A postage stamp dedicated to Ukrainian deminers by #NEIVANMADE. This issue was presented by Ukrposhta in collaboration with DOK-ING, the Ministry of Economy of Ukraine, the State Emergency Service of Ukraine, the State Special Transport Service of Ukraine, and A3Tech.This image is about paradise — not somewhere across the ocean, not in dreams, nor in the past or future. Paradise is always here. It is simply beneath our feet. Quietly, with the silent tenderness of a spring dawn, it looks toward the sky — toward the One who is…Piece by piece, our deminers are restoring our paradise, while our heroes fight for our right to live — while bread is being baked, while children grow, gazing at the giant flowers atop newly built high-rises.I invite you to the official special stamp cancellation on March 19 at 11:00 at Maidan Nezalezhnosti.More about the artwork “Spring in Ukraine”:The image is woven from symbols that reveal multiple layers of meaning — much like in traditional Ukrainian sacred art. The key artistic device here is anachronism: the combination of actions from different times within a single composition. This creates the impression that immediately behind the demining machine and sapper, a Ukrainian farmer begins planting his crops.They move across a blackened field, as if scorched. This symbolizes the destruction of Ukrainian landscapes by artillery, missile strikes, and fires that often follow shelling. Yet within this black field lies a hint of hope: after fire, the land regenerates and yields abundantly once again.The plants in the foreground resemble Sosnowsky’s hogweed — an invasive species widely spread in the USSR in the mid-20th century as a fodder crop. It later proved dangerous: its sap causes severe burns, and the plant spreads aggressively with almost no natural predators. For me, this is a powerful allegory of the “poison” now embedded in Ukrainian soil — mines, unexploded ordnance, shrapnel, and fiber-optic remnants that make the land dangerous and unfit for cultivation.The demining machine carves a path of life. It moves upward, making the journey seem difficult and slow. “It is always easier to move downhill,” says a character in Ukrainian silent cinema. That is why all the figures move away from the viewer — as if inviting us to join them, to move upward together, toward tomorrow.The future is being created now. Slightly above, we see cultivated fields densely covered in green.There, in the future, rises a large white city — an iconographic “New Jerusalem,” filled with skyscrapers, churches, and homes. The city shines with life, blossoms, and continues to grow despite the war. This is why a construction crane is visible, along with a large flower atop one of the high-rises — a traditional Ukrainian symbol marking the completion of the top floor.The city’s expansion is also emphasized on the envelope: its contours extend beyond the image, like a plant bursting with life and reaching into tomorrow.In contrast, to the left stand small houses — a symbol of the village, the agrarian foundation of Ukraine and a connection to the land formed over millennia. There is also an allusion to the well-known phrase: “My house is on the edge — I am the first to meet the enemy.”Further left are fruit trees — a symbol of nature itself, which continues to bear fruit despite everything. At the center stands a large apple tree — the Tree of Life — blooming abundantly even as it grows from scorched earth. Its blossoms faintly resemble cotton — a symbol of Ukrainian resilience and victories. Above the trees flies a bird returning home, as spring has come and the darkness is fading.The composition partially references Grant Wood’s Spring in the Country. In that painting, Wood depicted an idealized vision of American rural life at a moment when the United States stood on the brink of World War II. This idyllic imagery attempts to counterbalance the looming sense of catastrophe.I have previously engaged with this image in my painting cycle “Get Used.” There, I depict a Ukrainian dream — the day after victory: a world full of color inhabited by black silhouettes, the burned-out souls of Ukrainians with PTSD trying to adapt to a new life.The difference between these works is fundamental. In “Get Used,” I depict a symbolic tomorrow. On the stamp, I show today — a day we are fighting for, and one that, despite everything, is full of life.