WHERE EMOTIONS BREATHE
Simple encounters Irina Sedletskaya almost missed become photographs shaped by silence, distance, uncertainty, memory, hope, and resilience.
August 2, 2026
INTERVIEW
PHOTOGRAPHY Irina Sedletskaya
INTERVIEW Melanie Meggs
Irina Sedletskaya began photographing from a desire to hold onto moments before they disappeared. Living and working in Kazakhstan, she has developed a visual language attuned to distance, silence, and emotional states. Over time, the camera became less a tool for keeping records and more a way of understanding what moves beneath the surface of what she sees.
A quiet melancholy moves through Irina’s photographs, but she does not see black and white as a language of sadness. For her, monochrome removes distraction and allows light, silence, and emotion to become more visible. What may first appear melancholic is, in Irina’s view, closer to resilience. Her work is shaped by personal experience without becoming directly autobiographical. Childhood, motherhood, loneliness, hope, and the search for belonging inform the way she looks at the world, but these experiences are translated through stillness, gesture, and distance.
Irina is not interested in giving the viewer a fixed narrative. Her images often begin with a simple encounter and open into something unresolved, leaving space for memory and interpretation. In Irina’s work, ambiguity becomes a form of invitation.
“Every project begins long before I pick up my camera. I constantly observe the world around me. A landscape, the movement of the wind, the way a model stands still, a branch, a shadow, or an empty road can suddenly become the beginning of a story in my mind. Sometimes I write down ideas, sometimes I simply carry them for weeks until they become clear. During the shoot I leave space for unexpected moments because they often become the most honest part of the work. Editing is not just technical for me. It is where I continue writing the story that began the moment I saw the image.”
IN CONVERSATION WITH IRINA SEDLETSKAYA
What do you feel your work reveals about you that words sometimes cannot express?
My photographs reveal something that is difficult for me to explain in everyday language: I believe hope often exists where people expect only darkness. Many viewers describe my work as melancholic because I work primarily in black and white. But for me, black and white is not about sadness. It removes distraction and allows emotions, light, and silence to become more visible. My stories are often about resilience. They speak about people standing in uncertainty, facing change, or walking through darkness without giving up. Even when the light seems distant, it is still there. Sometimes we simply need to learn how to see it differently. Perhaps that is what my photographs reveal about me most clearly: I have always believed that hope does not disappear. It only asks us to look more deeply.
How has living and working in Kazakhstan influenced what and how you photograph?
Kazakhstan has given me space. Its endless landscapes, quiet horizons, changing seasons, and natural light have deeply influenced the way I compose my images. There is something about open spaces that allows emotions to breathe. At the same time, living here has taught me to notice small moments of beauty that might otherwise be overlooked. Simplicity has become an important part of my visual language.
There is a strong sense of distance in your work, not only physical distance, but emotional distance. Is that something you consciously seek? How important is ambiguity to you?
Yes, although not always consciously. Physical distance often becomes a way of expressing emotional distance. I like images that leave room for silence rather than explanation. Ambiguity is very important to me because I don’t want to tell viewers what they should feel. I hope they bring their own memories, questions, and experiences into the photograph.
Can you talk about your approach to composition? Do you wait for the frame to reveal itself, or do you construct the image carefully before shooting?
I usually prepare the atmosphere rather than the exact composition. I know the feeling I want to create, but I allow the frame to reveal itself naturally. Sometimes a small movement, a change in the wind, or a different gesture completely transforms the image.I believe the strongest photographs are often found somewhere between intention and chance.
What advice would you give your younger creative self?
Don’t compare your work to anyone else’s.Trust your own way of seeing, even if it doesn’t fit current trends. There will always be fashionable styles, but honesty lasts much longer than fashion. Most importantly, don’t wait for permission to call yourself an artist.
How do you protect time and space for your creativity? Are you someone who plans carefully or follows instinct when creating?
It isn’t always easy. Like many people, I balance work, family, and everyday responsibilities. Sometimes creativity has to exist in small moments rather than long uninterrupted hours. I’ve learned that inspiration doesn’t always require perfect conditions. Sometimes it appears during an ordinary walk, while driving, or simply watching the changing light.
I follow an emotion until the landscape, the light, and the subject begin to speak the same language. Only then does the image feel complete.
Who or what has inspired the way you think about photography, memory, and human stories? This could be artists, writers, films, places, or people from your own life.
I don’t think I can point to one artist or photographer who shaped the way I see. My biggest influence has always been life itself. I started photographing because I wanted to preserve moments before they disappeared. Over time, I noticed that I began seeing stories everywhere in the sky, in the ground, in tree branches, in people passing by. A simple scene could become the beginning of a narrative in my mind. I photograph that feeling first, and later, during editing, I continue writing the story the image has already started to tell.
Perhaps my greatest teacher has simply been learning to pay attention.
If you could collaborate with anyone — past or present — who would it be and why?
Rather than dreaming about collaborating with one particular person, I am interested in collaborating with stories that matter.I would love to work with artists, writers, filmmakers, or documentary photographers whose work gives voice to people who are often unheard, especially women and children. Whether the project is conceptual or documentary, what matters to me is honesty, empathy, and creating work that allows people to feel seen. For me, the purpose of collaboration is not prestige but the possibility of understanding another human experience.
If your creative practice were a kind of journey, what stage are you currently in?
I feel that I am at the beginning. Not because I have just started photographing, but because I have only recently found my own voice. For many years I was learning how to make photographs. Now I am learning how to say something meaningful through them.
What would we find in your camera bag and is there one piece of equipment that is on your wish list?
My camera bag is quite simple. I still work with a Canon 550D and a small selection of lenses. Alongside batteries and memory cards, there is often one unexpected object, my son’s toy car. He has been one of my most frequent models, so somehow his little car always finds its way into my bag. I don’t really dream about a particular camera. For a long time, I never imagined my work would reach people beyond my own circle, especially in a time when polished images often receive the most attention. What matters most to me is not the equipment but whether an image can carry an honest emotion. If the right camera comes one day, I will be grateful, but it has never been the reason I create.
What would you like to understand more deeply through photography over the next few years?
I want to better understand how memory shapes identity. I’m interested in childhood, human resilience, and the invisible emotions that connect people across different cultures. I hope my future work asks deeper questions while remaining quiet enough for viewers to find their own answers.
When you are not photographing, what do you do for pleasure, rest, or to return to yourself?
I spend time with my son, take care of my garden, and simply observe nature. Some of my best ideas appear when I stop trying to create and allow myself to slow down. Walking, watching the sky, listening to the wind, or working with plants often brings me back to myself. I believe creativity grows from paying attention to ordinary life.
