#chekachkov #daily #igor #lives
Each May veterans of World War II come out into the streets of post-soviet cities under victiry banners. In 2015 sixty thousand World War II veterans, who reached the age of 85, are left in Ukraine.
364 days a year those who crossed the fields of World War II more than half a century ago presently live in an abandoned and devastated state, witnessing the memories of their war pass under another color. The color of internal fight and pseudo-political speculation running even higher each year in Ukraine.
This series is a tibute to mortality of human being, fragility of humankind memory, one battleground turing into another. A landscape of weary lives in the glow of sparkling medals and carefully preserved parade uniforms. Symbols of entities fading right before our eyes, still firm with its iron cold grip.
#portrait #ukraine #veterans
My stare cuts her to pieces, revealing the good and the bad; the beautiful and the ugly. I want to amputate the imperfections and sew her back together again. I want her to be perfect. But I am not God. I cannot do it. "You look ragged," I tell her. I read her again, from top to bottom and back to the top. I reinvent her. I reconstruct her.
"Who are you really?" I ask her. What does she really mean?
For quite a while I have been photographing how I sleep with my partner, pondering if my camera can catch the chemistry that happens between two people dreaming side by side. Every night I open the shutter when we go to bed and close it when we wake up, wondering what will be displayed on the photo that captured 8 hours of our unconscious existence.