“Memento mori” (Remember that you will die). This Latin phrase affirms the transience of existence, but at the same time urges us to resist and continue enjoying life. The phrase has become fashionable in Ukraine as a tattoo. This was confirmed by Veronika Kuznetsova, 22, and Marina Shevchenko, the same age, in the studio where they work in Zaporizhia. This city is the capital of one of the regions where the local army is conducting its counter-offensive against the Russians these weeks. Ink has always gleamed on Ukrainian skin, but the violence of war has resulted in designs that add to pride of homeland, death, military scenes or outright weapons. In some cases, the resource becomes grief, and the face of the loved one accompanies the person who loses them forever.
The two young women point out that one of the references to the conflict they are said to tattoo most often also stems from the clash on Serpents Island, which was captured by Kremlin troops on the first day of the invasion. There, according to a very popular radio recording, the Russians demanded that the Ukrainians surrender from their ship. One of the local agents snapped at her: “Russian ship, fuck you!” The image of a Ukrainian soldier combing the enemy ship has become a symbol of the Ukrainian imagination. It appears on t-shirts, stamps, mugs… and indelibly on the skin of many people. The President himself, Volodymyr Zelensky, released a video this Saturday of his visit to the island to mark 500 days since his Russian counterpart Vladimir Putin launched the great invasion on February 24, 2022.
But if there’s one skin that does a good job of understanding the connection between Ukraine, tattoos and war, it’s that of Roman Marchenko, a 53-year-old bodybuilding trainer. He was part of the Red Army between 1988 and 1990, in the midst of the death throes of the Soviet Union. “You see, we were preparing to fight against NATO countries like Spain and others. Now we want to belong,” he comments with a laugh and remembers the time with his military comrades in Mikolayiv in the south of the country. Marchenko then drew a pattern on his left shoulder in honor of the famous Soviet paratrooper unit, now Russia’s VDV, whose men were among the first to unsuccessfully attempt to take Kiev last year.
Roman Marchenko, 53, served in the Soviet Army between 1988 and 1990. He has since sported a tattoo of an elite Soviet corps on his left shoulder, which he recently covered with another tattoo of a member of Ukraine’s special forces, Luis Vega
The bodybuilding trainer, a seven-door cabinet that features different designs on the arms, chest and back, fought against the invading army in 2022 as a member of the Ivan Bohun Brigade of the Kiev Special Forces. And what was he doing fighting the Russians with a tattoo praising the VDV? Well, he’s asked himself the same question, but he hasn’t found the time to erase what, over the years and history, has become a memory he deems inappropriate. This spring he finally found time in a studio in Zaporizhia, the city where he lives. “I didn’t want to keep having remnants of the USSR on my body. I had to forget all that and put it in the past,” he emphasizes. It was April 24th when the sessions began to change his life based on new ink.
Artist Julia Mas was tasked with making a new drawing of that Soviet model, a task she describes as very complicated. But Marchenko’s story moved him. “He’s an interesting customer,” describes the designer, who is almost forty and has been in the business for a decade. The trainer now proudly looks like an experienced member of the Ukrainian special forces, equipped with all his modern equipment. Nothing indicates that the Red Army paratrooper is down. As a tip, a week before this report was written in June, the trident of the state coat of arms and the prongs representing Ukraine as one of the world’s granaries were placed on the left breast over the heart.
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On the left, the Soviet tattoo glorifying the Red Army, which Roman Marchenko wore until that year; on the right the new one from the Ukrainian special forces that Luis De Vega Hernández used to cover it
Mas realizes that the war affects his work on a daily basis. He was also struck by the tattoo he made a few months ago on a woman’s body with the image of her husband who died in battle. Neither she nor any other widow who chose a similar mourning design in the Kharkov region wanted to speak for this report. Yes, Sergei Semenov, 30, did it, who at the age of 21, while a member of the Azov Battalion, saw five colleagues die at a Russian military checkpoint on the outskirts of Mariupol. To commemorate him, he has a huge multicolored tattoo on his left forearm, the base of which is a skeleton. In fact, his entire body is a rainbow of ink, as seen after coming back from the front.
Veronika Kuznetsova last year at the Zaporizhia studio noticed in her clients a certain fear of tattoo motifs that could anger Russians, especially after the fall of Mariupol. When the Azovstal Metallurgical Plant, the last bastion of resistance, was taken, pictures circulated of the invading military ordering prisoners to strip naked, ostensibly to check if they had Nazi motifs tattooed on their bodies, since Moscow this claims occupies Ukraine to “denazify” it. Semenov meets the one who wears ultra tattoos and, while defending the role they played in Azovstal, wonders: “Was it the meaning of the Mariupol victory to crush them?”
Nastia Korol, a 24-year-old combat medic, shows off some of the tattoos she had before the Russian invasion and some that she has now in connection with the conflict. Luis de Vega
Nastia Korol, a young woman who wanted to be a soprano before the Russian invasion, admits acquaintances have removed tattoos she believes are “old patriotic symbols that are Nazis to Russians.” The same ones who can wear that too [mercenarios de la empresa rusa] Wagner,” he explains. When asked if these are Nazi symbols, she adds that she has some friends “who have these tattoos, but of course they don’t support the killing of Jews.” Not supporting people of all kinds,” he adds. Korol, 24, is a frontline volunteer paramedic and expresses her feelings through tattoos, all of one color. The story of the war, beginning with the first Russian bombardment that caught him in Kharkiv last year, is told using his body as a canvas. A half-shark, half-missile design stands out as a reminder of this attack. And it will continue like this, he adds, as long as the conflict lasts, without forgetting the deceased comrades.
The tattoos of the national flag in blue and yellow, the ear of wheat, the map of Ukraine or the trident with the country’s coat of arms are now joined by motifs more closely linked to the course of the war. Such is the case with the sinking of the Moskva, the Russian flagship of the Black Sea Fleet involved in the invasion of Snake Island, or the famous US-made Javelin anti-tank weapon. A colossal allegory of what the Russian invasion meant deals with the endless back of Oleksandr (he does not give his last name), a 30-year-old soldier nearly six feet tall. A woman with a gun was tattooed after witnessing the crimes committed by the Russians in cities like Bucha or Makariv in the Kiev region. Because of these events, he decided not only to get a tattoo, but also to enlist as a soldier. Today he is fighting on the Zaporizhia front.
Towards the end of the invasion, Roman Marchenko, a former Red Army soldier, was wounded in the right leg by a 120mm mortar shell near Balakliia (Kharkov region). Eventually he had to leave the army for health reasons between blood clots and lung injuries. On a visit to the gym where he works, he shows off some of his other tattoos. A Soviet-era Jesus Nazarene is also preserved on the right shoulder. “Bless me and save me,” it says. This religious drawing is a reminder of a moment in his life that he’s not particularly proud of. “I didn’t believe in God, but somehow I needed to get closer to him while he was part of a criminal gang,” he explains, referring to the extortion gang he was part of.
Vitali, a 38-year-old soldier, uses a day off in the city of Kharkiv to get his first tattoo. Luis Vega
Three decades later, his life was turned upside down. Married for the third time, father of two children and five grandchildren, Marchenko embarked on a new path and decided to become a military chaplain. “Five years ago I started to believe in God and during the war I realized that only he can save us,” Evangelisch explains. After completing a series of courses, he was already beginning to occasionally wear his uniform again and go to the front to provide spiritual support to the soldiers taking part in the counter-offensive against the Russians in the Zaporizhia region.
Aside from these sporadic front-line visits, bodybuilding, a discipline he has been a judge on for more than two decades, now takes center stage in his life. He remembers how the Russian invasion prevented him from participating in the 2022 European Championships in Santa Susanna (Barcelona). Martial law, which prevents men between the ages of 18 and 60 from leaving the country, still weighs heavily on him. Meanwhile, Marchenko remains convinced that he must remove all traces of Soviet-era tattoos from his skin, such as the Christ, a tiger with a parachute on his back, or the angel peeping out of his right breast. “I don’t need them,” dig alongside rocket remains and other war junk that will be auctioned at the gym to raise funds for the military and displayed next to a Christmas tree in the middle of summer.
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