteriors yellowed by pollution, their interiors converted into makeshift storage or left to rot.
Soloviov is candid about these challenges. He devotes several spreads to half‑razed theaters and abandoned research institutes, reminding us that architectural neglect often begets cultural amnesia. And even as Ukraine rebuilds in the wake of independence and European integration, the legacy of modernism remains perilously underprotected.
The Russian invasion has amplified these risks. Soloviov’s introduction references air raids and shelling that threaten historical treasures alongside civilian lives. In some regions, modernist buildings now stand in battle‑scarred districts, their once‑sharp contours peppered with bullet holes. The book thus becomes a kind of architectural elegy—an urgent plea to preserve not just bricks and mortar, but the ideals they once embodied.
A Call for Recognition and Renewal
Yet Ukrainian Modernism is far from a requiem. Soloviov’s photography pulses with life, capturing unexpected moments of beauty—sunlight glancing off a glass‑block façade, a lone figure walking beneath a hyperbolic paraboloid roof. These images argue that modernist architecture remains a vital part of Ukraine’s cultural fabric, deserving of restoration and thoughtful adaptation.
FUEL’s announcement quotes Soloviov describing these structures as “an extraordinary blend of function, avant‑garde aesthetics, and ingenious design.” Indeed, many of these buildings solved complex engineering challenges—spanning wide interior spaces, harnessing natural light, or integrating new materials—long before such concerns became mainstream in the West.
Beyond the Soviet Label
What makes Soloviov’s approach particularly illuminating is his refusal to reduce these works to mere Soviet byproducts. Instead, he locates them within broader currents of midcentury design, linking Ukrainian architects to peers in Germany, Brazil, and Japan. In doing so, he repositions Ukraine not on the fringes of modernism but at its very heart—a nation that both absorbed and reinterpreted international trends through a uniquely local lens.
This reframing has clear implications for preservationists and cultural policymakers. By understanding modernist buildings as global achievements in design and engineering, Ukraine can mobilize new funding streams and international partnerships to safeguard its clandestine masterpieces.
A Visual Manifesto for the Future
Ukrainian Modernism opens a window onto an architectural landscape too often obscured by politics, neglect, or the sheer passage of time. Dmytro Soloviov’s meticulous research and striking imagery coax these buildings back into the public consciousness, urging us to reconsider their artistic and historical value.
Whether you’re an architecture aficionado, a history buff, or simply curious about Ukraine’s rich cultural tapestry, this book is a powerful reminder that progress often wears unexpected forms. In each bold concrete curve and vast geometric span, one can still glimpse the aspirations of a generation that dreamed of forging a new tomorrow—and in so doing, helped shape the shape of our shared built environment.
Ukrainian Modernism by Dmytro Soloviov will be available later this month from FUEL. For further details, visit the publisher’s website or follow the author’s archival explorations on social media.
