War Scarred but Unbroken, their passion for art survives. The story follows two Ukrainian sisters, Anzhelina and Anzhelika Kotseliuk, who at fourteen endured the upheaval of conflict and left their homeland almost with nothing shortly after the invasion began. They carried with them a stubborn spark for painting that would not be extinguished by smoke or sirens.
They found refuge in Finestrat, welcomed with their ten-year-old daughter by a family that opened their door and their hearts. A neighbor provided a house on the outskirts of Puig Campana where they began rebuilding their lives alongside their mother, grandmother, and aunt. The house offered a fragile shelter, a base from which to plan a future that war had seemed to erase.
Before the war, they were respected painters in Ukraine, preparing for an exhibition in Germany. The sudden turn of events halted those plans as if someone had signed a stop to their aspirations with a blunt stroke of a pen. Yet their brushes kept moving in the shadows of displacement, their hands still finding color even when the world around them was crumbling.
Raised in a picturesque city by the Ros River, their family’s artistic lineage stretched back through generations. Their great-grandparents painted, and their mother encouraged them to pick up brushes from a very young age. Anzhelina and Anzhelika began painting when they were four, and the practice never faded, becoming a daily ritual and a shared language that carried them through uncertainty.
On the wall of every memory hangs a scene from their past: landscapes and icons painted with careful strokes, testimonies of a family tradition that once graced Ukrainian studios and exhibitions. A caption in a photo notes Anzhelina at the easel, a quiet moment of creation amid a world that was changing fast.
When war erupted, the girls’ father urged their mother to save them, saying they would go as far as possible. He may not have been a seasoned driver, but his resolve to escape the horror outweighed any fear. Bombings and distant aircraft filled the sky, and a long journey through Europe eventually led them to Benidorm, where the locals welcomed them with warmth and new possibilities.
They found solace in painting, a means to ease fear and pain. A family member recalls that painting helps them relax and forget the horrors they endured, if only for a while. Their afternoons became a quiet rhythm of brushes on canvas, a counterpoint to the loud memories of the past. In moments of relief they would pause, look up at the light, and feel a small sense of safety in the glow of a studio they were slowly transforming into their own.
In Benidorm, the girls and their relatives moved through a string of towns—Benidorm, Mutxamel, and finally Finestrat—continuing school and medical care as needed. One younger sister faced a heart condition requiring regular tests, but the family kept their focus on healing, growth, and the discipline of practice that keeps them grounded amid upheaval.
Orthodox Icons and Open Skies
What started as a focus on Orthodox icons and landscapes expanded under the Costa Blanca sun. The light and warmth inspired them to explore broader subjects, to catch the play of light on canvas, to capture scenes of everyday life in a place far from home. They discovered that art could offer shelter for the overwhelmed, a sanctuary where fear could be transformed into color and form.
Mother Olga notes the sisters’ continued enthusiasm and resilience. They translate fear into energy on the page, letting the brush sweep away anxiety and leaving room for hope. The act of painting becomes a daily ritual that steadies them and gives them a voice when words feel insufficient.
In front of a new painting, Anzhelika stands with calm resolve, a reminder of the siblings’ shared journey. The work serves as a quiet beacon, a sign that they are still here, still imagining a future in which art plays a central role in their lives, even amid loss. Their mother speaks of the transformative power of paint, how it replaces fear with focus and brings a spark of joy back into their days.
Olga also reflects on the toll of war as she recalls what happened to her brothers, who served as soldiers and were lost to a mine near Mariupol two months earlier. The tragedy deepens the family’s longing to return home, to Ukraine, to the life and people they miss. The girls, though outwardly composed, carry the ache beneath their smiles—an ache that art helps to bear, if only a little easier.
Even so, the family has held on to their dreams. They have managed to bring a few paintings from their car and, alongside new works created in Finestrat, plan a charity exhibition in La Nucía from 8 to 24 June. The event will showcase their talent while supporting a cause that resonates with their experiences: the need to rebuild, to share, and to hope through art.
As the days pass, the girls’ mother speaks of an almost overwhelming warmth found in a single embrace. The pain of a senseless war cannot erase the beauty of art or the stubborn human desire to create, to tell stories with color, and to find light in the darkest hours. The sisters’ journey is a reminder that art often survives where people fear to tread, offering a fragile yet enduring beacon of humanity.