For the last few months, I have been sleeping in my bed, not in the hallway, and the restaurant, where I was volunteering during the first months of the invasion, is cooking food forregular visitors again, not for the Ukrainian Army. Listening to the cheerful laughter of hipsters in the cafe out my window on Friday evening, I realize that the war fell back, at least in towns that are far from the frontline and, in particular, here in Kyiv even considering the constant threat of missile strikes. It was not forgotten, but it has moved to the periphery of the mind, and now lies waiting somewhere in the depth.

It has to be like this. The natural protective mechanism of memory usually works this way, forcing out tragic events and thus keeping our sanity.

They say time is the best doctor that gives you the desired injection of oblivion. Even the strongest, the most significant, and the most tragic events start feeling less sharply over time. The shapes of faces and objects become blurred, colors fade away and then disappear completely.

The war has injured everybody. Today, the pictures of russia’s felonies in Ukraine terrify everybody. But will they remain in our memory for a long time? Will they be in our minds and hearts forever? Or the horror of the war will turn into a blind spot in our minds over time? What will be the guide for our memories? Personal experience or maybe someone’s texts, photos, and chronicles?

And the main question is whether we really want to record these events in our minds? Or do we rather want the war to leave the upper layers of memory, turning into faded recollections?

This is a series of black and white silver gelatin photos. They record the consequences of the russian invasionin Kyiv and Chernihiv region in spring 2022. The prints had been developed but not fixed with proper chemistry. That’s why they fade away under the light, the picture disappears. The final image illustrates the fading of memory over the course of time.