We continue to introduce you to the finalists of our annual Grant Program to Support Documentary Photographers — an initiative implemented by UAPP with the support of the International Press Institute.
Today — the project “Where the road will lead” by Max Chorny. It is a journey through Ukraine without routes and reservations — only the road, road trips, casual acquaintances, conversations that you do not plan, and portraits of people that remain in the memory forever.
This is not an event report. It is a personal observation of how the country feels in the middle, in dialogue, in silence, in fatigue, in believing words and unbelieving views. Max's stories are not a claim to objectivity, but an attempt to catch the living warmth between the lines of the news, where the real begins.
Disclaimer!
Before familiarizing yourself with the project “Where the Road Will Lead” include critical thinking and do not forget that the author's stories are his subjective experience, which does not describe the overall picture of life in the country.
UZHOROD
Behind the gates of the private sector, we were waiting for a pool with barely warm water. However, you do not pay much attention to the temperature of the water in the pool, when in mid-January twelve girls bathe there and with a wave of a hand invite you to join.
— Good afternoon. And how did you sanctify the whole river?
— “With God's help,” the rector of the church answered me. “What are you photographing here?
— And I walked by, saw people, and I took pictures. Such work.
— Aha, I get it. But are you not photographing for evil or bad, not for any such sources?
— “No,” I replied, Max Black, “I take pictures for all the good that exists.
- — Oh, well, well, because you know, there are different ones, everyone goes to take pictures.
— Don't worry, have a good day, thank you.
— With God!
DROHOBYCH
Miron's brother is still fighting. The man himself, after the injury and the operation, is no longer fit for duty. Taxis. He says we need to feed the family. The son also got a civilian job, gradually recovering from injury. When I asked for help from the state, Myron smoked another cigarette and began a long account of his journey in the army. About the change of priorities, the loss of motivation and all the terrible things that we hear from unverified telegrams of the public - I heard from Myron, who sat next to me and took me to Drohobych. From financial fraud to orders “one way”. If at the beginning he said that he wanted to protect the family, now, he says, I would rather take them somewhere or something else I can think of. Because I was just dying there, but I didn't feel like I was protecting anyone.
I wanted to say to Myron one phrase that I read, Remark seems (I could be wrong), that there are no more useless people for the state than a soldier after the war. But I thought what is the point of investing in one phrase a thirty-kilometer confession of a man.
Myron took me to the center of Drohobych, I shook his wide calloused hand and told to meet. The most painful thing was that with this feeling of a man (when in the beginning you are ready to give your life for an idea, and then later, the idea flakes like a nut shell — what do you have left?), you do not know how to deal with this feeling. How to breathe it. How to seal.
IVANO-FRANKIVSK
— Do you hear me, bro? And where are you going next? — Novelist asks when we were on the way to ATB?
— I plan to go to Kryvyna. One girl wrote, invited.
— What is Kryvorivnia?
— Village in the Frankivsk region. Closer to the mountains.
— Look, I haven't been in the mountains for six years. Let me torture you?
— But only in passing.
— One hundred, bro, one hundred. Just like that. If you don't mind, of course.
“But come on, what not,” I agreed, realizing that drunken offers rarely survive until the morning.
CURVE LEVEL
Everything rests on the ignorance of people about the infinity of life. There is an understanding of this infinity, that is, everyone knows that sooner or later they will die. However, they live without realizing it in reality. They lose opportunities, do not use the moment to the maximum, give themselves and others indulgences, do not do things because of fear. The main motivation for me in every business is honesty with myself. If I am afraid to do something, I ask myself if I will regret on my deathbed about a missed opportunity. And if I understand that yes, I will regret that I did not - I take it and do it.
Of course, fear does not disappear anywhere, instead, honesty with oneself for the opportunity used prevails over fear and gives strength to one or another action. And if life consists of such moments of fear, through which you either pass or bypass them, and death is your main motivation for overcoming this or that fear, then what is death a synonym for life? Going in a circle from birth to death, we find ourselves at the same incredible point where everyone came from and where we will go. Or maybe this is the point that total pink Anastasia talked about? The point where matter and spirit connect?
KYIV
The driver's name was Abdurakhim and his car smelled pleasantly of the village. Not a paved swampy road, but a field, with neatly, individually heaped mullein balls. Abdurakhim is a farmer, going home. He refused to be photographed, but you can imagine a man named Abdurakhim, bald, with a very low voice, of strong build, who has been farming for twenty years. From the trunk, one by one, some sounds were heard, but I did not pay attention. Over time, Novelist and I looked around, I realized that it was not audible to me.
— And what is it that rustles in your trunk there? - I asked in the end.
— “Lambs,” Abdurakhim replied indifferently.
TERNOPIL
— Dachshund, which means we will now pass the village of Molochky. And yet after the murder of Gongadze, an unkind man moved there. I went to the house, consulted on the property, as people told. Well, the local man is like that. And time passes, they investigate the murder. And what happens? — Edward glanced through the interior of the car, looking for eyes interested in the question, but he saw no one but mine. The hall was empty. - And it turns out that this new man, who moved to the village of Molochki, oh look, we just pass, this road to the right that leaves the highway, this is the road to the village. But it turns out that this general was hiding here in the village of Zhytomyr region. And when he was packed up, when there was an investigation, people say, handcuffed him in a car and asked if the police or the journalists were then, too, asking what you have to do with the Gongadze case. And he says, you know what he says? Directly, he says, I have something to do with the Gongadze case. Well, now he sits for life.
For a while we drove silently.
Did you like your job? Train driver. - I ask.
“How about it,” says Edward, looking into my eyes. And as it is, I would work for half a century, where I do not feel like it. Yes, you can go crazy. I would never waste so much time on an unloved occupation. In life, the main thing is to find something to your liking.
KHMELNITSKY
On the tenth day of my trip, Khmelnitsky fell. The only motivation to go there was to see my close friend Zhenya, with whom we have been friends since high school, but we have rarely seen each other in recent years. It was a real grace to spend a whole day with her, without haste and the slightest plans. In the afternoon we were at her work—in the car repair shop. If you live in Khmelnitsky and you need to pump up your wheelbarrow as much as possible, dial, I will give contact to Zhenya. In the evening, we bought a kilogram of sushi and, to the point of obscenity, we ate them for a documentary about photographers “All on the street”.
My friend Zhenya, in which I exchanged photos of Yana with Girlfriend for a black stone ring
SCABIES
The last few days of the trip are rather lost, relaxed, plasticine. In contrast to the intense, as for me, beginning, now there was quite a logical emotional and adventurous stagnation. It ended with a family, cozy and indescribably pleasant feast. Before going to the cages, Yegor asked where I was going next. I went into the messenger and looked through all the options of cities where I was invited by people who somehow found out about this project. I stopped on the profile of a girl who invited me to the city, called Korostyshiv.
ODESA
On a walk, I saw a strange city that I had never been to. I did not recognize the city center, the embankment, the port. People's faces were plastic, public transport made of the same material. Odessa remained for me in 2021, when my classmates and I went here for a week, to spend a scholarship. Odessa stayed at dawn on the beach, noisy Deribasovskaya, girls in swimsuits, cold beer, dried fish, walks on the pier, escape from the guards, kisses under the thick of cold water. Although no, even after that we came to Odessa with the same company in the winter. And that winter, Odessa was not so empty and plastic. In that Odessa there were warm stories of Stas's grandfather and grandmother, there was a signature cuisine of his village, there were drunken walks in Teplodar, birthday celebrations, student carelessness, the only problem was covid, the only desire was the desire to love, the only weapon was youth. And then snowy Odessa seemed pleasant, cozy. The people around were rosy, generous, cheerful.
And I walked in mourning of a strange girl through an unfamiliar city. Passing places where we ate shawarma with beer, and realized that some of those people are not in the country and it is unlikely that they will return. Some of those people are simply not in my life and are unlikely to return. It seemed that in that Odessa, drunk, friendly, student, carefree, I left my ability to enjoy things without a feeling of guilt hidden in the wilderness. But Odessa remained in eternal serenity along with the former company. And a city with administrative boundaries was of no importance to me. The city that remained in the people who showed it to me five years ago, only that city mattered to me. However, he was no longer on the map.
KHARKOV (DNIPRO)
— Alex, hello! Are you in Dnipro?
— “Hi Max,” he replied in a calm, as always, voice.
— Can I stay overnight?
— When?
— Now.
— Hahahah, stuck?
— Ah, in the district. I was already thinking of spending the night at the gas station and at the last moment I remembered, you live in the Dnieper!
— Well yes, I live here, and you have never come to visit me in a year.
— Well, now I have arrived! Surprise! Pa-pam!
— I am happy to send you the address.
— And you're home? can something jump into the barge?
— Oh, come on, go to the Flash bar.
— I will be in half an hour.
I called a taxi to the bar. And in the back seat thinking, what kind of defeat can we talk about? How can you regret that you did not manage to get to Kharkov, if I finally came to visit Alex. There are simply no defeats and wins on the road, there is no right or wrong. There is simply what exists, and it all depends on how you treat it. And in the end, you realize that you are creating this reality for yourself. And the emotional context of certain events you can adjust yourself.
KHARKIV (KHARKOV)
Yuri Nikolaevich uses the technology of ambrotype in photography. The patent for it was obtained by photographer Jason Katting back in 1854. I don't want to go to Wikipedia and explain to you the essence of this method in detail, so I'll explain it the way it stayed in my head. Yuri goes to the laboratory (meter by meter room with all the necessary accessories and red light), there he applies a layer of some emulsion on a rectangular glass block, waits for it to dry, then we go to the camera. I sit in front of a two-hundred-year-old camera motionless for fifteen seconds, immediately after Yuri takes out the block with glass, we go to the laboratory. In the dark, he takes out the glass, carries out some manipulations with pipettes, other emulsions, in particular with silver. Turns on the water in the tap and puts this piece of glass under the stream. In a few minutes I am already looking at my image on a piece of glass that is formed by small pieces of silver.
KOSTIANTYNIVKA
After driving one and a half kilometers to the city center, you can buy shrimp, trout and red caviar in the supermarket. I took a stick of sausage, processed cheese and red bull. Sock took freshly baked buns with garlic. We were sitting in the parking lot in the car, Nosok shared that after the war he plans to go on an around-the-world hitchhiking trip. Listening, I sent all the signals into space, on all the channels that were available for him to do it. In the moment I most in this life wanted Socks to take a backpack and go on a round-the-world trip that he has dreamed of for so many years.
The sock took me straight to Kharkov. Wishing me a good road, I looked into his tired and sad eyes and asked him to save himself. I stood on the road and caught hitchhikers to Kharkov.
I have tried to fit this story into fifty pages of text and two hundred photographs, but I lack my own head and heart to keep all the absurdity of our days inside. Moreover, will the paper or the screen of your device cope with this? I stood on the track thinking, “Finally, my journey is over...”
However, deep inside, I felt that my journey was just beginning.
p.s. Daniel Tree, thank you, brother. The lens you helped me to buy is making good stuff, as you see. See you in Tasmania. Love you.
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