Theatre Director Loreta Vaskova on Artscape’s Creative Missions: “We try to let kids just be kids”

Theatre director, educator, and Doctor of Arts Loreta Vaskova joined Artscape’s Creative Missions right after Russia invaded Ukraine. Since then, she has been leading theatre workshops for children from families seeking asylum. We spoke with Loreta about working with children affected by war, and how she helps them reclaim moments of childhood joy.

Loreta, when and how did you join the Artscape team?
When Russia invaded Ukraine, I saw that Artscape was looking for arts educators for its Creative Missions project. I happened to be transitioning between jobs and felt it was the right time to put my skills to use. Like many others, the war made me question the meaning of my work and existence. Even directing a play started to feel distant and pointless in that context. Joining the education team gave me a chance to be closer to the events and actively contribute.

How did you find your role within the educational activities?
With my background in both theatre and pedagogy, I naturally combined the two in the Creative Missions workshops. Before joining Artscape, I had already led sessions at a senior care home and was surprised to find that certain exercises we use in theatre—like concentration or relaxation techniques—worked very differently in social settings. I tried them with the Creative Missions groups and realized they really helped people disconnect from their stressful realities, even if just for a moment. Most of the participants were living in a constant state of tension, glued to their phones and overwhelmed by war-related discussions. Seeing the benefits of theatre exercises, I decided to stick with that focus, though I also explored other formats over the years.

Do you remember how you felt after your first session?
I remember the chaos at the refugee registration center in Blindžiai—stressed parents, complicated paperwork, and children lost in a completely unfamiliar environment. I was emotionally overwhelmed by the children’s stories: tales of war, pets left behind in Ukraine, or siblings fighting on the frontlines. It was hard to process their non-childlike experiences. I also vividly remember the transient nature of the work—families constantly coming and going. Sometimes you only get one chance with a group, knowing you might never see those children again.

You mostly worked with children. What did you notice about their needs?
The children wanted to play, run around, and have fun. Some of them needed to talk about the war—what it was like, what their town looked like, where their friends had gone. The space allowed them to share stories with each other and form new friendships, since their old ones had been disrupted. Our main mission was to create a safe, joyful, and welcoming environment.

I remember one girl who, after two months of war, got so caught up in the session that she seemed to forget everything else. There’s this stereotype that people affected by war—especially children—shouldn’t be laughing or having fun. I heard comments like, “Why are they going on vacation?” or “Why aren’t they crying every day?” But meeting people living through war firsthand showed me that life must go on. Laughter and play can be forms of resistance—a way of saying: you didn’t destroy me, and you won’t destroy my life.

Would you say the goal was to bring moments of joy back into their lives?
Absolutely. Children’s rights emphasize that every child has a right to childhood. War strips that away—there’s no longer a home to grow up in, no visits to grandma’s village, no time spent playing with pets or friends. In her book, Svetlana Alexievich wrote about Belarusian children who survived World War II. She described how they were left alone, forced to find food and take on responsibilities far beyond their age. I saw similar patterns—many children were responsible for younger siblings and remained tense even during our sessions, worried about their family. So our goal was simple: even for a short while, help the child feel like a child again—play, laugh, or just do something they enjoy.

Did the children relax and engage quickly during your sessions?
Before I started, we discussed at length how to work with children in crisis, because it’s different. In school, if a student isn’t participating, you try to understand why and encourage them. But with children affected by war, you don’t push. If they don’t want to do something, you give them space and let them decide. It’s crucial to listen with empathy, but not to probe or judge.

I remember one very shy boy at the Rukla refugee center. If new people joined the group—adults or kids—he wouldn’t participate. He’d just sit quietly. But after several sessions, I noticed he started overcoming his fear. When new people showed up, he felt more confident, joined in, and talked with others. Some children would arrive in a low mood, but we always managed to make them laugh or at least smile by the end.

In your view, what role did theatre exercises and art play in helping children just “be”?
Art allows people to talk about difficult experiences indirectly. It helps give form and meaning to emotions. For example, not all kids wanted to talk about the war, but you could see their experiences in their drawings. For me, as a professional theatre artist, it was fascinating to see how theatre exercises helped children open up, express feelings, calm down, and gain confidence. It proved to me that theatre can be both abstract and deeply practical.

That said, we clearly drew a line between education, art, and drama therapy. Our sessions were not therapeutic in nature—we didn’t engage in psychological processes that should be led by professionals.

It sounds like you carry many strong memories. What stands out most after nearly three years of Creative Missions?
One moment I’ll never forget happened at the Rukla center. After visiting regularly, I came again for a session, and the kids asked, “Why do you keep coming all the way from Vilnius? Just move here and live with us—then we can play together every day!” I laughed, but it was deeply touching. It showed me they looked forward to the sessions, felt good there, wanted to learn and connect.

Another memory— I used to bring them sweets as a tradition. One day, they surprised me with a pastry they brought to share with me. That gesture—so warm and kind—meant a lot. And of course, there are countless moments when, after a session, the kids felt truly happy. Those are unforgettable.

How did this experience change you? What did you gain from it?
Before this, I had never worked with asylum seekers. My only understanding came from media reports. Through this work, I saw the reality firsthand—the long, exhausting process of paperwork, the living conditions in refugee centers. There are a lot of misconceptions about these people. Some say they don’t need help, that they already get too much. To those people, I’d suggest visiting the Naujininkai refugee center or attending an Artscape event to see the conditions for themselves.

And don’t even get me started on education—many of these children miss entire school years because their families are constantly moving between countries. It’s not that they’re economic migrants. Most left their homes because it simply became impossible to live there anymore.

Before this, I was just an observer. Now, my understanding—and my empathy—has grown much deeper.

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