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"SELO". Stories from before the after.
🕑 Added 2025-06-17 17:00:08 +0000 UTCI was planning to follow a chronological order — to start sharing everyday life photos I took after that one special meeting in June, the moment everything shifted and I began photographing again with full force.
But before that, there are a few dozen photos I took earlier. And I’d still love to share them.
Like these ones.
This is the village — the place where my parents lived after the full-scale invasion of Ukraine began. During that time, I felt an urge to shoot more project-based work, to stop being stingy with film or frames and just document whatever touched me — whatever caught my eye, made me laugh, confused me, moved me.
For me, the village has always been a place where you become “nobody” — in the best possible way. Even if you earn millions, once you’re there, you shower in an outdoor stall, go to the toilet outside, dig up potatoes, and can tomatoes for winter. Because in a place like that, status doesn’t work. The land doesn’t care. It requires your physical presence.
(Of course, there are more modern villages, especially closer to cities — but I’m talking about a real village, where everyone knows everyone, where the alcoholic neighbor will dig your potatoes for a bottle of vodka, where people show up to weddings and funerals uninvited, where someone’s son-in-law is a local official who can “help with anything,” where most people are distantly related.)
Both of my parents were born in villages — my dad in Kyiv region, my mom in Odesa region. They were raised with a deep respect for the land and physical labor. (I didn’t quite inherit that.)
I remember how we used to spend summers at my grandparents’ place, planting potatoes — four kids, four adults, and two grandparents. We split into teams, picked a row, and raced to see who’d finish planting fastest. My parents were inventive like that. It’s actually one of my brightest memories from village life.
Well, that and the time a huge stag beetle blocked the path to the outhouse at night, and I was terrified to walk past it in case it attacked me.
But this story isn’t about childhood memories.
These photos are not memories. They’re a record of the village during war. And the war here isn’t seen in ruins or explosions. It’s in the expressions of my loved ones. It’s in the forced simplicity of daily life. It’s in having no options, no jobs, no clarity. It’s not their perspective — it’s mine.
In these frames you’ll see:
– my grandfather, who’s been bedridden for three years after breaking his leg;
– a messy, cluttered kitchen — despite the fact that my mom is a total clean freak. She literally can’t stand mess, but for various reasons, this is what she’s had to live in;
– a bucket with a dolphin-shaped lid that became the winter toilet;
– kids caroling on Christmas Eve;
– washing laundry without a real washing machine…
This is the village — with all its flaws and charm, its logic and contradictions. This is the village during war, and the people who, unwillingly, had to live there. It’s a life spent waiting to return home.
Spoiler: they finally moved back to Mykolaiv in September. Not because it became safe — but because it was time to stop waiting and start choosing again.
And yes, I’m happy they went back. But I also felt a little… sad. I had just begun photographing this project. I thought maybe, if I kept going, it could grow into a small book. There was still so much I wanted to capture — and I didn’t visit often. But it happened the way it happened. Which means — maybe that’s exactly how it was meant to be.
Comments
Matthew Martin
Wow , this fascinating ! Reminds of growing up horse and buggy Mennonite with out electricity inspite of being in America 🇺🇸 Even today most of my 11 siblings still live that lifestyle because most people live in fear of being banned for leaving the group as me and my wife have done ☑️ Even though I’m proud of my heritage, I’m still thankful that my kids don’t have to live in that box of fear ❤️🔥
Antoni
Dear Julia! What a wonderful text and images! Your talent and sensitivity, your ability to capture what is invisible to most, the depth and clarity with which you express your thoughts and feelings, melt the hardest heart and penetrate to the depths of the soul! You know how much I love your country and the friendships I have there. I so miss my trips to this wonderful and tortured land! I recognize your father, your mother, Aliona, some of the freshly washed clothes hanging out to dry... and it all reminds me so much of my childhood, when I lived in a similar environment and place, with the same characteristics you describe in your village... You have transported me back to my childhood, which, despite the limitations, hardships, without any luxuries except for the people, all acquaintances and neighbors... I thank you for sharing this wonder and I am deeply sorry for the unjust and tragic circumstances that brought you there. I send you a huge hug, straight to your beautiful soul, and I dare ask you not to rule out the idea of turning this into a book, because I think it's a great idea and an extraordinary document, full of art, of memories that repeat themselves, of reality, of sensitivity, feeling, and love (and the world, more than ever, is in dire need of these things, which are in danger of extinction today). If you decide to do so, you know who you can count on! Kisses and best regards!
Sendrock
These shots are a wonderful periscope into your life beyond the frames of your body of work, looking forward for all the variety you have to share with us here 🙏🏼
