Gathering Darkness

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Civilians are evacuated across a destroyed bridge over the Irpin River in this 2022 photograph by Alexander Glyadyelov. (courtesy Polygon Gallery, North Vancouver)

Incredible images of the war in Ukraine had been inundating our digital devices for more than two months by the time Alexander Glyadyelov's exhibition, Gathering Darkness, opened May 12 at the Polygon Gallery in North Vancouver.

So seeing the curated selection of black and white photos, mostly from the conflict in Kyiv and the surrounding area, raised questions – the most obvious being the inherent competition with the immediacy of online images. Do we need such an exhibition now? I’m not sure we do. 

Glyadyelov, a Ukrainian documentary photographer born in Poland in 1956, is feted for his work. He  has documented the conflict since Russia’s 2014 annexation of Crimea. He also works with the redoubtable Médecins Sans Frontières.

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A man looks out from his destroyed apartment in Kyiv in this 2022 photograph by Alexander Glyadyelov. (courtesy Polygon Gallery, North Vancouver)

While I don’t want to suggest war photography is no longer relevant, it must contend now with vastly different circumstances, including, sadly, numbness and indifference. And, as uncomfortable as it is to say this, the show is mostly unremarkable. These are images we’ve largely seen before.

Too many focus on the destroyed bridge across the Irpin River. Others seem overly familiar, such as people making their way through urban ruins. A photo essay in the May issue of Harper’s Magazine by American photojournalist Nicole Tung offers similar images of the same events, as though magazine editors and gallery curators are adhering to a similar script.

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The world’s biggest transport aircraft, Mрiя – “The Dream” – is demolished by Russian bombs in this 2022 photograph by Alexander Glyadyelov. (courtesy Polygon Gallery, North Vancouver)

What does Gathering Darkness provide? Certainly, there are some strong images here, and not the most obvious ones. Two shots document the destruction of the world’s largest cargo plane, the Ukrainian-built Antonov An-225 Mriya, which I once photographed on the tarmac of the Vancouver International Airport. They point to the deliberate destruction of symbols of Ukrainian pride, although the plane’s scale is hard to appreciate here. 

The most upsetting photo is of the charred and decomposed remains of civilians being reburied en masse in the Kyiv suburb of Bucha. Viewers are spared the full emotional impact by virtue of it being black and white. I understand wanting to avoid numbing or repelling an audience and I know the various arguments for using black and white. But I have become convinced that colour is a necessary ingredient in contemporary war reportage lest images immediately seem “of the past” to viewers with no direct experience of war, people who may know it only through the odd history class, if that.

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A Kyiv citizen walks through his neighbourhood in this 2022 photograph by Alexander Glyadyelov. (courtesy Polygon Gallery, North Vancouver)

Each image comes with a brief background story. One really hits home. “A woman who stayed in the occupied Kyiv suburb of Bucha to take care of her ill elderly sister was shot on the threshold of her own house,” the caption reads. “Her sister, starved and dehydrated, died inside the house.” 

This is where the power rests – with the combination of storytelling and image. The text allows us to reread the photograph, giving us a grim, spare and evocative image of death, while also forcing us to consider unseen implications delivered through the written word. With each death, a small world is crushed.

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The basement of a children’s hospital in Kyiv serves as a bomb shelter in this 2022 photograph by Alexander Glyadyelov. (courtesy Polygon Gallery, North Vancouver)

It’s tempting now to support every creative project from Ukraine. But I would implore people to search out more compelling photographs online, which, sadly, are replenished each day. Far better work is being published regularly by The Guardian and other European news media. Many of the best images are by Ukraine’s newly minted soldiers and civilian defenders, recently transformed urban professionals equipped with cellphones and visual literacy. They are doing an incredible job bringing this nightmare to the world in almost real time. 

I came away from Gathering Darkness determined to sharpen my thinking on approaches to documenting conflict. I worry, though, that the effort is all for nought. As famed American war photographer James Nachtwey has said: “I have been a witness, and these pictures are my testimony. The events I have recorded should not be forgotten and must not be repeated.” 

Yet, here we are again. ■

Alexander Glyadyelov: Gathering Darkness at the Polygon Gallery in North Vancouver from May 12 to July 3, 2022.

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