by Natalia Oprea, photo: Lviv Voskresinnia Theatre
When night falls over the city and the moon begins to make its presence felt, Bagpiper’s Dreams / The Testament of Shevchenko doesn’t take the stage — it makes the asphalt breathe, vibrate in rhythm with the actors’ steps. The Voskresinnia Theater from Lviv brings to the festival not just a performance, but an invocation of pain and of the fragile balance between war and hope.
From the very first appearance, everything is symbolic. The lighting, placed with almost ritual precision, cuts through the darkness like a luminous blade, casting long shadows that dance gracefully between reality and dream. The white, gleaming, red, and golden costumes move slowly, almost ethereally, atop stilts that are more than visual elements — they demand balance, focus, and a clear mind. In a world shattered by chaos, these stilts become a silent manifesto about the need to remain upright, stable, lucid — even when everything around you collapses.
In the actors’ hands or upon their heads appear houses, symbols of all that has been lost and all that is still worth defending. These houses, carried with care like sacred relics, speak of roots, of what was destroyed, and of the desire to rebuild. Their presence signifies the strength to carry one’s past forward, despite fire and ash.
The smoke is thick, slippery, almost alive, evoking the sense of a dance that envelops the stage. It is present in every gesture, every glance. Here, fire no longer represents explosion, but a slow burn. A burn that demands patience. Because burning has its own rhythm. You cannot rush healing. Just as flames need time to pass and leave behind ash, so too do the wounds of war follow their own path through flesh, bone, and soul.
Beyond the smoke and darkness, women appear, dressed in deep red skirts, pregnant, with calm eyes. In red, they become symbols of blood, fire, love, struggle, and life that persists. They represent future generations — the children, the rebirth, the hope. They are the ones who keep the flame of memory alive within the soul, the ones who strive to create change. They embody the future — fragile and powerful at once.
Among all these elements, shadow plays as vital a role as light. Shadows cast on the asphalt, on buildings, on the audience become testimonies of the unseen: the dead, the missing, the lingering fear. And the fog — often silent, almost imperceptible — weaves everything together into a fine layer of dreams and memories.
In the midst of this realm suspended between reality and poetry, the bagpiper — the central figure — plays his dreams. They are not serene dreams. They are broken, tense, interrupted by the roar of history. But through music, movement, and art, these dreams become forms of survival.
Bagpiper’s Dreams / The Testament of Shevchenko is more than a street performance. It is a plea for clarity in a world that would rather blind us. It is a declaration that despite smoke, shadows, pain, and war, art can become an anchor. That in the midst of ruin, we can find balance. That when everything falls apart, we must keep our minds sharp, our focus steady, and our hearts open.
Because ultimately, art is patience. It is a flame that doesn’t burn but illuminates and heals. It is the voice that reminds us there is still something to say, to live, to love — and that it is worth fighting for a future.