Oleg Petrasyuk is a photographer, serviceman of the 24th Brigade named after King Danylo and a new member of the Ukrainian Association of Professional Photographers (UAFF). In this interview, he shares his experiences documenting war, talks about the difficult moral challenges of filming, and explains why photography for him is primarily a craft, not an art.
— Oleg, what are you doing in the army now?
— I perform tasks in the press service, in the communications department of the 24th Brigade named after King Daniel.
How did your photography story begin? What did this fascination come from?
To be honest, it is difficult to answer unequivocally. It all started in the first years of university. I was a student and was looking for an opportunity to earn money.
Photography was not something defining in my life then, it was rather walking side by side. As you know, people read books — not because it's their hobby, but simply because they're interested in it. So it was with photography: I had a camera, and I just shot.
Later I got into Viktor Marushchenko's photo school, where I listened to a course of lectures. And somewhere in the second year of the university he began to work as a freelancer in the photo agency UNIAN. My dad is a journalist, so this world was familiar and understandable to me.
Of course, there were times when I wanted to give it up and try something different. But every time it turned out that the photo came back into my life again. Once I was invited to one job, then to another, and so everything gradually worked out.
What do you usually photograph? Was it news or maybe some creative projects?
— Projects? This is rather a routine job, a real craft. You just do your thing.
Artistic approach? I do not separate it as something separate. Photography implies a certain subtext. A good shot or series of pictures is always more than just a picture. They have what speaks for the author, there is something to say to the viewer.
In photography, life is short: a day, two, sometimes three, if you get to an exhibition. Projects, too, have a temporary value. For example, if a photograph is created for an agency, its life cycle is limited to publication or reporting. And if it becomes part of the exhibition, it may linger a little in memory, but still disappear over time.
I treat it without pathos.
— Was there a photo in your practice that became special to you? Maybe it was an interesting moment, a unique person or a special story?
You know, there aren't many photos like that. I wouldn't say they're any “special”, but they're good.
Can you tell me about one of these photos?
— One of the photos I can highlight was taken in the village of Mala Komyshuvakha in Kharkiv region. It depicts a Ukrainian serviceman in a church that the Russians turned into a field hospital.
This photo, in my opinion, is very rich — both visually and meaningfully. It shows war not only in the physical dimension, but also in the cultural dimension. This is a kind of war scene at the level of history, culture, spirituality. The very fact that a hospital was equipped in the church shows the attitude of Russians to foreign culture. There were traces of blood, chaos, destruction. And at the center of this mess is the Ukrainian military, as a symbol of the return of order and strength.
This photograph was taken during the autumn counteroffensive, about six days after the liberation of the village. I was already going to finish shooting in Kharkiv region, but I saw a photo of this church on Instagram of one of the military and decided that I had to go there.
I waited in the church for five hours to catch the right moment — for a person in the right phase, in the right light, to appear in the frame. I might have been unlucky, but I just didn't want to leave. While waiting, photographing the details, studying the space.
In general, I love photos with people in the frame. They add more life, more meaning. This photo is just the case.
This is a photo of a former soldier Andrei Mikitenko, taken in 2018. At that time I worked at the newspaper Kyiv Post, and we created a series of stories about the battles for Ilovaysk. He was one of the heroes of this project — a man who passed Ilovaisk and returned to peaceful life.
This photo is very symbolic. On it is a man in his apartment, at the moment of reflection. We talked about the war, how it changed him. He said he kept his body armor, but without plates. This body armor hung on his door as a kind of memory of the past.
I remember how during the shooting he folded his arms, and in the silence there was a feeling as if the question sounded: “What to do next?”. I recorded this moment.
The photo turned out to be very strong in the light. And at the same time symbolic. In the background are paper cranes, as a symbol of hope for a peaceful life. And the vest on the door is his past, which will always be there, but is no longer part of his present.
However, I want to add that in fact I find it inappropriate to talk about my photos. Why talk about them? I've already taken them off. I'm not a fan of this tendency to “put a price tag” on my shots by telling me how difficult they were to take or what I had to go through.
After all, what's the difference how the frame was made? Sometimes it can be just a coincidence. For example, if the person I needed did not appear in the frame in the church or was in another phase of the movement, everything would look completely different, and this story would not exist.
This is something that often depends not only on the photographer.
— Maybe you now evaluate this photo of a soldier who went through the fighting for Ilovaisk differently, in view of your own experience in the army?
“I don't think that my worldview as a military man has somehow changed the essence of this photograph. She remained as she was.
— And how did your service affect your vision of photography? Perhaps your sense of the moment, beauty or significance of the frame has changed?
I don't feel any changes in that regard. I still take pictures as I see them. I almost do not process photos: they remain as the camera “sees” them. White balance, settings — everything is as natural as possible. I don't add an artificial look or any special style to it.
— Can we talk about what you shoot at the service? What exactly are you photographing and are there any pictures that remain only for the history of the brigade or are not published at all?
— There are moments that I deliberately do not publish — anything that could pose a threat to security. I don't want the enemy to see something that can be used against us.
My internal censorship is much stricter than any external restrictions. I am very critical of myself. If there is at least minimal risk to someone because of the published information in my photo, I simply do not publish it. No photograph is worth a life — neither mine nor other people's lives.
My view of this is quite utilitarian. Since 2014, filming the war, I have become accustomed to acting very carefully. When you hold the camera in your hands, you have to think not only about the composition, but also that the frame does not give out any important position or setting.
There have been cases when photos were held until a safe moment. For example, if after a few weeks the position is left or it has already been destroyed, then you can show this frame. But even in such situations, it is important to act very carefully so as not to harm.
— What do you want to convey through your work to people who do not see this war up close? Do you have an internal task that you set yourself?
I show the work of my friends. Where I can help, I help. I capture their daily service, their efforts and the importance of their work.
For me, it's important not just to show the army as something faceless, depersonalized, but to focus on specific people. When guys see themselves in photos, it lifts their spirits, they feel that their work is noticed. Sometimes even commanders say, “Oh, I saw your pictures. There was news of another direction, but photos of our fighters and signed that it was the 24th Brigade.”
I focus on people and their work. Our unit is often underrated. It is important for me to show the everyday life of our unit, its efforts.
That's why I think our job is to show the routine. It is not about betrayal or victory, not about who is the best or the worst. It's about honesty and reality. Showing the daily work of the guys, we remove a lot of questions and add insight. This is the most effective and honest thing I can do right now.
Is there anything that you find difficult to photograph — both technically and morally?
— Technically the most difficult is the night mortar. It is very difficult to shoot due to lack of light. Sharpness is not given, the exposure is almost random, because you literally do not see what you are shooting. Photography is writing with light. How can you “write” something if there is no light?
In such shots, there is only a short flash that gives light for a moment, and you have to have time to use it. It is very technically difficult. My normal frame came out, it seems, only the second or even fourth time.
Morally, it is most difficult to take pictures of dead and wounded people. It's hard to work at funerals. It is still difficult to be around people who are going through the worst moments of their lives — for example, when someone's house has burned down. At such moments, you feel superfluous. As if you can not help anything, but only fix their trouble.
I remembered the shooting during the exhumations. It's a depressing atmosphere: you find yourself in a place where hundreds of people are buried, who are being pulled out after months in the ground. Smell, atmosphere. And the main realization: these people could live if it were not for the war.
— Have you thought about creating a photo project, photo series or exhibition in the future? Do you have such plans?
— My work in the team is already a documentary project. Where else is more documentary?
I think it would be ideal to publish these works in book format. For example, in half a year of the Chasovoyarsk campaign, I almost completely documented one unit — from rebattoir to combat work. Getting to some positions can be difficult and not safe, but it is still an important part of the story that you want to preserve and show.
— Perhaps our material will be read by beginners who dream of becoming photographers. Could you give three tips on how to take a good photo?
— It is difficult to give universal advice. What is “good photography”? It's always very subjective. The result always speaks for itself.
But if we talk about the general principles, then: to be in the right place at the right time; not to miss the frame - it is important not to get lost and press the button; to learn; not to be afraid of influences. As artists are formed under the influence of other artists, so photographers develop by studying other people's techniques and styles. There is nothing wrong with that.
Oleg Petrasyuk is a Ukrainian photographer, born in Kyiv, Ukraine, 1991. He received his master's degree from Taras Shevchenko National University of Kyiv in 2014, majoring in history, archaeology. At the beginning of his studies, in 2009 he began a career in photojournalism, first as a freelancer at UNIAN agency, and from 2013 to 2016 he worked at Ukrinform agency. After a short break, he returned to journalism, in 2017 and worked for the Kyiv Post newspaper. Since the end of 2022, he has been working for the photo agency EPA images. Mobilized to the Armed Forces in early 2024, serves in the 24th OMBR named after him. King Daniel. Oleg's social networks.
We worked on the material:
Researcher of the topic, author of the text: Vera Labych
Bildeditor: Olga Kovalyova
Literary Editor: Julia Foutei
Site Manager: Vladislav Kuhar
Oleg Petrasyuk is a photographer, serviceman of the 24th Brigade named after King Danylo and a new member of the Ukrainian Association of Professional Photographers (UAFF). In this interview, he shares his experiences documenting war, talks about the difficult moral challenges of filming, and explains why photography for him is primarily a craft, not an art.
— Oleg, what are you doing in the army now?
— I perform tasks in the press service, in the communications department of the 24th Brigade named after King Daniel.
How did your photography story begin? What did this fascination come from?
To be honest, it is difficult to answer unequivocally. It all started in the first years of university. I was a student and was looking for an opportunity to earn money.
Photography was not something defining in my life then, it was rather walking side by side. As you know, people read books — not because it's their hobby, but simply because they're interested in it. So it was with photography: I had a camera, and I just shot.
Later I got into Viktor Marushchenko's photo school, where I listened to a course of lectures. And somewhere in the second year of the university he began to work as a freelancer in the photo agency UNIAN. My dad is a journalist, so this world was familiar and understandable to me.
Of course, there were times when I wanted to give it up and try something different. But every time it turned out that the photo came back into my life again. Once I was invited to one job, then to another, and so everything gradually worked out.
What do you usually photograph? Was it news or maybe some creative projects?
— Projects? This is rather a routine job, a real craft. You just do your thing.
Artistic approach? I do not separate it as something separate. Photography implies a certain subtext. A good shot or series of pictures is always more than just a picture. They have what speaks for the author, there is something to say to the viewer.
In photography, life is short: a day, two, sometimes three, if you get to an exhibition. Projects, too, have a temporary value. For example, if a photograph is created for an agency, its life cycle is limited to publication or reporting. And if it becomes part of the exhibition, it may linger a little in memory, but still disappear over time.
I treat it without pathos.
— Was there a photo in your practice that became special to you? Maybe it was an interesting moment, a unique person or a special story?
You know, there aren't many photos like that. I wouldn't say they're any “special”, but they're good.
Can you tell me about one of these photos?
— One of the photos I can highlight was taken in the village of Mala Komyshuvakha in Kharkiv region. It depicts a Ukrainian serviceman in a church that the Russians turned into a field hospital.
This photo, in my opinion, is very rich — both visually and meaningfully. It shows war not only in the physical dimension, but also in the cultural dimension. This is a kind of war scene at the level of history, culture, spirituality. The very fact that a hospital was equipped in the church shows the attitude of Russians to foreign culture. There were traces of blood, chaos, destruction. And at the center of this mess is the Ukrainian military, as a symbol of the return of order and strength.
This photograph was taken during the autumn counteroffensive, about six days after the liberation of the village. I was already going to finish shooting in Kharkiv region, but I saw a photo of this church on Instagram of one of the military and decided that I had to go there.
I waited in the church for five hours to catch the right moment — for a person in the right phase, in the right light, to appear in the frame. I might have been unlucky, but I just didn't want to leave. While waiting, photographing the details, studying the space.
In general, I love photos with people in the frame. They add more life, more meaning. This photo is just the case.
This is a photo of a former soldier Andrei Mikitenko, taken in 2018. At that time I worked at the newspaper Kyiv Post, and we created a series of stories about the battles for Ilovaysk. He was one of the heroes of this project — a man who passed Ilovaisk and returned to peaceful life.
This photo is very symbolic. On it is a man in his apartment, at the moment of reflection. We talked about the war, how it changed him. He said he kept his body armor, but without plates. This body armor hung on his door as a kind of memory of the past.
I remember how during the shooting he folded his arms, and in the silence there was a feeling as if the question sounded: “What to do next?”. I recorded this moment.
The photo turned out to be very strong in the light. And at the same time symbolic. In the background are paper cranes, as a symbol of hope for a peaceful life. And the vest on the door is his past, which will always be there, but is no longer part of his present.
However, I want to add that in fact I find it inappropriate to talk about my photos. Why talk about them? I've already taken them off. I'm not a fan of this tendency to “put a price tag” on my shots by telling me how difficult they were to take or what I had to go through.
After all, what's the difference how the frame was made? Sometimes it can be just a coincidence. For example, if the person I needed did not appear in the frame in the church or was in another phase of the movement, everything would look completely different, and this story would not exist.
This is something that often depends not only on the photographer.
— Maybe you now evaluate this photo of a soldier who went through the fighting for Ilovaisk differently, in view of your own experience in the army?
“I don't think that my worldview as a military man has somehow changed the essence of this photograph. She remained as she was.
— And how did your service affect your vision of photography? Perhaps your sense of the moment, beauty or significance of the frame has changed?
I don't feel any changes in that regard. I still take pictures as I see them. I almost do not process photos: they remain as the camera “sees” them. White balance, settings — everything is as natural as possible. I don't add an artificial look or any special style to it.
— Can we talk about what you shoot at the service? What exactly are you photographing and are there any pictures that remain only for the history of the brigade or are not published at all?
— There are moments that I deliberately do not publish — anything that could pose a threat to security. I don't want the enemy to see something that can be used against us.
My internal censorship is much stricter than any external restrictions. I am very critical of myself. If there is at least minimal risk to someone because of the published information in my photo, I simply do not publish it. No photograph is worth a life — neither mine nor other people's lives.
My view of this is quite utilitarian. Since 2014, filming the war, I have become accustomed to acting very carefully. When you hold the camera in your hands, you have to think not only about the composition, but also that the frame does not give out any important position or setting.
There have been cases when photos were held until a safe moment. For example, if after a few weeks the position is left or it has already been destroyed, then you can show this frame. But even in such situations, it is important to act very carefully so as not to harm.
— What do you want to convey through your work to people who do not see this war up close? Do you have an internal task that you set yourself?
I show the work of my friends. Where I can help, I help. I capture their daily service, their efforts and the importance of their work.
For me, it's important not just to show the army as something faceless, depersonalized, but to focus on specific people. When guys see themselves in photos, it lifts their spirits, they feel that their work is noticed. Sometimes even commanders say, “Oh, I saw your pictures. There was news of another direction, but photos of our fighters and signed that it was the 24th Brigade.”
I focus on people and their work. Our unit is often underrated. It is important for me to show the everyday life of our unit, its efforts.
That's why I think our job is to show the routine. It is not about betrayal or victory, not about who is the best or the worst. It's about honesty and reality. Showing the daily work of the guys, we remove a lot of questions and add insight. This is the most effective and honest thing I can do right now.
Is there anything that you find difficult to photograph — both technically and morally?
— Technically the most difficult is the night mortar. It is very difficult to shoot due to lack of light. Sharpness is not given, the exposure is almost random, because you literally do not see what you are shooting. Photography is writing with light. How can you “write” something if there is no light?
In such shots, there is only a short flash that gives light for a moment, and you have to have time to use it. It is very technically difficult. My normal frame came out, it seems, only the second or even fourth time.
Morally, it is most difficult to take pictures of dead and wounded people. It's hard to work at funerals. It is still difficult to be around people who are going through the worst moments of their lives — for example, when someone's house has burned down. At such moments, you feel superfluous. As if you can not help anything, but only fix their trouble.
I remembered the shooting during the exhumations. It's a depressing atmosphere: you find yourself in a place where hundreds of people are buried, who are being pulled out after months in the ground. Smell, atmosphere. And the main realization: these people could live if it were not for the war.
— Have you thought about creating a photo project, photo series or exhibition in the future? Do you have such plans?
— My work in the team is already a documentary project. Where else is more documentary?
I think it would be ideal to publish these works in book format. For example, in half a year of the Chasovoyarsk campaign, I almost completely documented one unit — from rebattoir to combat work. Getting to some positions can be difficult and not safe, but it is still an important part of the story that you want to preserve and show.
— Perhaps our material will be read by beginners who dream of becoming photographers. Could you give three tips on how to take a good photo?
— It is difficult to give universal advice. What is “good photography”? It's always very subjective. The result always speaks for itself.
But if we talk about the general principles, then: to be in the right place at the right time; not to miss the frame - it is important not to get lost and press the button; to learn; not to be afraid of influences. As artists are formed under the influence of other artists, so photographers develop by studying other people's techniques and styles. There is nothing wrong with that.
Oleg Petrasyuk is a Ukrainian photographer, born in Kyiv, Ukraine, 1991. He received his master's degree from Taras Shevchenko National University of Kyiv in 2014, majoring in history, archaeology. At the beginning of his studies, in 2009 he began a career in photojournalism, first as a freelancer at UNIAN agency, and from 2013 to 2016 he worked at Ukrinform agency. After a short break, he returned to journalism, in 2017 and worked for the Kyiv Post newspaper. Since the end of 2022, he has been working for the photo agency EPA images. Mobilized to the Armed Forces in early 2024, serves in the 24th OMBR named after him. King Daniel. Oleg's social networks.
We worked on the material:
Researcher of the topic, author of the text: Vera Labych
Bildeditor: Olga Kovalyova
Literary Editor: Julia Foutei
Site Manager: Vladislav Kuhar
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.
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