We are all witnessing the horror of the war in Ukraine. Like many of you, we feel heartbroken and powerless. Although everything might seem insignificant compared to what is happening, we wanted to pay a small tribute to the heroic people of Ukraine through the images and voices of our PhotoVogue community.
We have more than 6,000 Ukrainian artists in PhotoVogue; Ukraine is a country with incredible vision and creativity. Art unifies us and brings us together. Over the next week, we will be rolling out the artists’ photographs accompanied by their words about the experience of the war.
From the first day of the war, every day passes like a year for a Ukrainian, and the mood takes on a wavy shape. At first you are in a state of shock, trying to deny the very fact of the beginning of the war and convincing yourself that this conflict will be resolved in a few days and maybe hours. Then you get the euphoria of realizing that your nation is now more united than ever, repelling the enemy, everyone contributing, someone actively raising money, someone volunteering, someone on the front line. And these are not some people unknown to you, they are your friends and acquaintances from work, study, social networks.
However, this mood borders on constant anxiety and despair, stress, because currently no region of Ukraine is 100% safe, even here in a small town near the Carpathian mountains. I hear the sounds of air alarms at least once or twice a day. I wake up in the middle of the night and run quickly to the nearest shelter, which in Ukraine is the basement of apartment buildings.
I spent the first 25 years of my life in Kharkiv, a big city that shaped me as a person where I drew my inspiration. Almost all my pictures in PhotoVogue were made there. This is a city that was unlucky to be located near the Russian border. For more than a week and even now this city is almost constantly being destroyed, with each new report of a new explosion in the city I have tears in my eyes and fear. These tears come not only from the sight of the destroyed buildings and the killing of civilians, but also from the sound of my mother’s tears on the phone as she is scared to hear the sounds of bombs and rockets over her home, trying to hide in the hallway, because sometimes it can be safer to shelter between two load-bearing walls at the moment the projectile hits the house than to be in a poorly equipped basement where there is always a risk of blockage.
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