Across all these regions, a kind of architectural dialect began to form – a visual grammar of ‘Ukrainianness’ in a building. There were trapezoidal and hexagonal windows and doorways, their unconventional forms drawing the eye and being the most recognisable element in the style. Semi-elliptical arches softened rigid geometries. Roofs often swelled into tented peaks or folded into tiered ridges, recalling mountain silhouettes. Wooden galleries stretched along facades, their pillars sometimes twisted into carved spirals. Everywhere, tile and brick mosaics glimmered with patterns lifted from vyshyvanky, pysanky (decorated Easter eggs), and painted ceramics – fragments of a folk
memory reassembled in clay and stone.
Before this, only the Cossack Baroque had given Ukraine a distinct
architectural voice, and mostly within churches. Ukrainian
Architectural Modern took that voice to the streets. Schools,
cooperatives, and administrative buildings – all were reshaped
in a vernacular that felt both timeless and thrillingly new.
Ukrainian Architectural Modern drew from the vernacular: countryside homes (haty) with thick white walls and thatched roofs, wooden churches with tiered silhouettes, and national art. These elements were not pasted on, they were woven into the logic of design. This was architecture grown from folklore.
Unlike the palaces of empires, these buildings were filled with light and humility. Take, for instance, the rural schools designed by Opanas Slastion, where rooftop towers symbolised that ‘a school is a temple of knowledge,’ and brick ornamentation resembled woven embroidery (vyshyvanka). A national style, carved from memory and thorough research.
Poltava, more than any other city, became the soul of this movement. Vasyl Krychevsky’s masterpiece, the Regional Studies Museum (formerly the Zemstvo Building), is often seen as the birth of the style. But the movement stretched far beyond: to Kyiv, to Kharkiv, to Chernihiv, even as far as Kuban.
UKRAINE’S
MOST UKRAINIAN ARCHITECTURE
DAN MALITSKYY
What do we see when we look at Ukrainian cities?
Soviet modernism. Imperial classicism. French Renaissance facades. These
styles (borrowed, imposed, adapted) form the urban face of Ukraine. But is
there anything beneath them? Something unique; something
unmistakably our own?
Ukrainian Architectural Modern (Ukrainian Art Nouveau or UAM) is
that something. A style that prevailed briefly and brilliantly in the
early 20th century. It is rooted in folk traditions and shaped by
national aspiration and identity. Unfortunately, it is little known
even within Ukraine. But it should be. These buildings
do not merely stand – they tell a story. And what they say
is both beautiful and indispensable.
Across Europe, the early 1900s were a time of stylistic rebellion. Art Nouveau, Secession, Jugendstil… each region invented its own modern identity, rejecting classical uniformity. In Ukraine, this artistic wave collided with a deeper current: the search for cultural sovereignty.
But what could a modern Ukrainian city look like? Not one made in the image of Paris or Vienna, but in the image of Ukraine itself. Not imitation, but reinterpretation. Not nostalgia, but transformation.
For those who wonder: could we ever build in this style again?
The answer is probably no. Not really. Ukrainian Architectural Modern was born from a specific moment — from artists shaped by folk memory, trained in craft schools, struggling under the empire, and dreaming of a free culture. Any ‘neo-UAM’ we might construct today would be a well-meant imitation ‘inspired by,’ but not of the original spirit.
But we can, and must, learn from it. Preserve what we have. Celebrate what survives. Not just physically, but intellectually and emotionally. Because it is not only the most Ukrainian architectural style ever created, it is one of the most vivid expressions of Art Nouveau anywhere in the world. And it is vanishing. Too many buildings have fallen into decay — their tiles cracked, their paint peeling, roofs collapsing, and their meaning forgotten. Few people (even among Ukrainians) know these names: Vasyl Krychevsky, Opanas Slastion, Johann Levynsky. Fewer still recognise the buildings that stand quietly on our streets as historical artefacts.
UAM emerged at a time of radical social transformation. It
lived through (and barely survived) the collapse of the russian
empire, World War I, Ukraine’s brief independence, and the rise
of Bolshevism. In those short years, dozens of masterpieces were
built. And then, suddenly, they were not. The style was too national;
too proud; too rooted. Under the Soviets, it was branded ‘formalism’ or
even ‘exoticism.’ The Zemstvo building was called ‘pseudo-Moorish’ by
officials unfamiliar with Ukrainian traditions. By the 1930s, Ukrainian Architectural Modern was effectively dead, buried under the concrete slabs
of socialist realism and the silence of censorship.
What made UAM remarkable was not just its form, but its devotion to synthesis. Architecture became a vessel for the applied arts.
Ukrainian Architectural Modern is not just a historical curiosity. It is a testimony.
It is the voice of great individuals who dared to speak and craft for Ukraine and
Ukrainians.
It is also fragile. Fewer than a hundred significant buildings survive in
relatively good condition. Some have been restored. Many are
crumbling. And yet, each is a museum in itself – not only of objects and
craftsmanship, but of ideas.
Look closer, ask questions, and remember. Because
sometimes, the most powerful act of cultural memory is
simply to notice.
If you have never heard of UAM before, you’re not alone. But now you have. If you want to go further, here are a few starting points:
