This image, taken out of context, stops me and makes me interested, but reality erases all the aesthetic dimensions of the composition. It is difficult to talk about such pictures - I like them or I don't like them. Of course, I like the composition, the hunched bodies in a limited space touching each other, the flow of colors and the way the eye slides from one man's back to another, but I don't like the situation, the disgusting bodies and men's backs, their hands and, above all, their faces, which are not visible.
That is, the photograph is interesting, but as soon as its history is revealed, disgust arises. I wonder how one can like an image of something that one hates for its very existence, for the reality of a frozen moment.
This is one of the photographs taken by Vladyslav Krasnoshchek, a Kharkiv-based artist and photographer, in a camp for Russian prisoners of war. Vladyslav and his colleague Olha Kovaleva have already told UAPP about this trip.
The moment in the photo shows Russian prisoners of war sitting in a shelter under the camp in the deep rear because the alarm is sounding from above, i.e. another ballistic missile, dagger or MiG in the air, i.e. Russian troops are threatening us with something, as always. These same prisoners of war, in fact, were also Russian soldiers, and they could be anywhere now. We can list so many towns and villages where they could have been, and at least one can be guessed at random, that is, the place can be named as accurately as a Russian missile hits the center of a Ukrainian city.
That is, all these people in the picture could have threatened you. The humble, stooped backs of these men might look different, might be more violent when they are not hidden in a basement under a camp from the threat of their own people. All of them were brought down here, of course, and there is no way to know, unfortunately, whether they would have come down on their own if they had a choice. Vladyslav remembers that one of the prisoners told the journalists that he did not believe that Russia could shoot directly at them. Under the protection of solid walls, he sounded very determined.
The stooped backs, lowered heads, and palms covering their faces. Why don't they want to show their faces? They are being searched for too, don't they want someone from their families to see them alive, because someone is thinking about them too, and this is normal, it's not news, no matter how much one might want them to rot here, unwanted. The philosopher Hannah Arendt hit the truth most accurately when she called evil banal. These people who crossed our border with weapons, killed and seized our lands, and who would have continued to do so if not for their captivity, these people may love someone, someone may miss them. So why do they cover their faces? Would they cover their faces if they were taking pictures near a stele on the border of Donetsk region or a sign saying “Lysychansk” to send a photo to a friend, mother, wife? Why don't they want to be seen like this in the basement, anxious about the threat of Russian shelling? Perhaps because they think they had an accident-an accident is, after all, about suddenness-so they had weapons against those who brought them down here, but they didn't? I am exaggerating. Most likely, their reasons, like their evil, are much more banal.
There is nothing to learn about these people, and it is not worth it, although from the author's point of view I want to know as much as possible. However, everything I wanted to see and everything I preferred not to see is in front of me. Although, perhaps, a book, no, two books being read by two men. They don't hide their faces so literally, but they hide them behind their reading. That is, evil, even banal evil, reads books. That is, evil taken out of the general system, a screw taken out of the great system of evil, reads books.
But there is one more detail that is not in the picture. In this camp, as the photographers were told, prisoners of war work, for example, making plastic Christmas trees for sale. And the New Year holidays are coming soon, and there is every chance that at least one of them will end up in our home for Christmas.
***
I've seen some criticism of Vladyslav Krasnoshchek's photographs, as if by using black and white film and printing methods he is dressing up contemporary events in images of the 20th century war, stylizing this war as another. But perhaps these photographs are so reminiscent of the war of the last century because they are about an unovercome experience and an unexplored moment? Perhaps World War II or World War I, filmed with modern cameras, would be no different from the present, except for the technology? Perhaps evil, even banal evil, is just evil, no matter how you shoot it, where you shoot it, or how you display it?
Photo: Vladyslav Krasnoshchek
Text: Vira Kuriko
This image, taken out of context, stops me and makes me interested, but reality erases all the aesthetic dimensions of the composition. It is difficult to talk about such pictures - I like them or I don't like them. Of course, I like the composition, the hunched bodies in a limited space touching each other, the flow of colors and the way the eye slides from one man's back to another, but I don't like the situation, the disgusting bodies and men's backs, their hands and, above all, their faces, which are not visible.
That is, the photograph is interesting, but as soon as its history is revealed, disgust arises. I wonder how one can like an image of something that one hates for its very existence, for the reality of a frozen moment.
This is one of the photographs taken by Vladyslav Krasnoshchek, a Kharkiv-based artist and photographer, in a camp for Russian prisoners of war. Vladyslav and his colleague Olha Kovaleva have already told UAPP about this trip.
The moment in the photo shows Russian prisoners of war sitting in a shelter under the camp in the deep rear because the alarm is sounding from above, i.e. another ballistic missile, dagger or MiG in the air, i.e. Russian troops are threatening us with something, as always. These same prisoners of war, in fact, were also Russian soldiers, and they could be anywhere now. We can list so many towns and villages where they could have been, and at least one can be guessed at random, that is, the place can be named as accurately as a Russian missile hits the center of a Ukrainian city.
That is, all these people in the picture could have threatened you. The humble, stooped backs of these men might look different, might be more violent when they are not hidden in a basement under a camp from the threat of their own people. All of them were brought down here, of course, and there is no way to know, unfortunately, whether they would have come down on their own if they had a choice. Vladyslav remembers that one of the prisoners told the journalists that he did not believe that Russia could shoot directly at them. Under the protection of solid walls, he sounded very determined.
The stooped backs, lowered heads, and palms covering their faces. Why don't they want to show their faces? They are being searched for too, don't they want someone from their families to see them alive, because someone is thinking about them too, and this is normal, it's not news, no matter how much one might want them to rot here, unwanted. The philosopher Hannah Arendt hit the truth most accurately when she called evil banal. These people who crossed our border with weapons, killed and seized our lands, and who would have continued to do so if not for their captivity, these people may love someone, someone may miss them. So why do they cover their faces? Would they cover their faces if they were taking pictures near a stele on the border of Donetsk region or a sign saying “Lysychansk” to send a photo to a friend, mother, wife? Why don't they want to be seen like this in the basement, anxious about the threat of Russian shelling? Perhaps because they think they had an accident-an accident is, after all, about suddenness-so they had weapons against those who brought them down here, but they didn't? I am exaggerating. Most likely, their reasons, like their evil, are much more banal.
There is nothing to learn about these people, and it is not worth it, although from the author's point of view I want to know as much as possible. However, everything I wanted to see and everything I preferred not to see is in front of me. Although, perhaps, a book, no, two books being read by two men. They don't hide their faces so literally, but they hide them behind their reading. That is, evil, even banal evil, reads books. That is, evil taken out of the general system, a screw taken out of the great system of evil, reads books.
But there is one more detail that is not in the picture. In this camp, as the photographers were told, prisoners of war work, for example, making plastic Christmas trees for sale. And the New Year holidays are coming soon, and there is every chance that at least one of them will end up in our home for Christmas.
***
I've seen some criticism of Vladyslav Krasnoshchek's photographs, as if by using black and white film and printing methods he is dressing up contemporary events in images of the 20th century war, stylizing this war as another. But perhaps these photographs are so reminiscent of the war of the last century because they are about an unovercome experience and an unexplored moment? Perhaps World War II or World War I, filmed with modern cameras, would be no different from the present, except for the technology? Perhaps evil, even banal evil, is just evil, no matter how you shoot it, where you shoot it, or how you display it?
Photo: Vladyslav Krasnoshchek
Text: Vira Kuriko
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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