THE HOUSE OF ONE SLIPPER
2023-2024 · Unites States · Eight Ukrainian Veterans: the Unseen Front Line
A documentary story of war, survival, brotherhood, and healing told through the eyes of those who lived it.
Video from recovered Russian drone – provided by Ukrainian soldier Stepan
We, civilians, must learn to understand veterans, support them, and remember – they once made our lives possible.
During this decade-long war, thousands of Ukrainians have joined the fight against Russia.
This project documents soldiers who came to the US for prostheses and rehabilitation.
Despite their injuries, many are determined to return to the front.
I continue to photograph soldiers who have chosen to return to the frontlines, as well as those transitioning back to civilian life.
Ukraine is becoming a country of veterans. Our task is to know how to accept this experience and how to live with it.
“Welcome to the house of one slipper.”
A deep voice greets me as I stand at the entrance of the rehab.
Where Healing Begins
This is more than a rehab — it’s where silence holds untold stories, and resilience takes root. Step inside.
Andriy, callname Plombir, 26
129th Territorial Defense Brigade, Battalion AREY
“In Donetsk region near Staromayorsk village at 3:15 I stepped on a mine, and my foot was torn to pieces. It was raining and the fog was thick.
My comrades couldn't put a tourniquet on me for a long time, and I felt my strength leaving me. I thought I would die, losing blood. They carried me for three hours, several times throwing me into a trench, when russian artillery fired at us.
On the way to the hospital, I thought about death. It was cold. I felt like a cigarette butt.”
One War, Many Lives
Each soldier carries a different scar, a different memory — and a name forged in fire.
Andrii, callname Sheriff, age 33
17th Tank Brigade
“At six in the morning on Sept. 24th, I was making coffee when a Russian tank fired on our position.
After my injury, the first thing I asked my commander was to call my wife and give her my apology for not coming back home healthy and unharmed. In the hospital, I was so worried that she would not come. I was terrified.”
"In the hospital, we all looked the same, covered in blood.
When my wife came to my ward, she didn’t recognize me and was about to leave. I couldn’t speak, but I managed to grab her hand with my one remaining hand."
My cell phone receives real-time nightly satellite alerts as
Russian rockets and drones race toward my family and friends
in Lviv, Kharkiv and all over.
Are they okay?
The sirens are loud.
Between Sirens and Silence
The war doesn’t end when the missiles stop.
In the quiet that follows, memory sharpens — and some carry the battlefield beneath their skin.
Hennadii, callname Hmuryi, age 52
Special Operations Forces
"We found them in the morning. Two goats just came to us. This was autumn, 2022. We were so worried about them when there was shelling all around! We saw them for a month-and-a-half feeding them and taking care of them.
Then we left for Kherson and they stayed there. I hope they survived."
Video made by Hennadii in Ukraine, 2022
Another day. I am photographing Hennadii. The window light bathes his body’s battle scars. My Rolleiflex’s soft shutter closes on the jagged lines on his skin. As I shoot, Hennady recites a poem by Joseph Brodsky from memory.
UNDER THE SAME STARS
In war, the sky stays silent — even as lives fall apart below.
Some dreams drift far beyond the battlefield, into constellations never reached.
Viktor, callname Hotabych, age 31
33rd Mechanized Brigade
"In July 2023 I was near Priyutny, in the Zaporizhzhia region, after surviving two attacks and taking part in a combat assault, I had to come back to the base alone.
I got lost on the road and I stepped on a mine. My foot was torn off completely. I'm lying in the middle of a minefield. I'm looking at the sky and experiencing such sharp pain.
I'm kind of a lover of astronomy, space and everything. My aunt is an astronomer and I have used telescopes since I was three years old.
And I'm lying there stupidly. Damn. This starry sky. Nothing shines anywhere like that. Only stars. And you are like, “Well, damn, maybe I will die now and I haven't explored all these stars.”
“The hardest thing is to look into the eyes of a comrade who is mortally-wounded and to calm him down. To say everything will be fine, that he will live. To say it while at the same time you know he will not."
How are you? Are you alright?
NOT ALL COMRADES CARRY WEAPONS
In the rubble of war, loyalty finds unexpected forms. Sometimes, survival walks on four legs.
Andrii, callname Morzh, age 32
112th Territorial Defense Brigade
We gave him a callname, 'Saper.' He was so smart that he sensed incoming shelling before anyone else. I remember one day when there was shelling everywhere. My friend ran to the basement so fast. I look at Saper. He is peacefully resting in his place. So I know we are safe and the rockets are not heading toward our position. Everyone was running for cover. But Saper and me were sitting in a yard, enjoying the warm evening together.
I made a soldier's dogtag for him. Then we were told our unit would be rotating out of the area in three days. I was looking for him but I could not find him. My comrades saw him near our battle positions, but he was not coming to us. He probably wanted to stay there at his home."
"It was the beginning of the Kharkiv region de-occupation. Our counterattack.
I found a dog in the village of Gatysche, near Vovchansk and Kharkiv. The dog had been left in a yard, tied up to its doghouse. We were in this area for three months. During all this time, he was with me.
Here, in a strange city, these men become my family.
They trust me and I trust them.
Someone once told me I help them heal.
I think they are helping me heal.
SCARS THAT SPEAK IN INK
A decade at war, marked not just in wounds — but in color, memory, and the voices that wouldn’t let go.
Stepan, callname Javelin, age 28
137th Marine Battalion of 35th Marine Brigade
“I was 18 when I decided to serve in a war. The very beginning. 10 years ago.
26 months of war in Donbas. 3 rotations. 18 months of full-scale war. And here I am – drinking a Margarita out of my new leg.”
"I was injured in Kurakhovo. It was September 19, 2023. I was serving in a unit with my older brother Zhenia. At that moment, he was not with me. Our comrades needed help. I ran to help them, and my brother ran to get a car to carry us all. That was the moment our position was heavily shelled.
Zhenia called our mother. He was screaming so loudly, screaming, “I am sorry mum, I didn’t save him. I am sorry…!”
I was taken to a field hospital, and it was impossible to recognize any of us. I have a lot of tattoos. Zhenia was looking for me. Thanks to my colorful tattoos, the doctor remembered me and showed my brother where I was.
In the hospital the first thing I told our mum over the phone was, “I miss you so much.” I don’t remember that though. That’s what she is telling me now.
I was wounded on September 19, and September 20 is Zhenia’s birthday. My mum said this was a birthday gift for him – the fact that I survived.”
Video made in Ukraine in 2022-2023 by Hennadii, Viktor, Vadym and Stepan
Pause. Breathe. You’re witnessing survival.
Still Standing
Through loss, pain, and the weight of war, some warriors refuse to fall — they rise, even on new legs.
Vadym, callname Sheriff, age 31
108th Territorial Defense Brigade
"In 2023, my mom passed away, and just six months later, my dad died. A few months after that, I was injured and lost my leg. 2023 was the hardest year of my life."
Despite their injuries, my friends want to go back to the fighting. Before coming to NYC for rehabilitation, Vadym served without his leg or any prosthetic for a month and a half.
“I had work to do. My combat friends needed me. Now with my new leg, they would need me even more.” – Vadym, callname "Sherif".
A Name Forged in Fire
Given by comrades, carried into battle — some callnames say more than a uniform ever could.
Pavlo, callname Master, age 28
33rd Mechanized Brigade
"I have a wonderful callname. Not everyone is that lucky. I got mine from my comrades, thanks to my skills. I can throw a grenade 40 meters to the exact spot that is requested. I am a master."
Manhattan. Friday evening.
We are sitting in cafe ordering food and drinks and speaking our language.
I’m worried we chose a bad place; since the toilet is downstairs, it will be hard for Viktor and Stepan to go to the restroom.
But I am the only one worried.
They don't care: “We can walk. And we can jump”.
Video taken by Hennadii, Stepan and Vadym in 2023 - 2024.
The owner comes to our table and gives us a cocktail that has a Ukrainian symbol drawn on with some sweet syrup.
“On the house,” he says, shaking our hands.
Small things today are so big.
Small things today are so big.
When some soldiers leave the city I follow them to the airport. I hate these farewells.
The only thing that makes them easier is knowing that we will meet again.
The last words we say to each other at JFK airport are: "See you in a few months, somewhere on the front.”
When the Music Plays
In the shadow of war, the shape of joy still finds its way.
It’s a warm April evening. We are on our way to karaoke: Hennadii, Viktor, Vadym, and me.
Around 11 pm, after singing all of the Ukrainian songs we know, someone plays Sting's “The Shape of My Heart”. Hennagii invites me to dance.
In a moment I am transported to a different reality where people are not dying every day, where they enjoy life and have simple moments like this.
Hennadii tells me he thought he would never be able to dance again.
To face death and then to laugh, and even to dance.
What could be more Ukrainian?
“I thought I would never be able to dance again.” – Hennadii, callname "Hmuryi".
