Karina Piliugina is a Ukrainian documentary filmmaker, producer, photographer and a new member of the Ukrainian Association of Professional Photographers. She is known for her work in the Ukrainener project, the documentary series “Victory Units” and photos that tell about the struggle of Ukrainians during the war. We asked Karina about her work and projects, about what remains behind the scenes — her emotions, experiences and how she gives them advice through the lens of her camera.
— Who do you position yourself with? Are you a photographer, journalist or documentary maker? And how did your love of photography begin?
— I guess I'm still a documentary filmmaker. This concept is broader because it includes both journalism and photography, which are its components. I have been involved in documentary since 2017, when I joined the team Ukranian. Together we began to travel on expeditions throughout Ukraine, documenting the stories of people, places and cities. I did a lot of reporting: people in the process of working on their business, for example, boarders, or during holidays like Malanka. My work was mainly concerned with modern anthropology and traditions.
And the love of photography appeared much earlier. While at university, during my first trip to the United States on the Work and Travel program, I bought a camera — Nikon D90. Then I took pictures only in automatic mode. For a few years it was just a hobby. Then I started working in television and temporarily quit photography.
However, the return took place sometime in 2021, on the eve of a full-scale invasion by the Russians. I began to actively photograph - both on the figure and on the film, I experimented with different techniques. But the real impetus for photography to become my primary tool of expression came with the beginning of a full-scale invasion. From the first days of the Great War, I realized that it was through the lens that I could best show what was important.
— What moment in your career as a photographer was the turning point or the most important? Was there a project or period that particularly changed you?
— The most turning point for me was a full-scale invasion. Photography then became for me not only the main documentation tool, but also a way of psychological salvation. She helped to focus on the process of creating the frame and as if she did not allow the horror that was happening around to pass inside. You keep the focus and work.
It's like looking at a scary world through a lens and getting a little safer. For example, during work we went to Irpin, Bucha and Chernihiv when it was under siege. They came under fire. In moments like this, you just take the camera, focus on the frame, and it helps a lot psychologically.
But there is also a reverse side. When you get home, or even to the shelter, you start to disassemble the photos, it all catches up and covers. Especially painful for me was the first hero I photographed and who later died. It was a very difficult loss, but it made me rethink the importance of documentation. This gave an insight into how valuable it is to store memory — what will remain after us. And I decided that as long as I had enough strength and inspiration, I would do it.
— What is photography for you: art, documentation, or a way to tell a story?
— “If we talk about my photography, I don't think of it as art. The closest thing to me, in essence, is documentation. My desire is to document as much as possible, as deeply as possible events, people, their stories and what happens to them.
Stories are already built from this documentation. Sometimes they merge into a series, even if the shots are made in different time periods. But the basis is always documentation. For me, it has two sides. On the one hand, it is a bit of a fatalistic process. On the other hand, it helps a lot even when it seems that no one needs it. At such moments, I think: perhaps it does not seem important to contemporaries, because there are many other photographers, documentarians, works. But I'm sure that over time it will all be of value.
When we are gone, these photos will remain. Unless, of course, there is a technological catastrophe. Any photo, even from a home archive, will become a treasure, because it will be a testimony of this era, of what we experienced and how we fought. It is just like today we recover old archival pictures of previous generations of Ukrainians who also fought.
However, photography is not only important in the context of war. Even the everyday moments, the ordinary life that we document, will become extremely valuable for posterity. Therefore, my global goal is to document for future generations to preserve the memory of how we lived and fought.
— You worked on the project “Victory Units”. Tell us more about it: for whom it was created, are you still working on it and what does this project mean for you personally? How much are you in it?
— This project is a huge part of me. This is probably one of the most important projects in my life, and I still continue to work on it. “Victory Units”— is a documentary series about units of the Security and Defense Forces of Ukraine, different types and types of troops. We tell the stories of powerful brigades, their heroes, the paths they have traveled and their victories.
Initially, we wanted to show people that the Ukrainian army is not an abstract word, it is not just an “army”. These are specific units with a unique history, strong combat training and, most importantly, specific personalities. After all, it is thanks to their heroic actions that battles are won or they manage to hold positions.
We also set out to find out exactly what distinguishes each brigade, around which its warriors rally, what internal mythology is the basis of their identity. We wanted to show that this is not just a “gray mass of soldiers”, but a living organism with its own culture, traditions and history. It is interesting that many names of these units are associated with historical formations on the territory of Ukraine, such as Black Zaporozhts, Kholodnoyarts, Knights of the Winter Campaign, etc.
Separately, I would like to note the work of the team that created a new identity of the Ukrainian army. It was very interesting to observe how modern military identity is formed, even in new units. For example, we were shooting about “Charter” - this is a crew that recently turned only 1,000 days old.
The global goal of this project is to popularize the Ukrainian army, tell its story and at the same time preserve the memory of the people who participated in the most important battles for our freedom. We also show the culture and traditions that are born within the units. It is part of modern military culture.
The project comes in different formats: a documentary series is broadcast on YouTube and television, on our website we publish photo stories and longrads with deeper details. Individual interviews from the films are also available in full format. We are even thinking about creating a book to rethink and organize all this material.
By the way, each shot is a huge amount of material, 20-30 terabytes each. All this is stored in archives both in Ukraine and on a server in Poland to leave to the next generation. We can say that this is our treasure, a documentary memory of the modern struggle of Ukrainians.
— In this project are you a video supervisor, journalist or photographer? Do you take pictures for this project?
— I am the author of this project, and it automatically combines all other roles. I act as a director, and as a producer, and as a journalist, screenwriter, and photographer.
When possible, we involve other photographers so that I can focus on the interview or organizing the process. But recently, the situation on the positions is so complicated and dangerous that the press officers and the military are asking to minimize the number of team members on the set. Usually only me and the operator leave, so I take pictures too.
Even when we work with a photographer, I still take my camera with me. I can't stay without her, I often take pictures in parallel, even if this is not my main role on the set.
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— Can you share a story that particularly struck you, touched or left a deep mark? Do you have photos that illustrate these moments?
— Yes, of course. One such story was our trip with the 92 crew. We filmed their infantry, which was to deliver ammunition, water, radios and batteries to the front line near Bakhmut, where the Russian assault was to begin. We were riding motolysis (lightly armored tracked vehicles) together with the infantrymen. According to the plan, we had to bring everything we needed, take off as they come out, wait in positions and go back.
But everything did not go according to plan. Due to bad weather conditions, the technician barely moved in the swamp, communication and navigation were lost, and the driver lost his route. We got lost and came under fire. It lasted about four hours — they fired on everyone as much as they could. We sat in an enclosed space looking at a small television screen that showed what was happening outside. It was a moment when it seemed that life could end at any moment.
Fortunately, the connection eventually emerged, and the battalion commander gave the order not to drive into the positions, but to evacuate. Although we were torn off by a piece of armor from the blast wave, everyone remained unharmed.
I was especially touched by the story of one infantryman who went to the front line for the first time. I have a photo of him on Instagram. He had blue eyes, and he was silent all the way. It could be seen that he was scared. When the commander gave a briefing before the trip and asked if there were any questions, this guy boldly said: “Is it possible, when I report to you on the radio, I will speak in my own words, because I have not yet learned?”. It sounded very naive and touching, like in school. His seriousness and fear were very noticeable, and that impressed me a lot.
There are many such stories. For example, we shot a guy from “Azov”, who is only 19 years old. He joined the army at 18 and has been serving for a year. He looks very young, but his courage and courage are impressive. When I asked him why he went to fight, he replied, “I have a younger brother and a sister. I don't want them to suffer all their lives. I want to protect them.” His words left a deep mark.
Also, the city of Vuhledar is special for me. My friends held the defense there and I was there often. In the spring of 2023, we were there again, then enemy aircraft were actively operating. One day, sitting in the basement, we heard the Cabs flying. We were afraid that we would not be smeared, roughly speaking, by these slabs of the 9-story building, because we were in the basement. Two neighboring high-rise buildings were demolished, and only ours remained intact.
After this shelling, we recorded an interview with the combatant of the 72 brigade named after the Black Zaporozhtsy. The conditions in the basement were nothing, but there the guys prepared pancakes for us with sour cream. I could not even eat, did not release adrenaline and cortisol, but their humanity and indestructibility struck me to the bottom of my soul.
The city of Kurakhovo was also very valuable to me. In 2023—2024, I often traveled there, because friends from the 72 brigade named after the Black Zaporozhts stood there for a long time. We filmed lakes, ducks, sunsets and sunrises. Now this city is almost occupied, and it hurts. But I am glad that I still have photos that captured that beauty and that peace that could still be experienced then.
— Carino, you seem to be an empathetic person, and it's probably impossible to just work out, publish, and forget. How do you cope with such an emotional burden? What helps you recover?
— “You're right, I'm a very empathetic person, and it's really impossible to just leave it there. The war for us, Ukrainian journalists and documentarians, will always be very personal. Photographer Yulia Kochetova even has such a project “War is personal”. I often hear from friends and a coach: “Carino, you have to set psychological limits, protect yourself.” But I can't do that. Sometimes it seems that I physically feel the pain of the people I communicate with. It is very difficult to explain.
After returning from such trips, it always takes time to recover. At first, as if everything is fine, you feel that you have done an important job. And then comes the moment when you just cry for two days, you don't leave the house.
But there is another side. I see how it becomes a little easier for people when they share their experiences. Sometimes most of these trips aren't even about taking photos or material. It's about being close to the person, listening to them, making them feel that they've been heard, that they're not alone in their pain.
And Eastern martial arts (“Neat-Nam”) and meditation help me recover a lot. I deal with a coach and that's what literally saves me. Without it, I probably wouldn't be able to work for a long time.
— What motivates you to keep documenting the war?
— For me, this is a matter of moral obligation. I'm not in the military right now, but I'm doing what I can. A lot of people have given their lives and health, and I don't see it right for me to distance myself from this struggle while I can be useful.
I feel that it is in empathy and letting go of this pain through myself that something real is born. This can be seen in the photo, and in the words, and in the details. When you work not only technically — choosing the right angle or sticking to the composition, but you put all this pain and emotion into your work, people feel it.
In the end, as long as I have enough strength, I will do it.
— You photographed places that are now destroyed or under Russian occupation. Tell us which ones you remember the most.
— Yes, there are many such places. For example, we were in Mariupol in 2019 or 2020 during an expedition Ukranianon the Black Sea and the Azov region. Then we shot unique locations: Oleshkovsky sands, Skadovsk, Arabatsk arrow. In Mariupol, we were especially impressed by the temple, painted with Petrykov painting with blue marine motifs. It was something incredible. Unfortunately, the temple is now destroyed.
We also filmed in Nikolaev, where one artist painted rooms in the regional state administration in a special Nikolaev version of Petrykivsk painting. Later, a Russian missile flew there in the Regional State Administration, and now these rooms are also destroyed. But there are still photos, videos, interviews with people. And this is very important, because these are already documentary facts that will remain forever.
I remember the reserve “Meotida”, which we filmed in 2017 or 2018. Even then, it was divided due to the occupation of Donetsk region: one part of the reserve remained free, and the other - under the control of Russian troops. Already then we felt that part of us had been torn away from us. We worked there with drones, filmed birds, and even then the workers of the reserve warned us of the danger due to the proximity of the occupation troops. Today the reserve is fully occupied. It hurts a lot, but I'm glad we managed to document it when it was still possible.
— What do you dream about as a photographer and what are you working on now?
— Dreams are a great luxury. But, you know, even in difficult conditions, they can be born from the simplest things. For example, when I told you about pancakes, I remembered that for some time now I have been photographing the food that the military treats us with. I shoot these treats from the top point, at an angle of 90 degrees. I already have about a hundred of these pictures. This is a kind of story of hospitality even in the war.
This series of photos is important to me and I dream of turning it into a photo project or exhibition someday. This is a separate story that shows humanity and warmth even in the most difficult moments.
I am currently researching the topic of home at war. This is especially true for the military, for whom home is often something changeable and unstable. For some, home is a place where family awaits them, and for some it is a trench or a dungeon. This is a very complex but interesting topic that I continue to develop.
Perhaps the strongest thing that I still carry in my heart is the memories of Kherson on the day of liberation. We arrived there on November 15—16, 2022, immediately after the de-occupation. It was a time of undeniable joy. People cried, laughed, hugged, rejoiced. All of Kherson was full of sincere emotions, and this concerned absolutely everyone.
I really want to see and record something like that again. This joy, this freedom, this victory are moments that give hope. I don't know in what form it will be, but I definitely dream of seeing and capturing such genuine, sincere joy again.
Karina Pilugina— Ukrainian photographer, producer and director, has a journalistic education. She studied in the workshop of documentary film director Sergei Bukovsky. Since 2017, he has been working in documentary. Previously, it dealt with anthropological topics, now the focus is exclusively on war. Since 2021, he has been working in the genre of documentary photography and reporting. The author of the documentary series about the Ukrainian army “Victory Units”. Documenting the war in the combat zone. Some of her photos are published in books: “Ukraine: War crime”, “Ukraine: Love and War”, “What will we call this war?”, “De-occupation”. Karina's Instagram.
We worked on the material:
Researcher of the topic, author of the text: Vira Labych
Bildeditor: Olga Kovalyova
Literary Editor: Julia Futei
Site Manager: Vladislav Kukhar
Karina Piliugina is a Ukrainian documentary filmmaker, producer, photographer and a new member of the Ukrainian Association of Professional Photographers. She is known for her work in the Ukrainener project, the documentary series “Victory Units” and photos that tell about the struggle of Ukrainians during the war. We asked Karina about her work and projects, about what remains behind the scenes — her emotions, experiences and how she gives them advice through the lens of her camera.
— Who do you position yourself with? Are you a photographer, journalist or documentary maker? And how did your love of photography begin?
— I guess I'm still a documentary filmmaker. This concept is broader because it includes both journalism and photography, which are its components. I have been involved in documentary since 2017, when I joined the team Ukranian. Together we began to travel on expeditions throughout Ukraine, documenting the stories of people, places and cities. I did a lot of reporting: people in the process of working on their business, for example, boarders, or during holidays like Malanka. My work was mainly concerned with modern anthropology and traditions.
And the love of photography appeared much earlier. While at university, during my first trip to the United States on the Work and Travel program, I bought a camera — Nikon D90. Then I took pictures only in automatic mode. For a few years it was just a hobby. Then I started working in television and temporarily quit photography.
However, the return took place sometime in 2021, on the eve of a full-scale invasion by the Russians. I began to actively photograph - both on the figure and on the film, I experimented with different techniques. But the real impetus for photography to become my primary tool of expression came with the beginning of a full-scale invasion. From the first days of the Great War, I realized that it was through the lens that I could best show what was important.
— What moment in your career as a photographer was the turning point or the most important? Was there a project or period that particularly changed you?
— The most turning point for me was a full-scale invasion. Photography then became for me not only the main documentation tool, but also a way of psychological salvation. She helped to focus on the process of creating the frame and as if she did not allow the horror that was happening around to pass inside. You keep the focus and work.
It's like looking at a scary world through a lens and getting a little safer. For example, during work we went to Irpin, Bucha and Chernihiv when it was under siege. They came under fire. In moments like this, you just take the camera, focus on the frame, and it helps a lot psychologically.
But there is also a reverse side. When you get home, or even to the shelter, you start to disassemble the photos, it all catches up and covers. Especially painful for me was the first hero I photographed and who later died. It was a very difficult loss, but it made me rethink the importance of documentation. This gave an insight into how valuable it is to store memory — what will remain after us. And I decided that as long as I had enough strength and inspiration, I would do it.
— What is photography for you: art, documentation, or a way to tell a story?
— “If we talk about my photography, I don't think of it as art. The closest thing to me, in essence, is documentation. My desire is to document as much as possible, as deeply as possible events, people, their stories and what happens to them.
Stories are already built from this documentation. Sometimes they merge into a series, even if the shots are made in different time periods. But the basis is always documentation. For me, it has two sides. On the one hand, it is a bit of a fatalistic process. On the other hand, it helps a lot even when it seems that no one needs it. At such moments, I think: perhaps it does not seem important to contemporaries, because there are many other photographers, documentarians, works. But I'm sure that over time it will all be of value.
When we are gone, these photos will remain. Unless, of course, there is a technological catastrophe. Any photo, even from a home archive, will become a treasure, because it will be a testimony of this era, of what we experienced and how we fought. It is just like today we recover old archival pictures of previous generations of Ukrainians who also fought.
However, photography is not only important in the context of war. Even the everyday moments, the ordinary life that we document, will become extremely valuable for posterity. Therefore, my global goal is to document for future generations to preserve the memory of how we lived and fought.
— You worked on the project “Victory Units”. Tell us more about it: for whom it was created, are you still working on it and what does this project mean for you personally? How much are you in it?
— This project is a huge part of me. This is probably one of the most important projects in my life, and I still continue to work on it. “Victory Units”— is a documentary series about units of the Security and Defense Forces of Ukraine, different types and types of troops. We tell the stories of powerful brigades, their heroes, the paths they have traveled and their victories.
Initially, we wanted to show people that the Ukrainian army is not an abstract word, it is not just an “army”. These are specific units with a unique history, strong combat training and, most importantly, specific personalities. After all, it is thanks to their heroic actions that battles are won or they manage to hold positions.
We also set out to find out exactly what distinguishes each brigade, around which its warriors rally, what internal mythology is the basis of their identity. We wanted to show that this is not just a “gray mass of soldiers”, but a living organism with its own culture, traditions and history. It is interesting that many names of these units are associated with historical formations on the territory of Ukraine, such as Black Zaporozhts, Kholodnoyarts, Knights of the Winter Campaign, etc.
Separately, I would like to note the work of the team that created a new identity of the Ukrainian army. It was very interesting to observe how modern military identity is formed, even in new units. For example, we were shooting about “Charter” - this is a crew that recently turned only 1,000 days old.
The global goal of this project is to popularize the Ukrainian army, tell its story and at the same time preserve the memory of the people who participated in the most important battles for our freedom. We also show the culture and traditions that are born within the units. It is part of modern military culture.
The project comes in different formats: a documentary series is broadcast on YouTube and television, on our website we publish photo stories and longrads with deeper details. Individual interviews from the films are also available in full format. We are even thinking about creating a book to rethink and organize all this material.
By the way, each shot is a huge amount of material, 20-30 terabytes each. All this is stored in archives both in Ukraine and on a server in Poland to leave to the next generation. We can say that this is our treasure, a documentary memory of the modern struggle of Ukrainians.
— In this project are you a video supervisor, journalist or photographer? Do you take pictures for this project?
— I am the author of this project, and it automatically combines all other roles. I act as a director, and as a producer, and as a journalist, screenwriter, and photographer.
When possible, we involve other photographers so that I can focus on the interview or organizing the process. But recently, the situation on the positions is so complicated and dangerous that the press officers and the military are asking to minimize the number of team members on the set. Usually only me and the operator leave, so I take pictures too.
Even when we work with a photographer, I still take my camera with me. I can't stay without her, I often take pictures in parallel, even if this is not my main role on the set.
— Can you share a story that particularly struck you, touched or left a deep mark? Do you have photos that illustrate these moments?
— Yes, of course. One such story was our trip with the 92 crew. We filmed their infantry, which was to deliver ammunition, water, radios and batteries to the front line near Bakhmut, where the Russian assault was to begin. We were riding motolysis (lightly armored tracked vehicles) together with the infantrymen. According to the plan, we had to bring everything we needed, take off as they come out, wait in positions and go back.
But everything did not go according to plan. Due to bad weather conditions, the technician barely moved in the swamp, communication and navigation were lost, and the driver lost his route. We got lost and came under fire. It lasted about four hours — they fired on everyone as much as they could. We sat in an enclosed space looking at a small television screen that showed what was happening outside. It was a moment when it seemed that life could end at any moment.
Fortunately, the connection eventually emerged, and the battalion commander gave the order not to drive into the positions, but to evacuate. Although we were torn off by a piece of armor from the blast wave, everyone remained unharmed.
I was especially touched by the story of one infantryman who went to the front line for the first time. I have a photo of him on Instagram. He had blue eyes, and he was silent all the way. It could be seen that he was scared. When the commander gave a briefing before the trip and asked if there were any questions, this guy boldly said: “Is it possible, when I report to you on the radio, I will speak in my own words, because I have not yet learned?”. It sounded very naive and touching, like in school. His seriousness and fear were very noticeable, and that impressed me a lot.
There are many such stories. For example, we shot a guy from “Azov”, who is only 19 years old. He joined the army at 18 and has been serving for a year. He looks very young, but his courage and courage are impressive. When I asked him why he went to fight, he replied, “I have a younger brother and a sister. I don't want them to suffer all their lives. I want to protect them.” His words left a deep mark.
Also, the city of Vuhledar is special for me. My friends held the defense there and I was there often. In the spring of 2023, we were there again, then enemy aircraft were actively operating. One day, sitting in the basement, we heard the Cabs flying. We were afraid that we would not be smeared, roughly speaking, by these slabs of the 9-story building, because we were in the basement. Two neighboring high-rise buildings were demolished, and only ours remained intact.
After this shelling, we recorded an interview with the combatant of the 72 brigade named after the Black Zaporozhtsy. The conditions in the basement were nothing, but there the guys prepared pancakes for us with sour cream. I could not even eat, did not release adrenaline and cortisol, but their humanity and indestructibility struck me to the bottom of my soul.
The city of Kurakhovo was also very valuable to me. In 2023—2024, I often traveled there, because friends from the 72 brigade named after the Black Zaporozhts stood there for a long time. We filmed lakes, ducks, sunsets and sunrises. Now this city is almost occupied, and it hurts. But I am glad that I still have photos that captured that beauty and that peace that could still be experienced then.
— Carino, you seem to be an empathetic person, and it's probably impossible to just work out, publish, and forget. How do you cope with such an emotional burden? What helps you recover?
— “You're right, I'm a very empathetic person, and it's really impossible to just leave it there. The war for us, Ukrainian journalists and documentarians, will always be very personal. Photographer Yulia Kochetova even has such a project “War is personal”. I often hear from friends and a coach: “Carino, you have to set psychological limits, protect yourself.” But I can't do that. Sometimes it seems that I physically feel the pain of the people I communicate with. It is very difficult to explain.
After returning from such trips, it always takes time to recover. At first, as if everything is fine, you feel that you have done an important job. And then comes the moment when you just cry for two days, you don't leave the house.
But there is another side. I see how it becomes a little easier for people when they share their experiences. Sometimes most of these trips aren't even about taking photos or material. It's about being close to the person, listening to them, making them feel that they've been heard, that they're not alone in their pain.
And Eastern martial arts (“Neat-Nam”) and meditation help me recover a lot. I deal with a coach and that's what literally saves me. Without it, I probably wouldn't be able to work for a long time.
— What motivates you to keep documenting the war?
— For me, this is a matter of moral obligation. I'm not in the military right now, but I'm doing what I can. A lot of people have given their lives and health, and I don't see it right for me to distance myself from this struggle while I can be useful.
I feel that it is in empathy and letting go of this pain through myself that something real is born. This can be seen in the photo, and in the words, and in the details. When you work not only technically — choosing the right angle or sticking to the composition, but you put all this pain and emotion into your work, people feel it.
In the end, as long as I have enough strength, I will do it.
— You photographed places that are now destroyed or under Russian occupation. Tell us which ones you remember the most.
— Yes, there are many such places. For example, we were in Mariupol in 2019 or 2020 during an expedition Ukranianon the Black Sea and the Azov region. Then we shot unique locations: Oleshkovsky sands, Skadovsk, Arabatsk arrow. In Mariupol, we were especially impressed by the temple, painted with Petrykov painting with blue marine motifs. It was something incredible. Unfortunately, the temple is now destroyed.
We also filmed in Nikolaev, where one artist painted rooms in the regional state administration in a special Nikolaev version of Petrykivsk painting. Later, a Russian missile flew there in the Regional State Administration, and now these rooms are also destroyed. But there are still photos, videos, interviews with people. And this is very important, because these are already documentary facts that will remain forever.
I remember the reserve “Meotida”, which we filmed in 2017 or 2018. Even then, it was divided due to the occupation of Donetsk region: one part of the reserve remained free, and the other - under the control of Russian troops. Already then we felt that part of us had been torn away from us. We worked there with drones, filmed birds, and even then the workers of the reserve warned us of the danger due to the proximity of the occupation troops. Today the reserve is fully occupied. It hurts a lot, but I'm glad we managed to document it when it was still possible.
— What do you dream about as a photographer and what are you working on now?
— Dreams are a great luxury. But, you know, even in difficult conditions, they can be born from the simplest things. For example, when I told you about pancakes, I remembered that for some time now I have been photographing the food that the military treats us with. I shoot these treats from the top point, at an angle of 90 degrees. I already have about a hundred of these pictures. This is a kind of story of hospitality even in the war.
This series of photos is important to me and I dream of turning it into a photo project or exhibition someday. This is a separate story that shows humanity and warmth even in the most difficult moments.
I am currently researching the topic of home at war. This is especially true for the military, for whom home is often something changeable and unstable. For some, home is a place where family awaits them, and for some it is a trench or a dungeon. This is a very complex but interesting topic that I continue to develop.
Perhaps the strongest thing that I still carry in my heart is the memories of Kherson on the day of liberation. We arrived there on November 15—16, 2022, immediately after the de-occupation. It was a time of undeniable joy. People cried, laughed, hugged, rejoiced. All of Kherson was full of sincere emotions, and this concerned absolutely everyone.
I really want to see and record something like that again. This joy, this freedom, this victory are moments that give hope. I don't know in what form it will be, but I definitely dream of seeing and capturing such genuine, sincere joy again.
Karina Pilugina— Ukrainian photographer, producer and director, has a journalistic education. She studied in the workshop of documentary film director Sergei Bukovsky. Since 2017, he has been working in documentary. Previously, it dealt with anthropological topics, now the focus is exclusively on war. Since 2021, he has been working in the genre of documentary photography and reporting. The author of the documentary series about the Ukrainian army “Victory Units”. Documenting the war in the combat zone. Some of her photos are published in books: “Ukraine: War crime”, “Ukraine: Love and War”, “What will we call this war?”, “De-occupation”. Karina's Instagram.
We worked on the material:
Researcher of the topic, author of the text: Vira Labych
Bildeditor: Olga Kovalyova
Literary Editor: Julia Futei
Site Manager: Vladislav Kukhar
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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