‘What we used to call the post-apocalypse has become a reality’: Opera Aperta bring Ecocide in Ukraine to the stage

The smell of bodies after the water recedes. A landscape transformed into a desert in the space of a few days. Villages wiped out, rivers diverted, territories made unrecognisable. This is Illia Razumeiko’s point of departure when he speaks of ecocide. Not some theory, nor some abstract environmentalist discourse, but from direct, first-hand experience.

A composer and co-founder of the Opera Aperta collective, Razumeiko works in a context where art and reality coincide. His works emerge with the war’s transformation of the landscape. Ecocide — the systematic destruction of the environment — is not a theme, but the raw material of creation.

Today, the collective’s journey is structured as a trilogy: memory, destruction, and the possibility of regeneration.

The first work, Chornobyldorf, represents the starting point: a post-apocalyptic piece created before the beginning of the large-scale invasion. GAIA-24, on the other hand, emerged as a direct response to the destruction of the Kakhovka dam in 2023. A third work, still in development, explores what might come after the catastrophe.

From the memory of Chernobyl to the end of illusion

“We began our work in the Chernobyl zone. What happened there is part of every Ukrainian’s DNA,” explains Razumeiko. Chernobyl is not merely a catastrophe of the past; it is a founding event that has shaped the relationship between territory, politics and identity. “It was an ecological consequence of Soviet colonial policy on Ukrainian soil.”

With Chornobyldorf, first performed in 2020, Opera Aperta has created a work that takes the form of a post-apocalyptic ritual: a community emerging from the ruins and reconstructing the fragments of culture. At that time, however, the apocalypse was still an artistic construct. “It was something imaginable, and at times even romantic,” says Razumeiko. The disaster had already occurred; it could be observed, processed and transformed into language.

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‘We began our work in the Chernobyl zone. What happened there is part of every Ukrainian’s DNA. It was an ecological consequence of Soviet colonial policy on Ukrainian soil’ – Illia Razumeiko

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This distance was shattered in 2022, with Russia’s large-scale invasion. The territories their work was exploring immediately became war zones. The areas around Chernobyl were occupied. The Zaporizhzhya power plant became a part of the conflict. The geography of the work coincides with that of the invasion.

“What we used to call the post-apocalypse has become a reality,” says Razumeiko. It is no longer possible to work with the idea of collapse as a metaphor. Art must engage with an ongoing process.

At the same time, a cultural distance from Western Europe is emerging. “Many European societies have lived for generations without war, within a sort of illusion of peace,” he observes. This makes it difficult to convey the complexity of the Ukrainian situation. “Explaining what the Ukrainian army is today — that is, an entire society — and what people are dying for is not simple.”

This distance is also reflected in perceptions of the environment. “Sometimes people seem more concerned about polluted rivers and forests than about the Ukrainian soldiers being killed every day.” For Razumeiko, however, the two dimensions cannot be separated: environmental destruction is an integral part of the war.

GAIA-24: the landscape as evidence

The destruction of the Kakhovka dam in 2023 marks a turning point, an event with immediate consequences: the flooding of entire territories, the destruction of ecosystems, the loss of human lives. But what strikes Razumeiko is the speed of the transformation.

“Within a week, all that water had disappeared. And what was left was a desert. There were bodies everywhere. The smell was unbearable.” The landscape was radically transformed, from water to emptiness. GAIA-24 stems from precisely this experience. The work combines performance, video and found materials. The reference to Gaia — the Earth as a living organism — is reinterpreted, with the planet appearing as a wounded body, ravaged by the violence of war.

The human body takes centre stage. The performers use nudity as a form of direct exposure. “It’s a demonstration,” explains Razumeiko. “A way of speaking simply about water, earth, soil.” There is no intention to provoke, but a desire to remove all filters.

The musical structure reflects the same logic. Different genres coexist without hierarchy: metal, opera, rap, electronic music, folk: “People do the same things they did three hundred years ago. Technology changes, but behaviours remain.” The result is a form of theatre that borders on ritual. Not a linear narrative, but an experience that connects bodies, sounds and space.

Recognition was not long in coming. In 2025, the collective won the award for best dance and physical theatre performance at the GRA Festival, Ukraine’s leading theatre festival, which selects the country’s most innovative productions, and serves as a national and international showcase for contemporary Ukrainian theatre.

Creating as everything crumbles

Behind these works is a daily reality marked by war. “At any moment you might be killed by a Russian missile,” says Razumeiko. This is not an abstraction: performances often take place near the front line. The artists work in volatile conditions, moving between cities under attack.

The personal consequences are profound. “Many of us are refugees. Many have lost their homes. Many have family members or friends who have been killed.” A large segment of the artistic community is on the front lines. “The best people — artists, actors, musicians — have put their lives on hold. They are fighting.”

Economically speaking, public support for the independent cultural sector has all but disappeared. The group can continue its work thanks to European funding and the support of international festivals. “It’s the only way to keep going,” says Razumeiko.

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‘Many European societies have lived for generations without war, within a sort of illusion of peace’ – Illia Razumeiko

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But the challenge is not merely material. It is also cultural. Talking about ecocide without falling into familiar environmentalist rhetoric can be complicated. “The environment has become a mainstream issue,” he observes. “For us, it’s important to find another way of talking about it, without the hypocrisy.”

There is also the issue of international perception, the fear that the conflict risks becoming normalised. “The most terrible thing is that it’s becoming normal. Daily killing of civilians in Europe is no longer news.” In this context, the role of art changes. It is not just about producing works, but about working to ensure that what is at risk of disappearing remains visible.

The third chapter of the trilogy, still in development, moves in precisely this direction. After memory and destruction, the focus shifts to the future. Razumeiko insists that even in war and destruction, imagining what comes afterwards is essential.

In Ukraine today, thinking about the future is already a political act. The act of bringing it to the stage — with living bodies, extreme sounds and hybrid languages — is a declaration that something can still emerge from the ruins.