As I glanced to my left, I saw a bent woman in a purple dress standing outside her door. I slammed on my brakes. My bicycle brakes, that is, because when in Ukraine, a bicycle is my main means of transportation on the bumpy, unpaved village roads.

I just had to have a picture of this woman. She was so... unique. Such a personification of the grueling toil of a villager's life in Ukraine. So I stepped out of my comfort zone, opened the gate to this woman's yard, and walked toward her.

I was in Ukraine with my family in August visiting my husband's relatives and others I had met on previous trips. I spotted the woman in purple while on my way to deliver photos that I'd taken earlier in the week and printed on my printer dock, which I brought with me to Ukraine. This printer dock works with all three of the Kodak cameras I brought with me - my P880 for its wide-angle lens, DX7590 for its telephoto capability, and my most recent acquisition, the pocket-sized V705.

I was thankful I had these pictures with me as I neared this stooped stranger. They would be my ice breaker.

"Do you know where any of these women live?" I asked, holding out a picture of four women sitting on a bench watching the world go by - a common activity in Ukrainian towns and villages. I had taken the picture on this street. "I'm delivering these prints to them."

I quickly followed with, "I'd like to take your picture, too. I'll bring you a print in a few days."

The woman hesitated, but eventually succumbed. I chatted with her briefly and snapped a few pictures with my P880 before I rode on to deliver the prints in hand.

When I returned to the hunched woman a few days later with prints, I saw the opportunity to take a more powerful portrait.



Olya (I finally asked her her name) had been painting the interior of her house earlier in the day and was dressed in her most ragged clothing. She was delighted to receive the pictures and had no objections to be further photographed. In fact, as a 79-year-old widow who lives alone, she seemed delighted to have a visitor, someone who would listen as she talked of her day-to-day troubles. Even when I set up the small tripod I carry with me at all times (you just never know when you'll need it), Olya seemed oblivious to the fact that I was turning our chat into a portrait session. So many of the elderly folks that I visited in Ukraine reacted the same way: they were so overjoyed to have a visitor that I could take pictures at will as I listened more than I spoke.

The picture below, my favorite of the session, portrays the desolation of the elderly not only in Ukraine, but the world over. Although Olya was a stranger when I hesitantly approached her, I now have another friend whom I'll visit in future trips to Ukraine.


 

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