Leica Gallery Boston, Solo Exhibition 2024

On View May 12, 2024- July 19, 2024

When I first arrived in Ukraine at the start of Russia's full-scale invasion in 2022- it was completely foreign to me. I was thrown into the breaking news of covering war, drawn instinctively to the humanitarian moments that seemed most undeserved. I had a semi-broken camera, an age-old computer, and defaulting hard drives in my bag- no conflict experience, no editorial contacts, and a small amount of borrowed money in my pocket. I sat on train station floors with refugees, chased explosions with my colleagues, and started learning everything I could about speaking Ukrainian and surviving in a warzone. That first year was incredibly profound to witness as a documentary photographer- all I could do was shoot as much as possible and let the images say the things I didn’t have the words for. 

Never had I seen such grief, violence, and death. It was months of sorrow that felt compounded during the long weeks spent in Bucha, Donbas, and Kharkiv. From the trenches to the mass graves, the body of work that came from this period had glimpses of hope and victory that changed my understanding of what war could look like. I became most captivated by the aftermath stories that emerged as the frontline inched farther east. 

This past year has allowed for a deeper perspective, an integration of everyday moments that seem to provide relief from the never-ending tragedy. As a Russian orphan at the collapse of the Soviet Union adopted into a Ukrainian-descending American family, the history of Russia and Ukraine has always been a personal story. The message now feels more abstract than just what war looks like- it is what surviving a war feels like. The highs and lows of constant shelling juxtaposed with the experiences we take for granted. Every photograph on this wall represents a shared history and culture embodying what Ukrainians are fighting to protect- the calmness that echoes the darkest reality of conflict. It is a persistence that Ukraine now carries in their collective push for freedom.  Asking the question, what future is possible when nothing feels real?

American Center For Photographers- A Very Wilson Summer 2024

On View June 1, 2024- July 28, 2024

Thank you to everyone who came to see “A Very Wilson Summer.” It was an exhibition put on by @americancenterforphotographers showcasing 30 images I captured during a photo residency last summer.

I came to Wilson, NC with no expectations. I had been documenting the war in Ukraine since February 2022- living far from the United States that I was raised in - but small town America has always intrigued me. The quieter zip codes that sit along the railroads and were once booming places of trade and landmarks of civil convention.

My first day was a quiet one- a Sunday. I unpacked my bags, got a beer at Casita Brewing and walked over to the Whirligigs. Every day since, showed me a new slice of Wilson. I tried to do as much as possible- from water aerobics, to bee keeping, to birthday parties and bike rides across the railroad tracks. I also hoped to capture each moment candidly. I spent time exploring the agricultural history and after long days in the Tobacco fields, I would return to stare at the marvel of repurposed metal churning in the wind against the night sky. My first Tobs game (Tobs v. Japan) was most surprising as I had never been a baseball enthusiast before. The charm of the historic Fleming stadium was hard to ignore and the games became something I refused to miss.

The thing about Wilson I came to learn is at first everything seems straightforward, easy to accept exactly as you see it. However, the karaoke nights and live music in Freeman Park is not about music and the baseball games are not about baseball. They are about togetherness, tradition, and love for an evolving city that has grown from hard work and a complex history.  Wilson has its own authenticity that radiates in through every part of the community.