The meaning of images can drift and turn, albeit sometimes to more painful ends
This story was made with the following people: Olya Oleinic (photographer), Imogen Wright and Vincent Le Chapelain (creative directors of Wright Le Chapelain), Karo Rose (stylist), Sonya Kvasha (producer and casting agent), Lisa Parsentieva (production and casting assistant), Yevgeniya Kozlova, Anastasiia Tymoti and Oksana Cherepanya (hair and make-up artists), Artem Nadyozhin (photo assistant), Diana Khalilova, Vitya Konstantinov, Sasha Smarko, Olena Khavroshyna, Lesha and Pasha Gots, Mariia Zadvorna, Vlad Malyshevskii, Kamila Shuldiakova, Eli Bauer, Ilya Nuzhen, Olya Balyk, Maksym Nademianov, (models) and Fran (the dog).
A photograph’s meaning is never fixed. Instead, it shifts unendingly; tuning itself to whoever is looking as well as when, where and how they look. A photograph of a friend, for example, is only a photograph of a friend to those who consider them a friend. For others, the same photograph may mean very little. If that photograph is presented in a museum, however, with the name of whoever made the image next to it, the photograph may now mean something more about the person behind the camera than the person in front of it. Every photograph is like this – static but fluid.
Olya Oleinic’s photographs of young people, made last winter in Kyiv, are a moving reminder of how the meaning of images can drift and turn, albeit sometimes to more painful ends. Originally the fruit of a collaboration between many friends, these photographs have now taken on new meaning for the seemingly simple reason that they were made at a particular time in a particular place. Needless to say, that reason is not so simple. Last winter in Kyiv is not just a time and place in the literal sense, but a time and place of normality before all normality was taken away by the atrocities of war. When these photographs were made, they were photographs of new friends and old friends; of a place held dear; of an idea finally realised after a summer of conversations; of a city seen for the first time by Karo Rose, the stylist who accompanied Olya. Of course, they were also photographs of Imogen Wright and Vincent Le Chapelain’s clothing, made with second-hand clothes from local charities and then reimagined into new pieces that exist at once in the past and the present. Whilst they are still this, they are now also photographs of something radically different; something that at the time was unthinkable but now is inescapable. In part, it is this hindsight that makes these photographs so poignant. We know what is to happen only a few months after these images were made, but the faces in them do not. People say hindsight is a wonderful thing but sometimes it is also painful.
It is not only this new understanding that makes these photographs so affecting, but indeed the normality of them as pictures too. They are tender portraits of young people, made in familiar rooms and on familiar streets. I know this not only because I have been told, but because of the grace of those in the photographs. There is an ease with which they stand or sit, in how one leans against a kitchen counter and another against a tiled wall. These are simple moments in places known intimately and photographed with affection. It is this tangible normality, however, that simultaneously reminds me that war is, maybe more than anything, a tragedy of everyday lives. War deprives people of their everyday. A favourite armchair. The floral wallpaper in the kitchen. Walking the dog. Olya’s photographs make real this bitter fact; a reminder that for every apartment block torn open and left in ruin, there was a life lived behind its now crumbling walls.
For all the sadness that these photographs can evoke, they also elicit something brighter, less painful. Perhaps it is because they are undeniably beautiful; a word not often used when, here and now, the same photographs can be read as a reminder of war and all that it leaves in its wake. And yet, through Olya’s warm gaze and the poise of those photographed, these images feel resolute. An ode to more peaceful days, to how things were and how, perhaps, things can be again one day. Because of this, I find myself returning to these images in a way that I haven’t with the photographs of the war that circulate in the news without repose. Whereas often it seems such images encourage only the most fleeting of exchanges before another takes its place, these photographs invite us to look closely, slowly, with intention and care. Unlike the photographs in the news, they arrest us without force or spectacle. In turn, I find solace.
As I look yet again at these photographs, I am reminded of a scene from the Wim Wenders film Wings of Desire, set in a Berlin divided by concrete and barbed wire. In it, an old man looks through a book of portraits by the German photographer August Sander. As he looks, he says, “What is wrong with peace that its inspiration doesn’t endure and that its story is hardly told?” I think these photographs are, in a way, an answer to this question; a moving portrait of peace, made last winter in Kyiv with friends, now enveloped in history as it continues to unfold.
Following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, Lesha, Sasha and Pasha stayed in Kyiv. Eli moved back to Berlin and resumed her studies at the Institute for Slavic Studies. She also continues to cover the war as a journalist, aiming to give a platform to Ukrainian voices in Western media. Artyom has temporarily settled in Mexico, where he was at the time of the invasion, and hopes to return to Ukraine in the autumn. Olena moved to Vienna. Oksana moved to London. Anastasiia, Sonya and Lisa moved to Paris. Sonya continued working in production and became actively involved in initiatives creating visibility for Ukrainian art and culture. Lisa started her studies at École Duperré and became involved in anti-war initiatives. Anastasiia continued working as a hair and make-up artist. Yevgeniya moved to Montreal. Diana remained in Odesa and is now working with foreign media to collect and disseminate real information about the war. Vitya stayed in Odesa too, and together with Diana moved into a commune there with friends. Olya, with some help from Karo, travelled to Poland and then to South Korea. Maksym and Mariia moved to Berlin. Kamila moved to near Cologne and is studying German before hoping to start her new university studies. Ilya remains in Ukraine. Vlad is no longer with us.
Creative direction Imogen Wright and Vincent Le Chapelain (creative directors of Wright Le Chapelain). Producer and casting agent Sonya Kvasha. Production and casting assistant Lisa Parsentieva. Hair and make-up artists Yevgeniya Kozlova, Anastasiia Tymoti and Oksana Cherepanya. Photo Assistant Artem Nadyozhin. Talent Diana Khalilova, Vitya Konstantinov, Sasha Smarko, Olena Khavroshyna, Lesha and Pasha Gots, Mariia Zadvorna, Vlad Malyshevskii, Kamila Shuldiakova, Eli Bauer, Ilya Nuzhen, Olya Balyk, Maksym Nademianov and Fran
(the dog).