YOUTH

“To suffer is one thing; another thing is living with the photographed images of suffering, which does not necessarily strengthen conscience and the ability to be compassionate,” said Susan Sontag in her notable On Photography. “Once one has seen such images, one has started down the road of seeing more – and more. Images transfix. Images anaesthetise.” We live in a world where images of pain and suffering are normalised, numbing. From the moment we wake up until the moment we go to sleep, these images accompany us everywhere. Yet, the power of photography is not lost. In fact, now more than ever, it is undeniably the most important tool we have.

In such an image-driven culture, the work of Ukrainian photographers Lesha Berezovskiy, Vladyslav Andrievsky and Daniil Kotlyar stands out. Becoming a crucial form of introspection, the work of these three photographers, who met one another in Kyiv (it’s not unusual to find one of the photographers in another’s image), reveals a deeply intimate portrait of the world around them. Traversing the photographic styles of documentary, fashion and street, each attempts to understand their feelings and experiences – both conscious and subconscious – by photographing them.

“What do photos mean when you are so young and confronted with the reality of war, as all of you are? Does photography help you to process reality?”, I ask. “Oldest first,” exclaims Daniil, laughing, “that’s how the world works!”. By “oldest”, he’s referring to Lesha, who is currently in Kyiv. Reluctantly but smiling, as though not to give any visceral substance to Daniil’s claims, Lesha answers.

“Photography is the only thing I’m doing right now. It has become an important aspect of my life; not only to navigate through these times but to live through them. I’ve been working with a lot of foreign media, writing columns for a Swiss magazine and taking pictures to report on the realities happening here in Ukraine,” he shares. “My friends and I have also been volunteering, helping people to renovate their homes and feed their families. In a sense, I’m on this informational, cultural frontline and I feel a responsibility to share the truth with the world. This work becomes almost like a diary, because I’m sharing everything that’s happening around me.”

“How have people responded to your column?”, I ask.

“I’ve found that sharing the stories of my friends and the people around me has really helped communicate the reality of this situation to the wider world. For example, one guy – who read an article I wrote about my friends’ volunteering work – drove all the way from Switzerland to the Poland–Ukraine border and gave them his old car. Another reader donated money to my friends’ volunteer group to help us continue the work we’re doing,” he explains, before pausing for a few moments. “I don’t know. I see photography as a way to remember this period of time. For future me, if I survive, or just like for my friends and family to remember me by.”

“For me,” says Vladyslav, somewhat hesitantly, “it’s hard to understand what’s important. I’m not really taking photos right now. My approach is not documenting everything: that would be too physically and emotionally challenging for me to do. I’m just trying to live through this experience, and be sensitive to my thoughts and feelings. I believe this war will end. And only after the war will I be able to think about how I can speak about it.”

While Lesha and Vladyslav are currently in Kyiv, Daniil is in Paris and had been based there a while before the war began. “I’m living this experience differently because I’m not directly in Ukraine,” he says. “But I’m still living in this reality, as my friends and family are there. It’s a sort of double reality, where I feel like I’m living two different lives. There are a lot of personal feelings. A lot of aggression and violence. Everything that I’ve been capturing photographically in this period feels different to what I was doing before. For me, photography is therapy. I didn’t really see that before.”

“I find it quite hard to talk about feelings,” Lesha adds. “I’ve had this experience of war for the second time now. I moved to Kyiv from the Donetsk region in 2014 because of the war then. Back then, I would have vivid dreams about joining the military and being on the frontline. It feels more complicated now, though. My grandparents are under occupation at the moment. I have constant worries about my family, my wife. When I take pictures, I’m not really thinking about feelings.”

“I think the emotional aspect of photography is not always intentional,” I say. “It just is.”

“Yes. Lesha’s been working on a book that captures the everyday routine of him and the people around him; his wife and his friends,” explains Daniil, “it’s actually a lot about feelings from an outsider perspective.”

Daniil continues, “Photography is joy and it’s also pain. It’s a way to really explore yourself. I work a lot with memories and so I’m thinking a lot about the past. Naturally, with that comes a lot of emotion. Over time, this emotion really builds up and you have to give it away to something, to feel some sort of freedom inside of you. Again, it’s complicated.”

But, being a photographer in Ukraine in the current climate doesn’t come without its risks. “Having a camera isn’t necessarily freedom. You can be stopped by the police or military for taking a picture,” says Lesha. “Last month I was in Odessa and the atmosphere there was like in Kyiv in March 2022 when everything really started and there were signs everywhere against taking pictures. At some point, I wanted to take a picture of a covered monument and suddenly heard, “Up to five years in prison, this picture could be too costly” from a passing police car. There was another time that I took a picture of the moon, right by the checkpoint where the military was. I just took it as it was the last exposure I had. They saw me taking the picture but because it was on film, they made me destroy the whole roll. That roll was meant for the magazine I was working for.”

“Even for me in Paris, there’s a complicated personal relationship with the camera,” Daniil shares. “There are times where nothing makes sense. I’m not in Ukraine any more and it’s complicated. There’s a disconnect. It’s a double life that I’m living, one that the camera doesn’t always free me from.”

That’s not to say that the war has entirely crushed their creativity, though. In fact, all three of them are working on their own books which are set to be published in the coming months. “I’ve been working on a project exploring conventional Ukrainian traditions,” Daniil shares when I ask him about his book. “It began a while before the war started but now in this new context, where Russia is trying to destroy our culture and traditions, the project takes on a different meaning.”

Meanwhile, Vladyslav’s book is an introspective look into the feelings of Ukrainian youth. “It’s called District and it expresses the dark feelings of a young person who is fighting with himself and his life. He questions what he wants from this life and battles to escape this darkness. Again, I was working on this even before the war. It’s about someone who is looking for some light in the darkness of life. Someone who only has faith and hope to keep them going.”

I wonder if this is autobiographical. I decided not to ask. After all, to once again borrow the words of Susan Sontag, “photographs are a way of imprisoning reality… One can’t possess reality, one can possess images. One can’t possess the present but one can possess the past.”

As featured in SLEEK 76 FREEDOM. Available in print and digital here.