What led photographers to join the ranks of the Armed Forces of Ukraine? How have photography—and they themselves—changed since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine? What did they have to give up, and what did they have to get used to? We talk to photographers Valentyn Kuzan, Oleh Palchyk, and Serhii Mykhalchuk.
“A choice between anxiety and fear,” — Valentyn Kuzan
Valentyn Kuzan is a well-known Ukrainian portrait photographer. He currently serves as a photo correspondent in the public affairs service of the 72nd Separate Mechanized Brigade named after the Black Zaporozhians.
Valentyn’s love for photography began in his teenage years. He would pester his father to lend him a camera so he could take pictures himself. His first baptism by fire—his first paid shoot—was photographing a wedding. A 10th-grader with no experience had to do the job because his father accidentally booked two events for the same date.
“I was really nervous back then. I kept thinking: ‘My God, it’s people’s wedding—they only have it once in a lifetime. What if I do something wrong?!’”
Valentyn’s father explained what absolutely had to be photographed—and what could be done if there was time and desire.
“Those were the days when people took photos like the groom holding the bride in the palm of his hand, or the two of them peeking out from behind a tree—usually a birch,” Valentyn recalls with a smile.
He first encountered documentary photography in 2014. He was inspired by the work of photographer Oleksandr Hliadelov, who brought exhibitions to Uzhhorod.
“It opened up the possibility of filling photography with new meaning,” Valentyn says, “and of seeing documentary photography as a language you can use to speak about what matters.”
Back then, Valentyn bombarded Oleksandr with questions about how to photograph war and how to get there, but the conversation didn’t lead any further:
“As long as I can remember myself as an adult, I’ve always had kids. I have four children, and one of them is always little. So, to be honest, back then it wasn’t a good time for long trips to dangerous places.”
He returned to that desire in 2022, after evacuating his family from Kyiv to western Ukraine and when the situation became more or less stable and understandable. Together with the Ukraїner project, he photographed servicemembers near the capital and took part in a series about intellectuals and artists who joined the army. After that, he was invited for a week to document how missile forces were operating in Donetsk region.
“One of the first aid packages had just arrived in Ukraine. It was a weapons system similar to HIMARS—just produced in another country. That’s how my first frontline shoot happened. Only later did I learn that people aren’t allowed to photograph things like that—and to this day there’s a big issue with getting access. It’s an attractive target for the Russians,” Valentyn says.
At the time, several photos—portraits from that series—were published on the page of then Commander-in-Chief Valerii Zaluzhnyi.
“That made me incredibly happy. That’s how upbeat my start in military photography was!” the photographer says, not hiding his joy.
After that, there were no opportunities to photograph the war directly, but Valentyn took on anything connected to it in one way or another. He began collaborating with various media outlets: The Ukrainians, Kunsht, and Lokalna Istoriia.
“Together with The Ukrainians, we photographed two UPA veterans and former political prisoners. One was 94, and the other was 99—he was going to turn 100 just four days after the shoot. It was in Kolomyia. This man commanded a UPA unit that became known for destroying about 400 NKVD troops in a single battle. His name is Myroslav Symchych. His son is fighting now. It was a very interesting story—about continuity between generations and an enemy that never changes.”
Later, with Ukraїner, he worked on the project “Units of Victory” about fighters of the 93rd Separate Mechanized Brigade “Kholodnyi Yar” and the 72nd Separate Mechanized Brigade named after the Black Zaporozhians. It was in the latter brigade that he found new friends.
“Even though we were there for about a week, I realized then how good I Photo by Valentyn Kuzan there. This work is filled with the greatest possible meaning for me.”
In the fall of 2023, Valentyn was mobilized into this brigade as a photo correspondent.
Since 2016, Valentyn’s focus had been portraits of Ukrainian artists for the Cultprocess project—an homage to the portraits of contemporaries by artist Anatol Petrytskyi, the “Executed Renaissance” generation. Over the years, the photographer shot thousands of frames featuring Ukrainian writers, musicians, painters, and other people who shaped our culture during the years of Independence. But now his lens is focused on defenders.
“Right now it’s important for me to show who is defending us, and to work so that the memory of these people—in the visual dimension—is represented as worthily as I can,” Valentyn explains.
He had to give up making the kind of photographs he loved most—black-and-white portraits—because after the invasion such images are associated with a person’s death.
“So as not to scare anyone. That’s why I work only in color now. For me, it’s a huge challenge—to work with color in portraiture.”
Even before being mobilized, Valentyn invited people for studio portrait sessions as a way to meet themselves. People would come to look at their photos—and, along with them, to see their own changes.
“After a year of full-scale war, you could see everything on people’s faces. Tons of stress in their eyes. But you could also see how people still manage. The path they’d walked was in their gaze,” Valentyn explains.
He notes that the look in servicemembers’ eyes is different, and it was precisely this contrast that helped him make the decision to mobilize:
“Anxiety is that constant ‘will it hit or won’t it?’—permanent, oppressive, and you keep thinking you could be doing more. But when you’re in the army, it can be scary, yet the anxiety recedes—you’ve already made your choice, and you’re already here.”
Despite the fear he feels himself, in his fellow servicemembers’ eyes he sees calm.
“Strangely enough, it’s because people are at peace with their choice—and because they can feel unashamed before their families, their descendants, and their fellow citizens. A very large share of the people I meet here are volunteers. They know why they’re here. Their eyes are filled with meaning.” Valentyn says he also sees determination, courage, a bit of humor, as well as heaviness and fatigue in his brothers-in-arms’ eyes: “Their looks say: ‘We’ve been here for two years—maybe someone could rotate us?’ To be honest, I reacted to that idea too when I decided to mobilize,” the photographer admits.
When asked what photograph he dreams of taking, he answered:
“I’d like every servicemember to have a high-quality portrait. Sadly, we now see alleys of fallen Heroes in towns and villages, and not everyone has photographs that are worthy of them and of their sacrifice.”
Valentyn added that after the war he would like every servicemember to have a good photo in uniform—so that in 50–60 years they could look at it and realize how important the work they did in their time was.
“I dream of photographing a Ukrainian parade on Red Square in Moscow,” — Oleh Palchyk
“It’s hard to kill the Ukrainian in yourself,” says photographer and junior sergeant of the Armed Forces of Ukraine Oleh Palchyk, quoting one of the protagonists of his many photo reports—the combat medic “Lata.”
Before 2022, he worked as a commercial photographer, doing product, portrait, and reportage shoots. Oleh lived in Kharkiv for many years and now resides in Kyiv. The war came to both cities he considers his own. That is why, from 24 February 2022, both he and his images changed.
On 24 and 25 February 2022, he went to the enlistment office twice to mobilize, but at the time they wouldn’t take him without prior experience. So Oleh volunteered and kept looking for a way to be useful to the country. He attached himself to a police special unit and began documenting the war in Kyiv region. Eventually, in May, he officially managed to become part of the Armed Forces of Ukraine. Since then, he has been documenting the war for “TRO Media.”
Oleh considers his public affairs unit to be one of the best in the army.
“We cover historic events, shoot documentary films about brigades and people. We make stories, record narratives, take photo portraits. Everything that can be covered in the media—we do it!” the servicemember shares.
A photo book based on Oleh Palchyk’s work is currently being prepared for print. Photo exhibitions featuring his images can also be seen in Ukraine and abroad. The exhibition “As Long as the War” is a joint work by two authors—Oleh Palchyk and Colonel Oleksii Dmytrashkivskyi. It brings together two separate projects, “The Face of War” and “On the Other Side of Peace,” into one combined exhibition. Hundreds of photos are continuously supplemented with new material.
“It includes Kyiv region after de-occupation, Kharkiv region before the large-scale counteroffensive, and everyday life in Donetsk and Zaporizhzhia regions. The exhibition features portraits of defenders at combat positions, photos of civilians living in de-occupied territories or near the front line. There is also military training and the combat work of artillery and other weapons. Overall—the consequences of Russian aggression, and more,” Oleh Palchyk says.
Among hundreds of his shots, it is hard for Oleh to choose the ones dearest to his heart or those that stayed with him the most. Still, images of the blaze in Kherson—after Russia struck a gas pipeline—stand out as especially significant to him.
“It looked very surreal,” the photographer recalls. “Even though the explosion was far away, the flame was extremely bright. When we got there, we saw a fire taller than a five-story building. The whole city could see that glow. It was beautiful and terrifying at the same time.”
Oleh’s main focus is on people and their stories. One of them is a photograph of Valerii “Roland” Dorokhov, a platoon commander of the 68th Jaeger Brigade, who was killed along with his brother-in-arms Oleh Barna while assaulting enemy positions in Donetsk region.
“That story, to put it mildly, knocked me off my feet. I photographed ‘Roland.’ A few hours before he died, we spoke—he was editing the material, making changes. I sent him the photos, but he didn’t have time to read my message,” Oleh says.
Oleh believes that Ukrainian documentary photographers have demonstrated a very high level during the full-scale invasion:
“It seems to me they didn’t just take a step forward—they leapt far above their heads. We now have many truly professional photographers. I’m sure their documentary photographs will become a benchmark in the postwar period!”
Oleh says that since the invasion began, his images have gained more freedom—the frames became freer because they now reflect entirely different values.
“For me, all the superficial stuff just fell away,” Oleh Palchyk says.
Despite a large portfolio, he believes he still hasn’t taken his best photograph yet.
“But someone once wished in the comments that I’d photograph a Ukrainian parade on Red Square in Moscow. That’s probably the photo I’d really like to take,” the photographer laughs.
“With a camera in your hands, it’s not as scary,” — Serhii Mykhalchuk
“When you’re very scared, you pick up the camera, you work—and it gets easier,” says Serhii Mykhalchuk. “Though there are moments when you have to hold on to your rifle until your fingers turn blue—otherwise tomorrow won’t come. Still, his favorite weapon is the camera. He has been inseparable from it since 1979.
My path into photography began so long ago. Some say creative people don’t even live that long. But photography is the biggest part of my life, and it was the start of my profession as a cinematographer,” he says.
Serhii has always liked documentary photography—because of the nature of the work, the conveyance of emotion, and the living state of things. He documented the Revolution of Dignity on the Maidan, and later repeatedly photographed in Donetsk region, including events in Sloviansk and Debaltseve. So he considers it entirely natural that during the full-scale invasion he continues this work.
Serhii has been a volunteer since March 2022. For the first 16 months, he documented the war in one of the special units.
“Those photos will hardly ever be publishable. Even after the war ends, I will speak about these events very cautiously—or I won’t speak at all,” Serhii says.
Now he serves in another unit attached to the General Staff of the Armed Forces of Ukraine.
Serhii explains his decision to mobilize by saying that he lost any illusions about Russia—a “friendship” that Ukraine had been pushed to accept for so long.
“I realized that as long as we exist, they will try to destroy us. Maybe as a civilian photographer I would be more useful, but joining the army is the right moral choice,” Serhii shares.
He admits that he realized himself professionally in Russia, where he worked on various projects for almost 15 years starting in 1996. Serhii has more than 40 projects behind him; one of them premiered to major attention in the summer of 2023—the film “Dovbush.” He was the director of photography, fully responsible for the visual side of the film.
“This film has become so relevant now because the war has escalated—though it has been going on for ten years. For many, the fact that there are combat operations was really a revelation. Now the war has come into almost every home. It’s so scary because no one knows whether this struggle will end with our generation,” Serhii shares.
The film contains many meanings and intentions.
“I want Ukrainians to be proud of their country, proud of their mountains, and to value the fact that they live on this land,” Serhii Mykhalchuk, the film’s director of photography, concludes.
Although the film made headlines a few months ago, Serhii says he has somewhat tucked that creative part of himself away:
“I’ve assimilated into the army so much over these two years that even now I feel more like a soldier than a director of photography. Even though I worked as one for more than 30 years and managed to shoot around 40 films.”
Serhii notes that war is always about extremely strong emotions—ones that cut deeply into memory:
“Even if they are short-lived, they can become the most defining emotions of your entire life. You will remember them forever.”
It is hard for Serhii to single out or choose key images among his photos. He says that right now he cannot distance himself from either emotions or the army because he is in the thick of events, though he notes that perhaps years later he will see his documentary material differently.
“War is becoming part of my everyday life. The whole world is getting used to it too, and that’s a very alarming trend. You start to feel like a part of it. That’s exactly why we have to keep covering everything. The tragedy must be remembered,” he says.
Serhii says that each of his photos matters to him: the first images from Irpin, shots from Bakhmut, and pictures from any other military operation.
“Cinematographers are taught to shoot as if it were the last frame of your life. Maybe that’s how I relate to all of my images,” the servicemember admits.
Right now, his task is to convey the state of things and the state of people in war. Serhii believes that a person’s eyes or movements can often be the most eloquent. That is why, as someone who came from narrative cinema, he tries to speak in the language of symbols and images. Sometimes photography helps him remain himself even when he is very scared.
“When there’s shooting nearby, it’s like you step into another reality. It works in your mind like a talisman—you just do your job. Like real warriors: if this is your last moment, you will leave with your weapon in your hands. That’s what the camera is for me.”
Worked on the piece:
Topic researcher, text author: Vira Labych
Literary editor: Yuliia Futei
Photo editor: Viacheslav Ratynskyi
