In the mid-20th century, before preservation efforts revived Miami’s Art Deco South Beach neighborhood with bright colors and lavish hotels, the area was a whitewashed holiday haven for retirees. And in a third-floor room of the Colony Hotel, which looked out onto the building’s marquee and the street below, a unique artistic endeavor unfolded.
Ukrainian artist Jonko “George” Voronovsky (1903-1982) transformed his humble, long-term residence into a vibrant environment of paintings and objects that he described as “memoryscapes.” Having endured incredible hardship amid the political maneuvers of the U.S.S.R. and the Nazis during the 1930s and 1940s, he chose to work in a bright, optimistic style that summoned idyllic remembrances from his youth. A short film by Dia Kontaxis, “George V.,” spotlights his legacy.
By all accounts, Voronovsky experienced a loving, typically middle class upbringing in Ukraine in the early 20th century. He spent his youth exploring his village and local forests, studying music, and dabbling in visual art. By the time he was a teenager, the Russian Revolution of 1917 marked the beginning of a protracted period of upheaval in Ukraine. His father died during this time, and the country entered the control of the Soviet Union.
By the early 1930s, Voronovsky had moved to Kyiv. He married in 1933 and became a father to two children. He worked as a mapmaker, and he witnessed the systematic destruction of Kyiv’s historically baroque architecture, which the Soviets replaced with the propagandistic Stalinist style.
In 1941, life would again change drastically. Hitler invaded Ukraine and took control of Kyiv. Three years later, Voronovsky and his family were forced—like many thousands of Ukrainians—to resettle in a camp. They were marched hundreds of miles to Prague, where he then was separated from his family when he was furthered on to a labor camp in Germany. Although he later sent them a portion of his wages to support them, he never saw his wife or children again.
Throughout the 1940s, Voronovsky drifted, traveling with a group called the Musical Wanderers that played in Displaced Persons camps around Ukraine. In 1951, as part of a program that eased immigration quotas in the U.S. to welcome European refugees, Voronovsky landed in New York, then moved to Philadelphia, where the Ukrainian immigrant community was well established. For a while, he found work with the railroad, continued to play music, and traveled. During the 1960s, he created some of his earliest work, a series of nude sculptures.
Eventually, due to his health and a desire to retire somewhere warm, Voronovsky took a room at the Colony Hotel in Miami Beach. Piece by piece, he filled his modest space with colorful paintings and sculptures made from wood, styrofoam, aluminum, and other found materials. These elaborate, often joyful compositions drew from his memories of Ukraine. They highlighted animals, dances, architecture, and bucolic, sunny landscapes. Completely concealed from public display, it was only a matter of chance that his work was seen from the street by a young artist named Gary Monroe, who knocked on the door and befriended the artist.
The amount of work Voronovsky fit into his space was staggering. “This little room was probably nine by 12 feet—5,000 objects,” Monroe says. Star-like forms made from drink cans covered his cabinets and were arranged around paintings. He’d use the backs of pizza boxes and magazine spreads to make his work, drawing from the post-consumer landscape of Miami Beach.
It’s thanks to Monroe that Voronovsky’s work was introduced to a wider audience, first shown in 1986 at a Miami bookstore called Books & Books. It wasn’t until 2023 that the High Museum of Art in Atlanta organized the first major solo exhibition of the obscure artist’s work, recognizing his contribution to the canon of self-taught art in the U.S.
Kontaxis’ film spotlights the High Museum’s exhibition along with interviews and archival footage. See more of her work on Vimeo.
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