BEFORE THE WAR STARTED
Today, I often find myself marking time with the phrase, “before the war started.” It has become a way to make sense of a world divided into two: before and after. For most of my life, I didn’t fully understand what war could mean—not for my country and certainly not for me.
But in the winter of 2022, I began to feel it. In January, I came to Kyiv, and something about the city felt different. The streets, the snow, the shadows—it all seemed to carry a quiet warning. I walked through the city with my camera, capturing moments that felt both ordinary and heavy, as though the city was holding its breath.
This series, shot on black-and-white film, is my record of those days. It’s not just about Kyiv in January 2022; it’s about how the world looked and felt before everything changed.
Today, I often find myself marking time with the phrase, “before the war started.” It has become a way to make sense of a world divided into two: before and after. For most of my life, I didn’t fully understand what war could mean—not for my country and certainly not for me.
But in the winter of 2022, I began to feel it. In January, I came to Kyiv, and something about the city felt different. The streets, the snow, the shadows—it all seemed to carry a quiet warning. I walked through the city with my camera, capturing moments that felt both ordinary and heavy, as though the city was holding its breath.
This series, shot on black-and-white film, is my record of those days. It’s not just about Kyiv in January 2022; it’s about how the world looked and felt before everything changed.