Roman Zakrevsky is a Ukrainian photographer and videographer who combines reportage precision with an authorial vision focused on emotions and internal state in his works. Today, he serves in the 12th Special Purpose Brigade "Azov" of the National Guard of Ukraine. His black-and-white photographs depict all shades of war, where a person sometimes has no choice whether to remain on the light or dark side, and are also about the attempt to preserve light in others and in himself.
— Please tell us, why and when did you become interested in photography?
— My dad had a "Zenit" camera. This thing interested me as a mechanical object—iron, heavy, showing something and making a cool clicking sound. One time, a friend and I bought a roll of film, started shooting, developed it, and printed the photos. Then we bought another roll, and that was it—the process hooked me.
When I started photography, someone told me I had a good sense of color. I thought then that I could keep shooting. Actually, I really love photographing people. I often met people who considered themselves unphotogenic or incapable of posing for the camera. It was important for me to take a shot that would change their opinion of themselves. In general, I’m interested in photographing people: what they do to themselves, what they do to the world, what they create around them, and how they imbue objects with spirit.
I shot a lot. I was curious why I saw one image in the viewfinder but an entirely different one came out. I liked creating a new reality, capturing moments I previously just passed by, and forming my own philosophy of the frame.
I recall a photograph with interesting light that I took near my house. I often bought "Soviet Photo" journals at the flea market for ten kopecks. They featured contrasty black-and-white images that I always liked. And that photograph looked similar to the ones I saw in the magazines. When I went to my first official job, I wasn't too concerned with it because I knew I would be pursuing photography. I simply cannot not take pictures.
The shooting process is like plugging into 220 volts and feeling the beauty happening all around. Everything starts with the light, which accentuates individual lines, figures, and details. And then—practice, lots of practice. It's a wonderful feeling when you've finished a roll of film, developed it, received the scans, and review the resulting images.
— Please recall the first days of the full-scale Russian-Ukrainian war. Where were you at the time, and what did you photograph?
— I was working at Suspilne media, having joined there twice. The first time, I stayed for two years and quit, planning to be a freelancer. Later, I became a family man who needed a steady income, so I returned to Suspilne on February 14, 2022. I worked in the usual routine for ten days, and then the full-scale war began.
Before the full-scale Russian invasion, I photographed my hometown of Chernihiv extensively, documenting various changes. I remember, late on the eve of February 24, 2022, I was looking through archival footage, considering what to post on social media. In the morning, I went out to walk the dog, wanted to grab coffee at the supermarket, and saw huge queues there. I went to work and was immediately sent to shoot the checkpoint at the entrance to Chernihiv. When I returned home, I packed our belongings, and we moved to the hospital basement. My wife, daughter, and I lived there for three weeks, and then I sent the girls to western Ukraine.
To this day, when I recall that time, I shake all over. I wanted to shoot everything happening around us: explosions, shell craters, gunfire. To capture the frames I had previously seen taken by war photographers. However, I couldn't venture far from the hospital, so I photographed people there. It was important for me to know that my loved ones were safe, and all I could do at that moment was care for them and take photos.
I drove around Chernihiv a bit, but without any extreme risks. I recorded details that made it clear that war was underway—for instance, an old first aid kit on the floor, people in the basement, a small child in my wife's arms. I shot the aftermath of a strike on one of the streets in Chernihiv. I didn't know what would happen to these photos next, whether they would be preserved or not, but I couldn't stop shooting. I decided I was photographing for the future, for eternity. It was important for me to document what was happening to my home and to me. If it matters to me, someone else will surely find these frames important too.
— When did you join the Armed Forces of Ukraine? How much did your perspective on photography change during your service and the war?
— After the start of the full-scale Russian invasion, I always took my camera with me—I photographed everything that marked the war in Chernihiv. I remember wanting to photograph a serviceman with a prosthesis who lives in the neighboring building. But I still haven't dared to approach him. I shot many rolls of film then, maybe over time I will create a complete project from them.
Later, a friend with whom we shot documentaries about the consequences of the war in Chernihiv wrote to me. He told me about an operator vacancy for the Armed Forces of Ukraine, and I decided to try—I created a resume, passed the interview, and they accepted me. I had always dreamed of shooting war. However, I imagined traveling the world, photographing in other countries, in hot spots. It happened that the war came to our home instead. I understood that I would have to fight regardless, but now I have the opportunity to do what I love within the ranks of the Armed Forces. The main thing for me is that people here treat each other genuinely, with open hearts and a readiness to help.
And here we are — I take beautiful photos and videos, and if necessary, I shoot photos for documents, awards ceremonies, interviews, and the guys' work on their positions. I started shooting film again. I really love shooting black-and-white film. To me, color is distracting; it adds gloss to the shots. In contrast, black-and-white frames have that "raw" format, they have soul. I joined the Armed Forces to take portraits because there are many people here, and they are all great. I give people photographs again to show them how beautiful they are.
Of course, throughout the first year, everything was maximally strange and terrifying for me. I found myself in unusual conditions, but if others are fine, then you can be OK too. I tried not to bother anyone, to fulfill my duties, and to help others. War seems to strip away all masks and reveals the true nature of people. I realized that, despite everything, I will give my all, genuinely and fully, and live right now, in this moment.
I recall, back in Chernihiv, returning from work and seeing a beautiful crescent moon near the bell tower. I decided I would take that shot tomorrow, as I would be coming back from my shift at the same time. However, the next day that shot was gone. I realized that nothing is ever repeated. Even if I go out to shoot artillery work for the umpteenth time, I get new frames—there will be different people, different light. It's like an exercise you repeat many times, perfecting the movements. I always photographed, and having this opportunity here too is the main thing for me. Photography is the shield and sword that I carry.
It is important for me to be honest with people here. If you treated a person well and took a good portrait of them, it’s not just a plus for karma, but also the establishment of normal relationships with people. Because the next serviceman you talk to will perceive you through the experience of their comrade. A good photograph affects the state of the person to whom you give a beautiful result in the form of a quality portrait. A good shot also affects my state, when I feel that my work is not in vain.
— What meaning do you see in photographs during the war? Why is it important to document events in Ukraine?
— I started with film photography. I simply always photographed. I even shot when I had film but no money to develop it. Then I got a digital camera, but I didn't get a similar feeling from the image; I couldn't achieve the right quality in post-processing. In the Armed Forces, I had the opportunity to work with film again. I bought a medium-format film camera. I feel that my film photographs are needed.
At least I would like to think that my black-and-white film photographs are needed. Now there is a trend where photos of deceased people are published in black and white on social media. I understand that this is a way to show people living in normal conditions the losses of the war. However, I don't accept this. I will not stop shooting black-and-white photography because of it.
When I post black-and-white portraits of servicemen on social media, everyone assumes these people have died. It seems to me that this is also due to the fear of death. Everyone is afraid of dying, and many hide from this experience; they don't want to accept loss. I want to believe that I have already accepted the fact of death's existence and do not think about it at all. The first year was scary, but where I am now, it is no longer scary.
I photograph many people while they work, and then, at some point, I ask them to stop for a portrait. I want to take film photos of everyone I meet. My goal is not to capture perfect light or create an ideal composition. If the opportunity arises to photograph a person and they agree—I will take the portrait.
I feel that constant stress affects me internally. I don't allow myself to express or experience many things, and they happen somewhere deep inside. However, when you see that a person just like you, in a trench or dug-out, feels normal, you don't allow yourself to fall apart. You just work on yourself.
There is no point in constantly thinking about death or danger here. The world doesn't revolve around you. It's psychologically difficult, but I compare the situation to airplanes. A catastrophe happens once in a million flights. Everything else depends on you—on your awareness and responsibility, on karma, and on the comrades beside you.
— What themes are you currently focusing on? How do you manage to preserve your vision of the world in wartime conditions?
— I have a project consisting of black-and-white portraits against a black background. A person comes in, we talk, and I photograph them. The first shots don't turn out very well. Then, through conversation, through calm, magic happens—the person stops worrying and finds a comfortable pose. There is nothing superfluous — everything is beautiful and in harmony.
I realized that first there is light, and you must follow it. Then comes color, form, thought, and idea. In principle, there is enough light. There will be enough light for everyone. The well-known concepts are — light inside and light outside. The light of eyes, the light of the sun, the light of a smile, the light of an encounter. The light of the moment of realizing that you are alive, that you have a home, that you have a place to return to.
There are some things I try not to let myself in for. On the one hand, having a filter is very irresponsible. For example, regarding "darkness" (chornukha), which I once stopped photographing. Because darkness begets darkness. I realized that I wasn't so much capturing the "darkness" around me as noticing it within myself — finding dark sides that corrupt a person, shooting not good and beauty, but evil and baseness, something that destroys rather than creates. It came out as poison in a beautiful wrapper.
I do not think about war, I respect war. I respect it as an entity and accept all its manifestations in which I participate. I accept everything that happens to me, and I trust this process. I have no complaints about the situation; my only complaints are with myself.
There is one video on our channel I want to talk about. It was supposed to be a calm shoot about how the guys are setting up their positions. Suddenly, the assault on a neighboring position began, and in that moment, I felt extremely calm, as never before. The guys were doing their job, and I was filming them. I wasn't thinking about anything; I was just there.
I do not allow myself to feel anger toward others. I don't delve into an imagined feeling of righteousness or knowledge. I do not accept cruelty. Of course, it is impossible to deny fear, pain, and death; it is difficult to constantly do something against the nature of things, rather than because of it. I thought I would vomit if I saw, for instance, a severed leg. In that moment, it’s not that I felt nothing, I was simply behind the camera, and I was interested in what was happening around me. You have to be a professional—to ensure everything is sharp, correctly exposed, and has a normal composition—but without losing the sense of humanity. That is difficult.
During difficult moments while shooting, maximum concentration occurs, and you transcend the boundaries of form. You see a mutilated body, but you understand that others are fighting for this person's life. This is not about blood and flesh; it is about spirit. You need to convey and record this using the camera. In that moment, there is nothing good or bad, there is action, there is a moment of Ukrainian spiritualization. This experience must be lived through with dignity, so as not to be ashamed of yourself.
I try to quietly shout that everyone is beautiful, that everything is fine, that life exists. Photography is a way to convey my point of view on certain moments, to transmit my vision, a piece of my reality, to others so that they also feel it. If I feel something in that moment and I like it, there might be someone else who will feel it too. It’s great to share such moments. I have something that others don't, and I can share it. This can make another person feel better.
— Please tell us about the photographs significant to you that you have taken over the last few years?
— My photograph of a shelled building in Chernihiv was on the front page of The New York Times. I felt the entire dualism of this situation: on one hand, my dream of photographing war and having a photo published in a top media outlet came true, and on the other—the war was not a thousand kilometers away but a hundred meters from my own home. A memorable photograph for me is one from my first mission with the infantry—at first glance, it is not immediately clear that it's a trench and a serviceman's back; everything is torn and yet very colorful. This photograph is like a song on an album that you initially dislike and constantly skip, but after a while, you listen to it endlessly. A separate block of images are photos of those whom I photographed and who are no longer among the living. Perhaps photographs become memorable if they are taken honestly.
For example, if you take all of Henri Cartier-Bresson's great photographs, accepting the fact that each frame is only a fraction of a second, it totals maybe three minutes. And he photographed his whole life. Over time, everything superfluous disappears, and only the main things remain. In this respect, photography holds very strong meaning. Imagine, in one five-hundredth of a second, you can encapsulate the experience of a lifetime. Someone might see a photograph and discern a deeper context in it, transcend the boundaries of form, and change their life.
My big goal is to take portraits of all servicemen in "Azov" and then display these photographs in an exhibition. My photographs are about the person's transition during the war from a civilian perception of reality, from misunderstanding everything happening around them, to the state of a serviceman.
I hold onto the image of a bright future. More accurately: it's like a glass of water you need to carry through a crowd. The more water you preserve in it, the better another person can quench their thirst with it. If you constantly try to control what's happening around you, your hands will shake, and you'll spill most of the water. If you find inner peace and feel the current carrying you, the probability of delivering more water increases. I don't know how to do that, but I have to figure it out as I go. Regardless of what happens, I will hold within me this bright image of the future, the feeling of the country I would like to live in, an example of how people should treat each other. I want to demonstrate this through my own example. This thought helps me not so much to ignore the events around me, but simply to pass through the war.
Roman Zakrevsky is a Ukrainian photographer and videographer, known for his deeply sensitive approach to depicting people. He was born in Chernihiv and has been involved in photography since 2005. In his work, he combines reportage precision with an authorial vision focused on emotions and internal state. Before the war, Roman primarily worked in color—that's how he saw and conveyed civilian life. The transition to the black-and-white format became a natural change for him already while serving on the frontline: only in his second year in the military did he begin shooting black-and-white film. War in color, according to him, is perceived unnaturally, creating dissonance—whereas the black-and-white image allows one to focus on the main subject. He is convinced that the eyes are the strongest tool for conveying feelings, and the authenticity of the frame begins where a person stops "performing" for the camera. He has been exhibiting his work since 2006. His photographs have been displayed in Ukraine (Kyiv, Lviv, Chernihiv, Donetsk, Ostroh) and abroad, including in Austria. In recent years, he worked as a video operator for the Suspilne Chernihiv TV channel and also shot documentary and feature films. His photographs have been published in Ukrainian media (The Ukrainians, The Reporters, "Local Histories") and international publications, including The New York Times and Wyborcza.pl. Zakrevsky continues to work at the intersection of art and journalism, recording important moments in the life of the country and its people with maximum empathy and sincerity. He currently serves in the 12th Special Purpose Brigade "Azov" of the National Guard of Ukraine.
Photographer's social media: Facebook , Instagram
Credits:
Researcher, Text Author: Katia Moskalyuk
Photo Editor: Vladyslav Krasnoshchok
Literary Editor: Yuliia Futei
