LESIA PCHOLKA


Lesia Pcholka is a visual artist born in Belarus, currently lives and works in Berlin/DE and Bielsk Podlaski/PL

Curator of the VEHA archive platform, which is dedicated to researching and preserving vernacular Belarusian archival photography.

Pcholka’s practice brings together archival methods, collective memoriesy, and historical continuities to show explore how the past shapes contemporary life in Belarus and beyond. Through photography, video, and installation, she explores the tension between official narratives and undocumented histories, focusing on voices often silenced. Her work situates Belarus within a broader comparative frame, tracing parallels with other authoritarian contexts while also probing spaces of resistance. Exile sharpens her attention to displacement, belonging, and fragile memory, while gender perspectives inform her sensitivity to embodied experience and power. By mobilizing community archives and approaches in experimental storytelling, Pcholka creates layered narratives that move between personal and political, private and collective — reimagining how histories can be remembered and resisted.


PČOŁKA / PCHOLKA / PCZOŁKA


on view : 

︎

 

 

SUNSET OVER A SWAMP  

installation from regime propaganda newspapers  


Weakness Street. Günter Grass Gallery / 2022 . Gdańsk, PL



In authoritarian and totalitarian regimes, independent media outlets are either limited or non-existent. Public discourse is replaced by controlled narratives produced by those in power, and propaganda and intimidation become key tools for maintaining control. One of the emblematic cases is Belarus, where independent journalism virtually disappeared after 1994, when Lukashenko came to power. Early attempts to expose corruption were quickly suppressed — a notable example being the report on presidential abuses prepared by MP Sergei Antonchik, which was never published. Newspapers were printed with blank spaces on their pages after last-minute bans. Since then, most media have either been liquidated or taken over entirely full state controlby the state, functioning solely as instruments of radical propaganda. The story remained in memory as a fact of newspapers published with blank spots, a symbol of an unspoken story.

In systems like the Belarusian regimeregimes like that which controls Belarus, symbols are important; however, but national symbols lose their meaning when they are stripped of their historical substance. Instead, they are used to instilinstill obedience and fear. Flags and slogans serve a decorative function, while state media suppresses dissent and simulates unity. After the 2020 protests, I began collecting copies of state propaganda newspapers, believing they might be the last editions printed by the regime. However, the collapse never came; instead, control over the press intensified and evolved into an even more sophisticated machinery of censorship and manipulation.

In my installation, I use these newspapers to refer to the long-standing practice of using state flags to decorate the city — a tradition dating back to the Soviet period. The red-and-green flags that line the streets — their design endorsed through rigged referenda — are not true national symbols, but rather emblems of imposed conformity. This form reflects the persistent visual strategies employed by such regimes. Like the propaganda press, these symbols are imbued with fear, hatred and resentment — not by accident, but as deliberate instruments of governance.