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Kherson is a frontline city, located a few kilometers from Russian positions and separated from already occupied territories only by a river. Shelters in Kherson are not just physical premises; they are a forced component of its residents' way of life.
Photographer Ivan Antypenko descended into the shelters of apartment buildings, hospitals, theaters, and schools to photograph life in Kherson underground. His photos feature people who remained in the city and for whom the shelter holds deeper meanings than just a safe space.
“People Who Fill Shelters with Meaning”
“The word ‘shelter’ is one of the most frequently used in Kherson. When we go to see a play at the theater, when we plan an event for children, when we hear the sound of a drone, or when we read about the danger of shelling, we talk about a shelter,” says photographer and journalist Ivan Antypenko. “The city, roughly speaking, plunges underground and continues to live in shelters. At the beginning of 2025, I decided to create a photo project about shelters in Kherson, to tell how many there are, what happens there, who goes there, and what they mean to the residents.”
Before the start of Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine, there were premises in Kherson that were officially classified as bomb shelters and shelters. Most of them were in unsatisfactory condition, and when they became relevant, they did not help much—people hid in basements and various buildings.
After the liberation of Kherson from Russian troops in November 2022, the city began actively constructing various types of shelters, repairing existing ones, and repurposing basements. Underground operating theaters and patient wards were equipped in healthcare facilities, viewing halls in theaters, and mobile concrete shelters and gabions—structures made of metal mesh filled with stones or sand—were installed at public transport stops and near various institutions.
“Another type of shelter that has become relevant now is nets. They are stretched across many streets in the city, near infrastructure objects, and on roads leading into Kherson. The nets protect against FPV drone attacks,” says Ivan Antypenko.
Ivan Antypenko’s photographs are primarily about the residents of Kherson who remained in their native city.
“Shelters as architectural structures do not interest me much. Above all, the people who come there and fill the shelters with meaning are important to me. If nothing happens in a shelter or if no one has ever used it, it was built in vain,” explains the photographer. “I recently photographed a shelter in one hospital—everything was well equipped, but there was no one there. The shelter was ‘lifeless,’ and I did not add a single shot from that shoot to my project.”
“People Often Descend Here”
In his series, Ivan Antypenko tries to cover different types of shelters in various parts of the city. He photographed a shelter where a homeless woman now lives. Ms. Tetyana lived in her daughter's apartment, then with acquaintances in the Korabel neighborhood. After the flooding resulting from the Kakhovka HPP dam breach, she found herself virtually on the street. Today, Ms. Tetyana is a resident of Kherson and a part of this city's history. She looks after the shelter and always keeps the doors open so people can enter in case of danger.
A large bomb shelter is equipped near the central market.
“When I approached the shelter, I saw tulle behind the heavy reinforced concrete doors and handmade shelves on the walls. The shelter has a guard who decided to add coziness himself and equip additional amenities here. In the shelter, you can drink tea, grab a bite to eat, and stay overnight. The shelter is built substantially, and people often descend here.”
Ivan Antypenko photographed the shelter in the theater to show a part of the city's cultural life. The main stage of the Mykola Kulish Kherson Theater has not been used for its intended purpose since the start of the full-scale Russian invasion. From time to time, the theater organizes underground productions in the shelter. For example, in Kherson, one can see the monodrama "Call Sign Sparrow," starring local actress Tetyana Provorova. The play is about a female AFU soldier, based on Natalka Vorozhbyt's play "Bad Roads."
“The actress tours with the theater to other cities and continues to perform on stage in her native city. She is not leaving Kherson; she continues to live and work here, and this is very important. Tetyana, like many other Kherson residents, explains it simply: if we all leave, Kherson as a city will cease to exist.”
Schools in Kherson are physically not operating due to the proximity to the front line and the constant danger of shelling. Children study online. Last autumn, the city began constructing an underground school next to a school in the Tavriyskyi neighborhood.
“Building such a large object a few kilometers from Russian positions was short-sighted. The construction was immediately noticed, and a KAB (Guided Aerial Bomb) flew there. A large part of the school building where I once studied is virtually destroyed,” says Ivan Antypenko.
There were no military objects or positions in the neighborhood, and local residents protested against the construction, which, in their opinion, became a target for the Russian military.
“There were protests in other areas as well. For instance, they also wanted to build an underground school in my yard—and people gathered to protest. Following the media resonance, the construction was halted,” says the photographer.
Only a few kindergartens with equipped bomb shelters are open in Kherson. Shelters in schools and other buildings have been transformed into spaces for informal education, where parents occasionally bring their children. Children practice karate, attend various workshops where they draw or make different crafts.
“In one school, there is a very well-equipped shelter that can accommodate several classes at once. However, the main problem is getting to the school, as there are no underground tunnels from homes to educational institutions. One has to walk along the street, which is often quite dangerous, or take public transport, which stops running after three or four in the afternoon. Therefore, this shelter at the school stands empty,” explains Ivan Antypenko.
“Every Kherson Resident Already Has Their Own Sad Story”
One of the best shelters the photographer had the opportunity to shoot is located in one of the city's hospitals. Operations are performed in the shelter, and a maternity ward is housed there.
“I spoke with a woman who had just given birth to a daughter in the shelter. This is a very special moment,” says Ivan Antypenko. “It is not easy to stay in Kherson, not easy to live, and especially not easy to give birth to children. I want to show the people of Kherson, tell about their lives and their motivation to stay, and also capture the state in which my city is currently living.”
The photographer had the opportunity to observe the work of doctors in the shelter and photograph medics operating on a local resident in the underground operating theater.
“I admire the doctors who are committed to their work and their people, who provide aid under shelling, who have lost a lot—some property, some health. Every Kherson resident already has their own sad story.”
Children whose parents have been stripped of their parental rights are temporarily staying in the underground ward of one of Kherson’s hospitals. For example, a boy who sustained a hip injury after falling from the third floor.
“I tried to photograph the children without showing their faces, as they currently do not have guardians who could give me permission to shoot,” says the photographer. “It is very painful for me when I photograph such stories.”
“There Are No Safe Places in Kherson”
Today, there are over 800 shelters of various types in Kherson—from street gabions to substantial bomb shelters with food and water reserves for several weeks. Ivan Antypenko's photographs tell the story of educational and cultural spaces located in shelters; of mobile street shelters and structures buried in the ground—a type of protective building that the Kherson city authorities placed in crowded areas; of shelters in apartment buildings in the city's residential districts, and of bomb shelters in the center. Shelters have become places where people spend their leisure time, where they organize, for instance, first aid training or master classes for children. In his photo project, Ivan Antypenko talks about the significance of shelters for the continuation of life in the city of Kherson.
“In my building in Kherson, residents independently organized a shelter in the first days of the war. They equipped the basement—it has places for overnight stays, bedding, water, food, and fire extinguishers. However, I never went down there and have not used it as a shelter,” says Ivan Antypenko.
He explains that Kherson residents do not descend into shelters very often. The specificity of the enemy’s proximity to the city influences the residents' reaction to threats. If an air raid alarm begins and local chats report a threat of KABs (Guided Aerial Bombs)—people react and descend into shelters. However, tracking artillery fire or a drone's flight path is virtually impossible.
“Kherson is a small city, although you can feel its distinct vibe in different parts. In the coastal areas, many streets are littered with 'petal mines' (PFS)—there are almost no people left, shops are closed, and transport does not run. Everything resembles scenes from apocalypse movies,” says Ivan Antypenko. “In the central districts of the city, some life is already starting to flicker. However, what were once Kherson’s residential districts have now become hubs of life. People are moving here from more dangerous areas. Of course, drones, artillery, and KABs also reach the north of the city, just not as often as in other parts. There are no safe places in Kherson.”
Ivan Antypenko says that shops, cafes, gas stations, banks, and so on are operating in the northern districts of the city. The assortment in chain supermarkets is no different from shops in other cities.
“When the weather is sunny and warm, and people are communicating on the streets, it seems as if there is no war at all. However, you just need to turn your head—and you immediately see a wall riddled with shrapnel, windows covered with plywood, and destroyed buildings. The war is very close here,” says Ivan Antypenko.
In apartment buildings, residents often equip bomb shelters themselves.
“One woman told me that the shelter united the people in the neighborhood. Residents finally got to know each other and started communicating. They clean the shelter together, receive and distribute humanitarian aid there, and organize leisure activities. Children come to play tennis, read, and engage in creative activities,” says Ivan Antypenko. “People have become closer, they started trusting each other. The shelter brought them together.”
Ivan Antypenko — a Ukrainian journalist and photographer for Suspilne Novyny, who covers the Russian-Ukrainian war.
The material was prepared by:
Topic Researcher, Text Author: Katia Moskalyuk
Visual Editor: Vladyslav Krasnoshchok
Literary Editor: Yuliia Futei
