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Born and raised as I was in Uzhhorod, a small town in western Ukraine, my family and my people have become ever-present subjects in my photography. In looking to them, I’ve gravitated toward questions of national identity, home and immigration; heritage, familial history and collective identity.
The Ukrainian national identity is an outlier compared with traditional European cultures, as it resembles more closely the cultural rifts within the once-colonized countries of India, South Africa and the Caribbean. For close to two centuries, Ukrainians have struggled against Russia for independence and cultural freedom. The Soviet state was bent on eliminating any cultural difference that didn’t fall in line with the Soviet agenda. My grandfather, a journalist, would wait nightly on the doorstep of his home for the KGB to pick him up, knowing that the books he owned were warrant enough for this arrest.
My exploration of my country’s search for national identity through the examination of my family’s history resulted in a photo series titled “So You Speak Russian?,” a nod toward Ukraine’s political and cultural desecration as it continues to reel from the effects of Soviet-era rule. I photographed in various regions of the country, from isolated villages in the Lviv oblast, where the source of water for many is still a hand-turned well and where showers were considered a luxury even before the war, to the cities of Kyiv, Lviv and my hometown, Uzhhorod. Major cities have started to industrialize, and there is a growing embrace of many Western ideals, both social and cultural. Nevertheless, much of the country still lives in poverty, and corruption is rampant. I documented strangers, family and friends in their homes and neighborhoods, on streets that look forgotten, or against walls that have begun to chip. I was attempting to capture the tension of a modern people in the process of breaking out of the confines of a system that has perpetually worked against them, of children whose future is uncertain and of seniors who have little support to fall back on.
This year, after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, my eye has fallen on the Ukrainian diaspora within the United States, in an attempt to chart a path in which Ukrainians can save their country while preserving their cultural identity and place in the world. The portraits are of people who work to keep the Ukrainian culture, spoken language and history alive, from illustrators and writers to parents in New York who are trying to help their children connect with traditions from back home. In one way or another, all of them are taking small but deeply felt steps to preserve their national identity. This work attempts to address our need, one that is both deeply personal and universal, for belonging and ties to our homeland.
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