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The Enduring Legacy of the Kharkiv School of Photography, Capturing War in Ukraine Today

The Enduring Legacy of the Kharkiv School of Photography, Capturing War in Ukraine Today

How descendants of an underground, non-conformist photography movement—founded in Kharkiv in the 1970s—continue to capture war in Ukraine today.

Authors
Iva Kucherenko
Iva Kucherenko
Art Director

The term "Kharkiv School of Photography" (KSOP) originated from the ‘Chas’ (time in Ukrainian) group that was established in 1971 at the Kharkiv Regional Photo Club. KSOP was an underground, non-conformist movement that reacted against the Soviet socialist realism art style with the striking imagery they created, both theme-wise and technique-wise. In 1975, the authorities shut down the photo club. However, the members continued to stay connected and collaborate, carrying out joint shoots and exhibitions until the late 1980s.

Today, new Kharkiv photographers continue the legacy of KSOP, and the movement lives on. We met and interviewed Vladyslav Krasnoshchok, a representative of the third generation of KSOP, who captures life amid Russia’s war in Ukraine these days:

“The defining feature of the Kharkiv School of Photography is its focus on social themes. All Kharkiv photographers have extensively worked with social topics. Technically, this also includes work with printed photographs, collages, drawing on photographs, etc. Overall, this type of photography emphasizes aesthetics and how the photograph engages the viewer—quickly, like a strike."

“To work within this aesthetic, it's important to be in that environment, in Kharkiv. The city, and the social context leave their mark. However, when the Kharkiv School of Photography inspires someone, it’s possible to stretch the influence a bit. Serhii Melnychenko drew a lot from Roman Pyatkovka; his work sometimes also reflects the impact of the Kharkiv School of Photography, even though it’s more... the Mykolaiv School of Photography (laughs)”

“The guys from the 11th Army Aviation Brigade were working in the Zaporizhzhia direction. They had their landing area there. As they were heading back, I saw sunflowers nearby. So I quickly ran over to them and took this photograph,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.
“The guys from the 11th Army Aviation Brigade were working in the Zaporizhzhia direction. They had their landing area there. As they were heading back, I saw sunflowers nearby. So I quickly ran over to them and took this photograph,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.
“Evacuation of the wounded. This was Kupiansk after liberation. Somewhere in October 2022,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.
“Evacuation of the wounded. This was Kupiansk after liberation. Somewhere in October 2022,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.

"When there’s a situation and a concentration of events, I don’t keep track of the film at all. On a single day, I might shoot 10 rolls of film. From those, I expect to get 5-10 good shots. I always end up with more, but when I come back, I often don’t like any of them. There’s no time gap between when I shoot, develop, and print the film... While I select I see that it’s beautiful, but to choose the best ones, time needs to pass. I need to step away from the situation a bit and forget how it was. Then I can return to the archive and select something different, something I didn’t notice before."

“This is a military dining room. I was photographing with the 11th Army Aviation Brigade. It seems like such a simple shot. But then I look at it and see there’s something in it. I took it formally, but later I see that it’s beautiful,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.
“This is a military dining room. I was photographing with the 11th Army Aviation Brigade. It seems like such a simple shot. But then I look at it and see there’s something in it. I took it formally, but later I see that it’s beautiful,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.
“Kharkiv direction, the beginning. 2022,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.
“Kharkiv direction, the beginning. 2022,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.
“Lyman-Kreminna direction. There was a farmer there with a lot of cows. Then there was a strike, or artillery fire, I don’t know for sure. I spoke with the guys recently, and they said that the farmer is no longer there and there’s nothing left at all. Everyone was killed,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.
“Lyman-Kreminna direction. There was a farmer there with a lot of cows. Then there was a strike, or artillery fire, I don’t know for sure. I spoke with the guys recently, and they said that the farmer is no longer there and there’s nothing left at all. Everyone was killed,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.

“Talking about the aestheticizing of tragic events... For me, as a person, tragedy exists; there is empathy when I see news about casualties and attacks. It affects you psychologically, but when you start photographing it, you abstract yourself from it and seem to shoot through the lens of composition. You see the image compositionally and work from that perspective. You distract yourself from everything; it feels almost like a movie.”

“2022. Burial of one of the commanders of the 92nd Brigade, Oleksandr Chaban. He was a really great guy, the head of the student scientific society and a leader of student self-governance at Kharkiv University. He was killed near Chuhuiv,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.
“2022. Burial of one of the commanders of the 92nd Brigade, Oleksandr Chaban. He was a really great guy, the head of the student scientific society and a leader of student self-governance at Kharkiv University. He was killed near Chuhuiv,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.
“I had photographed him while he was still alive. We went together to the so-called ‘fuckers-planting’ area from which the Russians were shelling Kharkiv. When I found out that he had been killed, I asked the guys if I could take some photos. They asked the relatives, and they agreed, saying it was important for history. This is his burial,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.
“I had photographed him while he was still alive. We went together to the so-called ‘fuckers-planting’ area from which the Russians were shelling Kharkiv. When I found out that he had been killed, I asked the guys if I could take some photos. They asked the relatives, and they agreed, saying it was important for history. This is his burial,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.

“Each year, it gets harder and harder to capture anything. It’s like in the Amazon jungle—everything wants to kill you. At the beginning of the war, it was one thing, but now everything is flying around, drones, MPVs, explosions. You might end up without photos, without cameras, injured. Then you need time to recover.”

“This is from the Sumy direction. The guys had been working since early morning. They were so exhausted that this guy fell asleep,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.
“This is from the Sumy direction. The guys had been working since early morning. They were so exhausted that this guy fell asleep,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.

“I use several cameras—Olympus Pen half-frame cameras, Olympus X full-frame cameras, Leica M6, the Horizon panoramic camera, and the Mamiya 7 medium format camera, which has a 6x7 frame size. I develop all of this at home.”

“The technique I use for printing allows for some variation in contrast and other elements, which can add a sense of imagery and artistry. But you see, when there is already a formally beautiful photograph in the negative, no matter what method you choose, it will still work on the viewer.”

“This is right after the liberation of Izyum in September of 2022. Humanitarian aid had just arrived, and everyone gathered near the church. The guys saw each other and were rejoicing that all was over,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.
“This is right after the liberation of Izyum in September of 2022. Humanitarian aid had just arrived, and everyone gathered near the church. The guys saw each other and were rejoicing that all was over,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.
“Izyum. After the exhumation. This is already winter of 2023. All the bodies were removed, but the graves remained in this state,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.
“Izyum. After the exhumation. This is already winter of 2023. All the bodies were removed, but the graves remained in this state,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.

“You know, there’s a thing—there are trips where you go just for the experience, to challenge yourself, but there’s a 95-100% chance you won’t get any good shots because it’s very dangerous. And then there are trips specifically for photography. 

But I think for a photographer, the most important thing is to stay alive and get the shots, rather than just proving yourself. It’s possible to do both, but no photograph is worth your life.”

“We were photographing with medics in the Kupiansk direction. We needed to head back, but the vehicle broke down. The guys tried to start it, but it wouldn’t start. We waited for another vehicle and, by night, were towed with a rope. This was in 2023, or at the beginning of 2024,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.
“We were photographing with medics in the Kupiansk direction. We needed to head back, but the vehicle broke down. The guys tried to start it, but it wouldn’t start. We waited for another vehicle and, by night, were towed with a rope. This was in 2023, or at the beginning of 2024,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.
“The church in the village of Bohorodychne. Around November 2022,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.
“The church in the village of Bohorodychne. Around November 2022,” Vladyslav Krasnoshchok.

“Now there isn’t any group where we all gather anymore. We rarely communicate because many people have left Kharkiv. Maybe only three people are left who are currently working. It’s me and the younger generation. We can get together just to chat.”

Photos and words by Vladyslav Krasnoshchok. The photos were taken with the support of the Ukrainian Cultural Foundation.

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