Photographers Olga Kovaleva and Vladislav Krasnoshchek, who actively document the Russia-Ukraine war, visited a Russian POW camp. They intended to create a photo report, but working among prisoners of war turned out to be challenging. For Vladislav and Olga, who came under enemy artillery fire in Donetsk in the summer of 2024, filming in the camp became not only a professional challenge but also an emotional one. Olga, who had been injured on the front line, felt an inner conflict, while Vladislav tried to maintain detachment and distance, shooting black-and-white frames that later became part of his documentary project about the war.
Photographer Olga Kovalova admits that working in the camp was emotionally unbearable for her. She said that the shoot was supposed to be a documentary study, but it turned into an emotional challenge, and she could not bring herself to pick up the camera.
"We tried to look at everything from a detached perspective, as part of our work, but it was all too personal. I felt my injury very acutely, and it affected everything else," she said. "It was painful not only physically but also morally. We couldn’t fully distance ourselves from the situation. I couldn’t emotionally cross that line of stability to go further. There was a sense of a barrier."
The Russian POW camp where the photographers were stationed is located deep in Ukrainian territory. The place evoked both disappointment and a deep internal dissonance in them.
"The prisoners of war look well-cared-for, not as worn out as our soldiers returning from Russian captivity. Our people come back broken and crippled, both mentally and physically, while these ones are like well-fed ducklings, walking in circles, going about their activities, eating together. It’s a strange and painful contrast," Olga shares.
The photographer mentioned that the living conditions in the camp were unexpectedly good. "The medical ward looked as if it had just been renovated. The conditions were better than in the two Ukrainian hospitals where I was treated after my injury. Everything was spotlessly clean. We saw people with lower limb injuries, some on crutches. They receive the necessary medical care. There's dental care and access to many specialists."
Olga also recalled, with surprise, that the Ukrainian language could be heard not only from the staff within the camp walls: "We heard prisoners thanking for their food in Ukrainian. It was so unexpected and strange — to hear Ukrainian from those we call enemies. I didn’t even know how to react."
While working in the camp, photographer Vladislav Krasnoshchek also felt a sense of inner conflict and was disturbed by what he saw. However, he found a way to continue working and capture the images he had come for.
"Smiles, conversations — it all looked like some kind of ironic performance. And I tried not to interfere in their space. I was just doing my job, trying to keep emotions out of the frame."
Vladislav aimed to document the lives of the prisoners in the camp while remaining unnoticed by them: "I tried not to look them in the eye. I just did what needed to be done, and that’s it. I didn’t take portraits."
The photographer explains how he chose angles and sought out contrasts that would depict reality. "I always focus on composition. It helps me avoid getting too emotionally involved; otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to work. I looked at this place through the lens, as if it were another world. Black-and-white shots help emphasize that contrast," he shares.
The camp staff emphasized that this place was not a colony or prison but specifically a POW camp, which they felt was an important distinction. The absence of bars on the windows, well-lit rooms, and organized living conditions all contributed to the impression that the prisoners were living in relatively favorable circumstances. However, for the photographers, this image was yet another reminder of the stark contrast with the conditions endured by Ukrainians suffering the horrors of Russian camps.
"This doesn’t feel like captivity," Olga reflects. "They don’t have the sense of imprisonment or the real awareness of what they’ve lost. Their carefree attitude contrasts sharply with what our soldiers experience when they end up in Russian colonies."
Daily life in the camp appeared extremely orderly and even routine. Vladislav and Olga were struck by how the prisoners' everyday lives were organized. "They make gazebos in the carpentry shop, produce plastic Christmas trees. If you see them at markets in Lviv, you’ll know who made them. They weave garden furniture. Innocent work under the sun — but this contrast was both painful and unbearable," says Vladislav Krasnoshchek.
At the same time, the photographer noted that the atmosphere in the camp was quite friendly — the prisoners and staff communicated rather warmly. He also observed the collective actions of the prisoners: "What struck me was that they are always moving somewhere, always doing something. This mass of people is constantly in motion. That became the central theme of my photographs."
Vladislav describes the daily scenes in detail: "When we arrived at the dining hall, there were 30–50 people. All dressed in overalls and caps, hands behind their backs. They prepare their own food, taking turns in the kitchen. We even tried their bread — it was quite good. For lunch, they had soup, a main dish, and compote. A standard menu."
"When we were in the shelter during an air raid alert, the colleagues asked if a Russian missile could hit the camp. The prisoners were confident it wouldn’t happen. They don’t believe that the Russians would shoot here, directly at them," Olga added.
For Vladislav Krasnoshchek, it was important to see how Ukraine adheres to international standards regarding the treatment of prisoners. "They live here almost like in a sanatorium. No one is torturing or humiliating them. They’re like cats in cream. It was crucial for me to see that we remain within the bounds of the Geneva Convention, even when it seems absurd in light of what is happening to our prisoners in Russia."
Vladislav reflects on the incomparable conditions for Ukrainian and Russian POWs, the importance of adhering to the Geneva Convention, and his own conflicting feelings about this situation.
"Our people, returning from Russian captivity, report that they only start to be fed better a few weeks before an exchange. This is done only so they don't look completely emaciated. All these realities reflect geopolitical surrealism, where only one side follows the rules," Vladislav shares. "Russia is a signatory to the Geneva Convention, but no one can verify the conditions in which our prisoners are held there. The Russians can do whatever they want to Ukrainians, and the Geneva Convention doesn't apply to them. We fulfill all our obligations by holding Russian prisoners at the expense of our taxes, while Russia can do anything it pleases."
"I always hope to get at least a few good shots. When I go on assignment, I set myself the goal of bringing back at least 2-3 photos that will contribute to the overall story of documenting the war. But honestly, I don't always know in advance what exactly I'll be photographing. I try to capture the vibe of what I see before me," Krasnoshchek explains.
Having extensive experience in documenting war, Vladislav still says that expectations sometimes don't match reality: "I always think I shot poorly. But then, when I look at the photos, I realize they are good shots. From this trip, I brought back two or three photographs that will definitely be included in my project 'Documenting the War.' There may be more, but these two photos I will definitely use."
"We looked at them and didn't see personalities in them. They were just beings moving out of inertia, carrying out certain tasks, but not understanding what they were fighting for. One of them told us that he had never been explained the true objectives of the so-called 'special military operation,'" Olga summarizes. Both photographers realized that this trip revealed not just the daily life of prisoners of war, but something deeper—the lack of meaning and the misunderstanding of their own participation in the war among those who once took up arms.
Olga Kovaleva is the chief project manager of the Ukrainian Association of Professional Photographers, a photographer, coordinator, and curator of artistic projects and social initiatives, as well as an educator.
Vladislav Krasnoshchek is a Kharkiv-based artist. From 1997 to 2002, he studied at the Faculty of Dentistry at Kharkiv State Medical University. From 2004 to 2018, he worked at the Kharkiv State Clinical Hospital of Emergency and Urgent Care named after O. I. Meshchaninov. He has been involved in photography since 2008 and became a member of the group "Shylo" in 2010, along with Serhiy Lebedynskyi, Vadym Trykoz, and Vasylysa Nezabarna. In addition to documentary photography, which is aesthetically transformed through technical manipulations, he works with archives and hand coloring—techniques that have developed in Kharkiv photography since the late 1970s. He also combines images with three-dimensional sculptural objects and engages in easel and print graphics, as well as street art.
Photographers Olga Kovaleva and Vladislav Krasnoshchek, who actively document the Russia-Ukraine war, visited a Russian POW camp. They intended to create a photo report, but working among prisoners of war turned out to be challenging. For Vladislav and Olga, who came under enemy artillery fire in Donetsk in the summer of 2024, filming in the camp became not only a professional challenge but also an emotional one. Olga, who had been injured on the front line, felt an inner conflict, while Vladislav tried to maintain detachment and distance, shooting black-and-white frames that later became part of his documentary project about the war.
Photographer Olga Kovalova admits that working in the camp was emotionally unbearable for her. She said that the shoot was supposed to be a documentary study, but it turned into an emotional challenge, and she could not bring herself to pick up the camera.
"We tried to look at everything from a detached perspective, as part of our work, but it was all too personal. I felt my injury very acutely, and it affected everything else," she said. "It was painful not only physically but also morally. We couldn’t fully distance ourselves from the situation. I couldn’t emotionally cross that line of stability to go further. There was a sense of a barrier."
The Russian POW camp where the photographers were stationed is located deep in Ukrainian territory. The place evoked both disappointment and a deep internal dissonance in them.
"The prisoners of war look well-cared-for, not as worn out as our soldiers returning from Russian captivity. Our people come back broken and crippled, both mentally and physically, while these ones are like well-fed ducklings, walking in circles, going about their activities, eating together. It’s a strange and painful contrast," Olga shares.
The photographer mentioned that the living conditions in the camp were unexpectedly good. "The medical ward looked as if it had just been renovated. The conditions were better than in the two Ukrainian hospitals where I was treated after my injury. Everything was spotlessly clean. We saw people with lower limb injuries, some on crutches. They receive the necessary medical care. There's dental care and access to many specialists."
Olga also recalled, with surprise, that the Ukrainian language could be heard not only from the staff within the camp walls: "We heard prisoners thanking for their food in Ukrainian. It was so unexpected and strange — to hear Ukrainian from those we call enemies. I didn’t even know how to react."
While working in the camp, photographer Vladislav Krasnoshchek also felt a sense of inner conflict and was disturbed by what he saw. However, he found a way to continue working and capture the images he had come for.
"Smiles, conversations — it all looked like some kind of ironic performance. And I tried not to interfere in their space. I was just doing my job, trying to keep emotions out of the frame."
Vladislav aimed to document the lives of the prisoners in the camp while remaining unnoticed by them: "I tried not to look them in the eye. I just did what needed to be done, and that’s it. I didn’t take portraits."
The photographer explains how he chose angles and sought out contrasts that would depict reality. "I always focus on composition. It helps me avoid getting too emotionally involved; otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to work. I looked at this place through the lens, as if it were another world. Black-and-white shots help emphasize that contrast," he shares.
The camp staff emphasized that this place was not a colony or prison but specifically a POW camp, which they felt was an important distinction. The absence of bars on the windows, well-lit rooms, and organized living conditions all contributed to the impression that the prisoners were living in relatively favorable circumstances. However, for the photographers, this image was yet another reminder of the stark contrast with the conditions endured by Ukrainians suffering the horrors of Russian camps.
"This doesn’t feel like captivity," Olga reflects. "They don’t have the sense of imprisonment or the real awareness of what they’ve lost. Their carefree attitude contrasts sharply with what our soldiers experience when they end up in Russian colonies."
Daily life in the camp appeared extremely orderly and even routine. Vladislav and Olga were struck by how the prisoners' everyday lives were organized. "They make gazebos in the carpentry shop, produce plastic Christmas trees. If you see them at markets in Lviv, you’ll know who made them. They weave garden furniture. Innocent work under the sun — but this contrast was both painful and unbearable," says Vladislav Krasnoshchek.
At the same time, the photographer noted that the atmosphere in the camp was quite friendly — the prisoners and staff communicated rather warmly. He also observed the collective actions of the prisoners: "What struck me was that they are always moving somewhere, always doing something. This mass of people is constantly in motion. That became the central theme of my photographs."
Vladislav describes the daily scenes in detail: "When we arrived at the dining hall, there were 30–50 people. All dressed in overalls and caps, hands behind their backs. They prepare their own food, taking turns in the kitchen. We even tried their bread — it was quite good. For lunch, they had soup, a main dish, and compote. A standard menu."
"When we were in the shelter during an air raid alert, the colleagues asked if a Russian missile could hit the camp. The prisoners were confident it wouldn’t happen. They don’t believe that the Russians would shoot here, directly at them," Olga added.
For Vladislav Krasnoshchek, it was important to see how Ukraine adheres to international standards regarding the treatment of prisoners. "They live here almost like in a sanatorium. No one is torturing or humiliating them. They’re like cats in cream. It was crucial for me to see that we remain within the bounds of the Geneva Convention, even when it seems absurd in light of what is happening to our prisoners in Russia."
Vladislav reflects on the incomparable conditions for Ukrainian and Russian POWs, the importance of adhering to the Geneva Convention, and his own conflicting feelings about this situation.
"Our people, returning from Russian captivity, report that they only start to be fed better a few weeks before an exchange. This is done only so they don't look completely emaciated. All these realities reflect geopolitical surrealism, where only one side follows the rules," Vladislav shares. "Russia is a signatory to the Geneva Convention, but no one can verify the conditions in which our prisoners are held there. The Russians can do whatever they want to Ukrainians, and the Geneva Convention doesn't apply to them. We fulfill all our obligations by holding Russian prisoners at the expense of our taxes, while Russia can do anything it pleases."
"I always hope to get at least a few good shots. When I go on assignment, I set myself the goal of bringing back at least 2-3 photos that will contribute to the overall story of documenting the war. But honestly, I don't always know in advance what exactly I'll be photographing. I try to capture the vibe of what I see before me," Krasnoshchek explains.
Having extensive experience in documenting war, Vladislav still says that expectations sometimes don't match reality: "I always think I shot poorly. But then, when I look at the photos, I realize they are good shots. From this trip, I brought back two or three photographs that will definitely be included in my project 'Documenting the War.' There may be more, but these two photos I will definitely use."
"We looked at them and didn't see personalities in them. They were just beings moving out of inertia, carrying out certain tasks, but not understanding what they were fighting for. One of them told us that he had never been explained the true objectives of the so-called 'special military operation,'" Olga summarizes. Both photographers realized that this trip revealed not just the daily life of prisoners of war, but something deeper—the lack of meaning and the misunderstanding of their own participation in the war among those who once took up arms.
Olga Kovaleva is the chief project manager of the Ukrainian Association of Professional Photographers, a photographer, coordinator, and curator of artistic projects and social initiatives, as well as an educator.
Vladislav Krasnoshchek is a Kharkiv-based artist. From 1997 to 2002, he studied at the Faculty of Dentistry at Kharkiv State Medical University. From 2004 to 2018, he worked at the Kharkiv State Clinical Hospital of Emergency and Urgent Care named after O. I. Meshchaninov. He has been involved in photography since 2008 and became a member of the group "Shylo" in 2010, along with Serhiy Lebedynskyi, Vadym Trykoz, and Vasylysa Nezabarna. In addition to documentary photography, which is aesthetically transformed through technical manipulations, he works with archives and hand coloring—techniques that have developed in Kharkiv photography since the late 1970s. He also combines images with three-dimensional sculptural objects and engages in easel and print graphics, as well as street art.
UAPP is an independent association of professional Ukrainian photographers, designed to protect their interests, support, develop and promote Ukrainian photography as an important element of national culture.
UAPP's activities span educational, social, research and cultural initiatives, as well as book publishing.
UAPP represents Ukrainian professional photography in the international photographic community and is an official member of the Federation of European Photographers (FEP) — an international organization representing more than 50,000 professional photographers in Europe and other countries around the world.
.jpg)
