Blood & Milk
War is a paradox. In its vortex of destruction, the seeds of new beginnings are often sown. This dual nature of war—its ability to simultaneously obliterate and create—is the central theme of my reflections.
Acknowledging the horrors of war is crucial; its toll on humanity and societies cannot be overstated. However, the resilience of the human spirit, corresponding to the enduring strength of motherhood, offers a different perspective through which to view the aftermath of destruction. In the darkest times, the human capacity to nurture hope and forge pathways to unity and healing mirrors the maternal instinct to protect and foster life against all odds.
I was five months pregnant when the Russian full scale invasion on Ukraine had started, my initial year of bringing a new life was intertwined with the chaos of war. This experience led me to consider how, in the midst of death and despair, there can still be room for life and hope.
Within the scope of human experience, the interplay between milk and blood outlines an important narrative—innocence juxtaposed against sacrifice, the embrace of life against the finality of death. Through the wide range of human cultures, the ritualistic use of these substances has been observed and honored: blood was spilled to appease the gods of war or to commemorate victory, and milk poured as an offering for protection, fertility, and peace. Heraclitus mused that war is the father, the progenitor of all, asserting its role as the catalyst of change and evolution. Yet, in the shadow of such relentless transformation, it raises the question—could war also be the sorrowful mother, birthing cycles of growth and decay, as civilizations rise and fall in a rhythm as ancient as time itself?
2024
War is a paradox. In its vortex of destruction, the seeds of new beginnings are often sown. This dual nature of war—its ability to simultaneously obliterate and create—is the central theme of my reflections.
Acknowledging the horrors of war is crucial; its toll on humanity and societies cannot be overstated. However, the resilience of the human spirit, corresponding to the enduring strength of motherhood, offers a different perspective through which to view the aftermath of destruction. In the darkest times, the human capacity to nurture hope and forge pathways to unity and healing mirrors the maternal instinct to protect and foster life against all odds.
I was five months pregnant when the Russian full scale invasion on Ukraine had started, my initial year of bringing a new life was intertwined with the chaos of war. This experience led me to consider how, in the midst of death and despair, there can still be room for life and hope.
Within the scope of human experience, the interplay between milk and blood outlines an important narrative—innocence juxtaposed against sacrifice, the embrace of life against the finality of death. Through the wide range of human cultures, the ritualistic use of these substances has been observed and honored: blood was spilled to appease the gods of war or to commemorate victory, and milk poured as an offering for protection, fertility, and peace. Heraclitus mused that war is the father, the progenitor of all, asserting its role as the catalyst of change and evolution. Yet, in the shadow of such relentless transformation, it raises the question—could war also be the sorrowful mother, birthing cycles of growth and decay, as civilizations rise and fall in a rhythm as ancient as time itself?
2024
