I didn’t pick up a camera to become a photographer.
I picked it up because I needed to hold onto something real — something that wouldn’t disappear when everything else around me did.

I was born in Ukraine, and photography found me in the middle of war, evacuation, and uncertainty. At first, it was just for me — a way to document what I couldn’t process, and to hold onto the pieces of identity that felt like they were slipping away. Over time, it became the language I used to understand the world — and now, to give something back to it.

My work lives at the intersection of movement, memory, and belonging. I’m drawn to quiet moments — soft expressions, tension between stillness and survival, and the unspoken things people carry. Whether I’m documenting strangers in the street, families in transition, or my own path of rebuilding, I approach every story with empathy and intention.

I’ve spoken to students, nonprofits, and community organizations about what it means to start over, to create from chaos, and to turn survival into a kind of art. My photos have been exhibited internationally — and now, as I prepare to begin my studies at CalArts, I’m looking to continue building work that matters.