For the previous 12 months, I’ve been working in busy Kyiv, Odessa or Dnipro, away from the battles, photographing resilience and the concentrating on of Ukraine’s tradition — or simply ready for guarantees of navy entry, which is granted much less often lately.
At the hours of darkness, confusion wakes you — was that an explosion? One other blast confirms it, and extra questions begin swirling: Was a missile shot down, or did a drone hit its goal?
The day’s work is ready. The place did it hit? Can we get there? What number of injured, what number of useless? Who might be crying, who might be indignant? What number of worlds modified without end?
