Why was it important to write such a book right now?

Petro Bevza: The idea originated a long time ago, back when we were working on the magazine "Nova Generatsiia." This was in the early 1990s. It wasn't a direct continuation of "Nova Generatsiia" from the time of the Executed Renaissance; it was a new magazine we wanted to make relevant for our time.

At that time, I met prominent figures like Biletsky (Biletsky is a Ukrainian painter and art historian). He taught at our art institute. He was someone from the pinnacle of Olympus. Then I communicated with Krymsky, Milyaev, and others. This interaction shifted my perspective.

When I was studying at the art institute, access to information was limited. And then it was as if a dam burst—new stimuli appeared, not only those we were previously accustomed to, and new opportunities to access information emerged. I saw books released in Spain, Britain, Germany, and I was struck by the scale of this industry. One of the largest British publishers, Phaidon, released a book titled "500 Masterpieces." When I opened it, I realized there should be a similar book on Ukrainian culture.

A lot of time passed. While various negotiations were ongoing, I pondered: How would I like this book to look? First, from what time frame should it start? When I compiled a list of 100 artists, it felt like a lot. But over time, during the process of reflecting on the material, this number grew. Currently, we have over 300 artists, and perhaps there will be more.

To write the book, I approached various specialists, but no one agreed. After that, I was told, "Write it yourself." This was an interesting proposal. I wasn't afraid of the responsibility; I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I knew what I wanted, but I had never done anything like this before. However, thanks to the support of the publisher, this idea eventually took concrete form.

About the book "300 Artists of Ukraine Over 300 Years"

What makes this book unique?

Bohdan Bevza: Inside, there are 300 short essays about each artist, along with a selection of their key works. I believe this is very convenient: for example, you can read about one artist a day. 300 artists is an enormous number, and so we faced a complicated production process.

This is not strictly an academic publication. It is more aligned with sensory perception, but at the same time, it has an art history component. How does this manifest? On one hand, the author conveys his own feelings about the painting and the artist—what their essence is and how the artist presents themselves. On the other hand, it showcases their significance to the world, whether it's Malevich or Archipenko.

Kostiantyn Kozhemliaka: The publication is aimed at a broad audience, not just academics. Academics can pick it up and say, "I didn't find anything new; I already know all this."

During the writing process, after several test essays, the editor said, "Listen, the language is wonderful." However, I told Petro that we need to avoid a few extremes.

First, it shouldn't read like a Facebook post.
Second, it shouldn't be Wikipedia.
And third, it shouldn't be academic jargon with dichotomous pairs and other very sophisticated words that don't resonate with a broad modern audience. The target audience for the ArtHuss publishing house is people aged 20–45.

After the editing process, it became clear that the text was written in a very vibrant and lively language. And this is probably one of the important characteristics of modern publishing. With the presence of the internet, readers are no longer just looking for reference data. They are interested in the emotions of the person speaking in their own voice. And it must be sincere and interesting. This, in my opinion, is the value of a successful publication.

What significance does the emergence of such publications have for Ukraine?

Oleksandr Savruk: If we talk about the impact of investment, I don't know of another phenomenon where such a modest investment can have such a large impact. In cultural, intellectual, and many other dimensions related to meanings, identity, history, and their interpretation.

Especially today, when we increasingly talk about "soft power." Because people who are products of previous eras—and we are all to some extent products of previous eras—discover, for example, the name Aivazovsky, and a dialogue begins: "Is this a Ukrainian or not a Ukrainian artist? Why is he Ukrainian? Why is he not?" There are many such discussions. They re-evaluate established ideas about things that many people previously did not know but are important to understand.

I remember an example of how one Ukrainian entrepreneur had to make a deal in Germany. The potential partner invited him to the theater to understand him through his reaction to the complex meanings embedded in the opera. For him, this became the definitive criterion for whether to do business with that person or not.

The same goes for Ukrainians. If we look at it more broadly, the first question is: "What do these people represent culturally?" It’s not about money or technology. It’s about who you are and what you’re discussing. These things shape the perception of who our person is and what culture they represent.

If we position ourselves as proactive people in the external world, then these are basic practical things that simply must exist. When we speak of a business school, it is not just about business; it is about the people who design solutions at various levels—from government to social projects—and these are always people responsible for both today and the future. In the context of what a person is, what they do, why they exist, and how they influence the development of the human community. Such things are essential.

The book is a systematic phenomenon. It helps us become stronger. It signifies a certain type of leadership and the people who are ready to do such things.

Publishing a book of this scale today, with the right to one's subjective view and the willingness to invest one's resources into it, is a good case for all of us. It is an example of leadership and systematic Ukrainian logic in action.

How do artists overcome internal and external challenges to preserve themselves, create something new, and become the support that allows future generations to move forward?

Petro Bevza: Each artist has their own challenges. For example, Oleksandr Bohomazov wrote his work on the meaning of painting in 1914. Moreover, he wrote it under unfavorable conditions and not on commission. So, challenges existed, but the artist was constantly seeking opportunities.

When it came to contemporary artists, my task was to identify their challenges. I realized that we need to show continuity. What did Bohomazov do? He tried to find it through the means available to him at that time. This is how his theory of rhythm was born. Each artist seems to be trying to convey to their contemporaries and future generations the challenges they feel here and now.

For comparison: a Roman aqueduct stands on arches. The arches support the entire structure, and a channel runs on top through which water flows. The same goes for art. There are artists who bear the main pressure of time and challenges, creating opportunities for others. The successors then shape the same channel through which water flows next—i.e., tradition, school, movement.

There might be one artist from the 18th century on the cover and another from the 21st century. This was also one of the tasks: to evoke interest and the desire to look further. Below, there are references to related artists who worked in the same environment or had a similar worldview.

Thus, the "Guide" is an emotion. It's a desire to find the next support, the next place where our culture is moving.

Bohdan Bevza: This point about the guide helps us see at least two parts of the book.

First, you can find answers to your questions within it. As the author said, we bear the responsibility for ensuring that the "water" of Ukrainian culture reaches future generations. The artists gathered in the book—and, obviously, the author himself—engaged in this every day. You can see in the text how they did this, through what personal stories they went through, and what motivated them.

On the other hand, you can see yourself in the paintings themselves. Because a huge number of these artists, through their works, affirmed Ukrainian identity—in themselves and in art—at the time they lived, regardless of which century we are talking about: the 18th, 19th, 20th, or 21st.

For example, I don't just use this book to culturally enlighten myself or to tell someone about Ukrainian art; I also use it to solve everyday problems. I open it to a random page, look at a painting, and think: why is it that way?

Sometimes I look at it and see an answer. Perhaps, the structure the artist built in their work is what I need to construct now in addressing the challenges that I face.

Where can one find the balance in the publishing process between conveying something beautiful to the reader while also keeping their attention?

Kostiantyn Kozhemliaka: When the coup occurred in August 1991, I resigned from the Soviet army. And actually, that same year I started my entrepreneurial activities. For over 30 years, my favorite activity has been publishing. Why? Because it combines lyricism and physics.

In any publishing project, the team is conditionally divided into physicists and lyricists. My task as a physicist is to conduct the initial stage of assessing the proposal, determining from a marketing perspective how in demand it is, whether there’s a request for it, the audience's expectations, and their level of preparation. After that, the project team is formed. This team consists of lyricists—the author, the literary editor, and so on.

This is the beauty of publishing: it combines the business aspect and the aspect directly related to content. And when the project is released, I can take off my physicist's coat and step into the role of the reader.

When I started reading this book as a reader, I deeply regretted not having it in front of me twenty years ago when I began collecting contemporary Ukrainian art. Because when you read these short, concise, punchy essays, you gradually piece together a holistic picture in your mind, like a puzzle. Some of the works resonate strongly with you, while you just flip through others. And that’s normal. Not everything can appeal to you.

Therefore, this is a guide not only to grasp the entire palette and history of Ukrainian art but also for those who consciously want to gain an aesthetic experience. When you visit an exhibition, you look—and it all passes quickly. But when you read such books, you begin to form your own opinions and reactions. Something you like, something you don't.

What is the most important thing to see in this book?

Oleksandr Savruk: When you take a photographic book, one very important thing is the sequence. The story unfolds, and you as a reader move logically.

In this book, however, there is a bold, even somewhat audacious logic, where works that would typically seem opposite are placed side by side, yet at the same time, they have something in common. This makes you stop and think.

There are aspects in line with our approaches, where the image, work, and visual message correctly tune the brain.

This book embodies the power of subjective choice and love. Because you take some well-known artist and think: "This is some canonical work that I've seen a hundred times." In truth, you rediscover all these works anew. You uncover them through your words, your attention, delicacy, and through this rich, powerful, interesting, and quality optic.

Diving into culture through such a dimension is a pleasure. It’s an incredible thing that you now want to hold in your hands and present in English. With it, you can more easily open doors in Europe.

Bohdan Bevza: This book works on a rational level—to tell about Ukraine. But it also works on an irrational, spiritual level—to see yourself, find answers in these paintings, in how people experienced the same emotions we experience. Perhaps even feel warm childhood memories.

One of the global questions for Ukraine right now is the accumulation of "muscles": publishing, literary, the accumulation of knowledge, as well as the "muscles" of the capability to tell about oneself. How do you see this process now, from the inside, as someone who constantly addresses these issues?

Kostiantyn Kozhemliaka: A perennial question is: why are there so few interesting and popular books? There are academic books, but popular ones are few. Or why are there so few Ukrainian authors in Ukraine?

There are situations where a person has knowledge but cannot write in a modern, popular language. As a result, what they write will be of interest to very few. Such books simply collect dust on shelves.

Or conversely, there’s a person who can write. Here, we refer to them as a writer. The writer is given a task, the agenda is defined, the structure is approved—and then they write. I’m not a big fan of this approach. In the case of Petro Bevza, we have a true publishing success.

That is to say, this person came with an idea, first realized it in text, and secondly, filled it with visual content. You know, sometimes an author comes and says, "Here’s my text. We’re preparing a book on fashion, and here’s the list of illustrations." But what about the rest? "I don’t know; you look for it, figure it out yourself." This is a common problem.

The publishing business is also impacted by war, bombings, demographic situations, people's emigration beyond the country, and declining purchasing power, among other factors.

The third reason is market capacity. Many publishers complain that the book market is declining for various reasons: demographics, the general emotional state of society. Books are often emotional purchases.

However, I believe our publishing industry is underperforming. In what sense? When you visit Amazon, there are thirteen to fourteen thousand ratings: "Best Book on Philosophy," "Best Book on Architecture," etc. If you take books from our market leaders, at best you find about fifty nominations.

Publishers take on risks and understand that the audience consists of 30 million people. So among those 30 million, there should be at least one and a half to two or three million potential readers. Then you can reach the level of self-sufficiency. In other words, the target is mass-market.

When I transitioned from the printing business to the publishing market, I understood that, first and foremost, I needed to ensure independence and move away from dependency on retail networks. That’s why, for the past ten years, we have been focusing on e-marketing. Although we don’t reject cooperation with networks—we've just arrived at that point later.

We are constantly trying to build muscle and work in new directions. Specifically, our latest thematic direction is the publication of books on theatrical art. We have already published three, and four more are in the works. A bit earlier, at the beginning of last year, we ventured into "Cinema." And in September, I’m announcing a topic on "Music."

Oleksandr Savruk: In our school, we hear this idea: when a good idea emerges, then the money appears—not the other way around. Ideas do not arise from money, but money can be born from ideas. It’s pure energy from within, from people who are self-sufficient, self-reliant, and capable of creating. Ukraine should recognize this, and I believe it certainly will appreciate this type of thing.

Now other markets are opening for us. As one politician said, we need to see ourselves more on the globe, not just in Ukraine.