At the Broken Window
A soldier rests against a graffiti-marked wall inside a damaged building, framed by rubble, fractured masonry, and a bright exterior beyond the window. Ink on paper preserves the photograph’s sharp contrasts, from the dark protective gear to the pale, exposed structure. The concealed face and diagonal light create a tense, contemplative image suited to an office, hallway, or focused living space.
Quantity
Dmitry Pomazan
I was born in Ukraine and immigrated to Israel at 18. Something of the Ukrainian way of looking at photography still lives in me, alongside a split that formed through the move between cultures and the process of adapting to a new society. My military service in a combat unit deeply shaped the way I see and photograph. What interests me in my work is paradox: unusual behavior in familiar situations, or the other way around. I look for the meeting point between things that seemingly cannot exist together, such as hardness and softness, fear and love, hatred and compassion, most often through diptychs. It is precisely when the difference is large enough that an attraction begins to form within it. I also photograph a lot of food. I'm not interested in the dish itself so much as the invisible story inside it: the feeling we don't always notice but sense when someone cooks for us, and how deeply it can speak about the person behind it. Since October 7th, this has taken on another dimension. I've been working on a series about food in the field during reserve duty, alongside documentary work around the war itself.
I was born in Ukraine and immigrated to Israel at 18. Something of the Ukrainian way of looking at photography still lives in me, alongside a split that formed through the move between cultures and the process of adapting to a new society. My military service in a combat unit deeply shaped the way I see and photograph. What interests me in my work is paradox: unusual behavior in familiar situations, or the other way around. I look for the meeting point between things that seemingly cannot exist together, such as hardness and softness, fear and love, hatred and compassion, most often through diptychs. It is precisely when the difference is large enough that an attraction begins to form within it. I also photograph a lot of food. I'm not interested in the dish itself so much as the invisible story inside it: the feeling we don't always notice but sense when someone cooks for us, and how deeply it can speak about the person behind it. Since October 7th, this has taken on another dimension. I've been working on a series about food in the field during reserve duty, alongside documentary work around the war itself.
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