Documenting the War in Ukraine with a Kiev 6C
Written by Patryk Linkiewicz and edited by James Lane
It was June 2022. They were beautiful, long, and warm summer days, but hardly anyone paid any attention; the calendar had stopped on February 24th.
In some places, daily life had literally stopped - winter city decorations were still hanging on the streets of Bucha. It's been exactly one year since I decided to go to Ukraine and I keep asking myself, "Why?". Why did I pick up the camera and catch the night bus to Kyiv from Warsaw? Was it out of curiosity to see the war for myself, take pictures and show them to the world? Was it just to check up on my Ukrainian friends I had seen a couple of months ago in Warsaw before the invasion? Or maybe it was some unknown force that pushed me to do it.
I still ask myself today for what compelled me to go.
Kyiv subway entrances Left, the graffiti reads, "Putin is a d**khead" and right, "Russian warship, go f**k yourself". Ilford FP4+.
But what matters is that I went and saw the scars and destruction myself in person to fully comprehend what was happening so close to home and what could ensue from unchecked Russian ambition. I spent several dozen hours on the bus where I passed the border, checkpoints, and road signs with overpainted names, which was to confuse the Russian invaders that were now remnants of the first days of the war, until I reached Kyiv.
My travelling companion was a camera that I got just a month before the full-scale war started, from my Ukrainian friend Katerina. It's a Kiev 6C camera from the early 1970s whom previously belonged to her grandfather, a Soviet photographer. So, choosing this camera seemed obvious to me as a symbolic choice - taking pictures of wartime Kyiv with a Kiev camera.
So, what was/is Kyiv like during the war?
“The new reality of Kyiv and its inhabitants is visually and acoustically noticeable...”
Well, it was abnormal but at the same time, surprisingly, normal. On one hand, the daily notifications about airstrikes; the air-ride sirens, which the sound carried throughout the city every day; omni-present soldiers, checkpoints, barricades, and the metro stations covered with sandbags had become the new reality.
But on the other, there were still hints of pre-war life: couples holding hands while shopping, youth in cafés or bars, an old lady selling flowers on the street corner etc. Sometimes one here can temporarily forget about the war despite at the same time, several hundred kilometres to the east, there is fierce fighting is taking place.
Protected cultural monuments The new reality of Kyiv and its inhabitants is visually and acoustically noticeable – public buildings and monuments are protected against a possible Russian missile attack. An air-raid siren is heard at least once a day and fighter planes fly over the city. There are dozens of soldiers on permanent alert. War is felt at every step, but nonetheless everyone tries to live their own life as much as possible and retaining the habits of the pre-war times. Ilford FP4+.
However, Kyiv wasn’t representative of the entirety of the war, and I wanted to document it properly. Some of my friends advised me against going but I had my mind set on Bucha and Irpin. These were still extremely fresh wounds - figuratively and literally. These towns had only been liberated from the occupiers two months earlier.
On April the 1st the world learned about the horrifying massacre committed by the Russian army on Ukrainian civilians.
“It was bullet ridden from Russian soldiers. There were still traces of blood inside.”
Getting there seemed terrifyingly easy, I was told, "Patryk, take the subway at the Universytet station, and go to the end to Akademmistechko. When you go out, there should be a yellow marshrutka (collective taxi, in the form of buses on a specific route) to Bucha. You need to pay the driver for the ticket, only a few hryvnias, and that's it".
On the way, I saw a scene like the one I see basically everyday back in the outskirts and suburbs of Warsaw - pine forests, new residential blocks, single-family houses. I felt ‘almost’ like I was home, but then the hammer hit, and it hit hard. Just after a while, around the corner, I saw burnt houses that had been raked with machine-gun fire and fences with graffiti saying "CHILDREN, PEOPLE" as a futile attempt to discourage indiscriminate Russian bloodlust.
Fleeing car that once contained children A car, saying “Children” on it, in which civilians attempted to escape from the Kyiv suburbs. It was bullet ridden from Russian soldiers. There were still traces of blood inside. Ilford FP4+.
Traces of a projectile impact on an vehicle Ilford FP4+
I was greeted by ruins, areas ravaged by conflagration, but also the fierce spirit of the inhabitants that they will go on regardless. For example, someone had painted colourful flowers amongst the bullet and shrapnel marks on the fence. Their strength and willpower seemed so beautiful to me and filled me of optimism for the future.
Bucha Left, the entrance to Bucha, it was raked from machine-gun fire with the graffiti saying “People” on it. Right, a close-up of a burn-out building. Ilford Delta 400.
Entering Irpin was even more shocking. This was the scene I had seen in my mind’s eye regarding the word "war" - everything looked as if the hostilities had just ended yesterday. Chechnya, Georgia, Syria, Ukraine - the same scenes of devastation were shared by all.
While I was passing by another ruined residential block, I was stopped by two men. They asked me if I wanted to see what "Russkiy Mir" looked like (rough translation: “Russian World/Peace” - the concept of cultural, linguistic, political and often military expansion within countries that Russians believe belong to Russia). I agreed and they took me inside the building near the place we met.
Left, a bombed out residential apartment block in Irpin. Right, a burnt out flat in Irpin Ilford Delta 400 and Fomapan 100 respectively.
Occasionally, they repeated to me to be calm, that I'm safe and that these civilian buildings were demined already from the Russian occupiers. So, we made our way through soot-black staircases and burnt-out flats where a normal life had been going on a few months earlier. Now only remnants remained there in the building: photos, books, clothes lying on the floor and what hurt me the most - children colouring books.
The bright colours and innocence from the drawings contrasted with the destruction around them. There was a big hole in the wall of that room with children's books, probably from a missile. I still wonder, after all these months, what happened to these people, especially the children; I would like to believe that they are okay and alive.
We finally got to the roof and the bird's-eye view highlighted the extent of the damage. I stood there, speechless hearing the comments of my guides, which they were saying with a more and more broken voice, "Look what they've done, Russians and their russkiy mir. What have we've done to deserve this? Take photos. Let people see".
View from the roof on another destroyed block in Irpin Fomapan 100.
A resident of Irpin in the remains of his apartment Fomapan 100.
So, I took these photos and now you can see them, just like they wanted. Also, as I wanted.
The war in Ukraine is still going on and taking its terrible toll. Every day people die defending their homeland, which was attacked to fulfil the imperialist vision of a madman in the Kremlin. Kamikaze drones and cruise missiles rain down on the homes of innocent civilians. Those who had to leave or no longer have a home yearn for it back.
So, let's support Ukraine.
We cannot forget.
Слава Україні!
You can help support by donating to Red Cross here:
The author of the article and images is Patryk Linkiewicz, a Polish documentary and street film photographer living in Warsaw. He can be reached through his Instagram @linkiewitz. These images were captured on a Kiev 6C with a Vega-12 2.8/90. The films used were Ilford Delta 400, FP4+ and Fomapan 100 and the chosen film developer was Zone Imaging 510 Pyro for its editing flexibility for scanning.
