Self-expression is one of the defining traits of the Ukrainian national character. For centuries, Ukrainians have sought — and found — ways to express themselves through words, music, dance, and ornament. This deep need to be heard and seen, to preserve one’s “self” through generations of statelessness, has shaped a unique model of Ukrainian culture centered on the survival and affirmation of the community. In traditional songs and stories, Ukrainians voiced not only their personal feelings but the collective experience of their people — their shared memory, sorrow, joy, and hope — transforming even pain into symbol, melody, and image. To be distinctive rather than absorbed by the system has always been a natural desire of Ukrainians, whose creativity and individuality are at the heart of their cultural identity.
Folklore is a living form of people’s self-expression — one that needs no intermediaries. In carols, wedding songs, comic verses, tales, proverbs, and dumy (epic ballads), Ukrainians have expressed their hopes, grief, protest, and love openly and honestly. The collective and anonymous nature of oral art never prevents originality — on the contrary, it thrives on it. No two fairy tales, legends, or songs are ever identical: each performer brings personal emotion, worldview, and experience into the work. Even author-written songs or stories, if they capture the folk spirit, quickly become part of oral tradition, growing new versions — each one a fresh and unique text shaped by its performer’s imagination.
Self-expression in everyday culture also manifests as a love of beauty and harmony in all things — in the carved ornament of houses and furniture, in the painted stoves and walls of homes, in the songs sung while working in the fields, in humor and polite manners during daily life. In Ukrainian tradition, art is not separated from life — it is life. Though fairy-tale and legendary heroes follow familiar archetypes, every storyteller adds something personal — a phrase, an image, a playful opening or ending that makes the story their own (“Grandfather stood at the gate in red boots,” “This tale begins with old Omelko, when the earth was thin”). In these tales, the hero often wins not through strength but through intelligence — by speaking well, answering cleverly, and showing wit and self-presentation.
Even supernatural beings in Ukrainian folklore are creative. The forest spirit Chuhaĭster plays the flute beautifully; mavkas and rusalkas (water nymphs) pose riddles and dance gracefully. These artistic acts humanize them and affirm a key idea: self-expression is essential to existence. In humorous songs, anecdotes, and proverbs, Ukrainians reveal their attitudes toward power, life, neighbors, and themselves — asserting dignity through humor and speech. The kolomyika, a short and witty folk song, combines emotional depth with self-irony, instantly responding to events. Many kolomyiky even mention their creators by name:
“A cuckoo sang beside the stream,
And who composed this song? — Marichka from Ivan’s team.”
Jokes, comic songs, and witty sayings were never mere entertainment — they were acts of resilience, a way to keep one’s dignity and sanity.
True self-expression cannot be imposed. That is why, despite Soviet efforts to create “approved” folklore — with songs about Lenin and Stalin or heroic tales of Red Army soldiers — such works never entered living tradition. Instead, they provoked a wave of subversive humor. “No cow, no pig — just Stalin on the wall” became a biting slogan exposing the absurdity of the regime. By contrast, banned carols and shchedrivky, nativity plays, and the songs of riflemen and insurgents survived underground. Self-expression went inward — into family singing, the embroidery of shirts and ritual cloths even in Siberian exile, whispered charms, and ironic jokes. Folk songs were sung not only for joy but to say what could not be said aloud. A wedding song, a lullaby, a kolomyika — each was a way of telling the world who we are, what we feel, what hurts, and what gives hope.
In times of catastrophe, war, or instability, Ukrainians have always turned to creativity as a means of survival. The power of self-expression has allowed them to create works that capture the spirit of their time with striking accuracy. The riflemen’s song “Oh, the Red Viburnum in the Meadow”, once a hymn of struggle in the early twentieth century, became a rallying cry for unity and hope during the first months of Russia’s full-scale invasion. Today, digital folklore — memes circulating across social media — plays a similar role, helping people endure the trauma of war and sustain faith in the future.
Thus, in Ukrainian culture, self-expression is not merely creative freedom but a profound spiritual need. Through songs, stories, humor, and art, Ukrainians have not just spoken about themselves — they have preserved themselves. Self-expression is a form of resistance, a way to be heard, to leave a mark. It is a spiritual force that has shaped the Ukrainian character for centuries.
