Emigration
Maksim Yudanov is a Belarusian photographer who has been capturing reality—and what it hides—through his lens for over 10 years. After the start of the war in Ukraine, he was forced to leave St. Petersburg and move to Warsaw. There, in a local squat, he founded the photo laboratory “Syrena. Ciemnia”, where he specializes in developing film. In this new article for our “Art in Emigration” column, we discuss the challenges of opening a darkroom, the essence of photography, and its significance today.
Maksim Yudanov, photographer and co-founder of the photo laboratory “Syrena.Ciemnia”
– Tell us a little about yourself?
— I have been living in Warsaw for two years now, having moved here from St. Petersburg after the war began. For the past year, I’ve been living in the “Syrena” squat, where I opened an independent project called “Syrena Ciemnia.” It’s a photo lab that handles black-and-white materials and is dedicated to film photography. It is my main passion.
— Tell us about your project. Was it difficult to open a photo lab? How did it all begin?
— Back in St. Petersburg, I got into film photography and started shooting. I often lived in communal apartments or rented rooms in residential districts, sometimes without any renovations. Everywhere I lived, I tried to set up improvised labs, just like in childhood—in the bathroom. I think many older readers will remember printing photos in the bath with their parents. Eventually, I met fellow enthusiasts and we organized a photo project. To be precise, I joined an existing one. It all happened in a rented apartment where a photo enlarger and chemical solutions sat in the kitchen—that’s where the magic happened.
After the war started, which was one of the reasons for my move, photography took a backseat—everything was uncertain. Over time, once I settled into a new place, I wanted to get back into it in any way possible. When I ended up at the squat, I found a space for it. Was it hard? That’s a good question. Yes and no. On one hand, it feels like fate brought me here. Truly. I arrived at the squat and within a few days found out there was access to a space, and that we could expand the basement of the building. We immediately started clearing out trash, as the basement was being used as a warehouse for a defunct second-hand shop. We began the renovation: plastering, puttying… The difficulty was that everything was done with our own hands, and many things had to be learned from scratch.
— How did the war affect you?
— For me, the decision to move wasn’t even a question. Firstly, the situation was extremely uncertain: fear, anxiety. Since 2014, I felt something was going wrong, but I didn’t take action. Eight years passed before I finally decided to leave Russia.
— What was the final straw for you?
— It probably happened when I opened the news on February 24, 2022. It was an unformed impulse at first, but within a few days, it solidified. Time was spent in agony—my eyes felt like they were bleeding from everything I was reading and seeing. Then came the realization: “Alright, okay, we know what we’re going to do”—and I left.
— How does the lab operate? How many days a week, at what times?
— For now, the lab is in a bit of a strange phase: it’s barely functional because the renovation just finished. But 95% of the work is done, the equipment is there, and right now I’m just calibrating processes and, you could say, enjoying the fact that it’s ready. What happens next isn’t entirely clear. It might be something like an open call for enthusiasts who don’t necessarily need to be experts. It might not be very practical, but generally: “Welcome!”
— You’re a photographer—tell us about your work. What do you look for when you take a photo?
— I love observing the rhythm of the city; I’m a city person. Though I enjoy landscapes too. Every genre of photography has something that draws me in. But I feel that a photographer doesn’t just take a picture; they reveal themselves through the prism of their photos, through their own perception.
Since I am a city person, I am naturally interested in urban photography. Having lived in different cities, my environment attracts me as a photographer. In the city, I especially like “ugly” things, in the broadest sense of the word. You could say I love the deformities of civilization. I also really enjoy portraiture in natural urban settings. Nature is great too, of course. Regarding portraits and the principle of photography in general, I almost never shoot in a studio; I like “living” photography.
— How did you come to photography, and why do you keep doing it?
— Now, it happens mostly by inertia. It’s like when people ask why you don’t eat meat. I used to give radical answers, but now it’s so natural I don’t even think about it. This September marks 25 years since I stopped eating meat. But I’ll tell you how I started with the camera.
In 2005, while living in St. Petersburg, I began working at a charity called “Perspectives.” They assist children with disabilities who were abandoned at birth. Sometimes the impairment is minor, but medical staff tell the parents: “No, this child will be too hard for you, give them to an orphanage,” and parents comply. As far as I know, this system still exists in second- and third-world countries, as well as post-Soviet states.
Over time, a problem arose: when a child turns 18, they are sent to an adult PNI (psycho-neurological boarding school), where they often perish. They end up in horrific conditions with peeling walls and no proper care. If someone can’t move on their own, they just fade away. So, “Perspectives” created their own ward inside the PNI to move people from the orphanage into more liveable conditions.
When I was a volunteer, I started taking photos there. Digital cameras were rare then, but my neighbor had a good one. I asked to borrow it. I needed to take some shots at a volunteer meeting, some photos of people from behind, a few city shots. It was interesting, especially because there were children around, and I started photographing them too. So, you could say I came to photography through social work.
— You’ve lived in various cities and have been shooting for over 10 years—how have you seen cities change?
— The changes are very noticeable. For example, I moved to St. Petersburg in 2004, and back then it was still very much the “90s St. Petersburg.” Ruins, shabby, half-destroyed buildings—but there was a charisma and atmosphere to it. Within 10-15 years, everything changed. The city became cluttered; an incredible amount of “inhuman” and unlivable spaces appeared. But that’s not just St. Petersburg; it’s probably the whole former CIS. In Warsaw, I think it’s a bit different. I haven’t been here long, so I see it as “not so bad,” but that’s just from an urban environment perspective.
— How do you think photography affects our perception of reality? Does it have the power to influence people’s consciousness?
– Of course, it matters. If we talk about documentary photography—take a building or a street where a sign looked one way in 2004 and differently in 2020 or 2022—that’s a clear documentary example. But there are also certain elements that don’t carry such obvious meaning, and those are what interest me. One aspect of photography that fascinates me is the attempt to escape a specific timestamp. Sure, photos of 80s New York or any American city with distinct architecture look impressive. But back then, it was just ordinary reality. Now, it feels like a cinematic effect, something stylized. In that sense, the modern world doesn’t satisfy me as much. I avoid commercial signage unless it’s something truly original that I can use.
I’m not interested in escaping reality so much as feeling it through a parallel layer of perception—the one we see for a split second after we look at something. We all notice it, but we walk past. However, in a photo, you can capture familiar things, events, or people and make them look slightly unreal, surreal. “Surreal” is a strong word, but it accurately captures the essence.
I love documentary photography too. But what attracts me most is working at the intersection of dry documentation and a shift in the axis of how reality is perceived. I feel that’s where the most beautiful things start to happen.
— Can photography change public opinion or the perception of social issues?
– Absolutely. For example, after WWII, the Magnum Photos agency went to England in 1947 to document the aftermath. They took the first photos that truly reflected the consequences of military conflicts. Those shots became famous. Photography definitely has the power to influence social perception, and Magnum is a prime example.
— You set up your workshop in the Syrena squat. Was this a conscious choice of location? Does it make film development more accessible? Did you choose this place deliberately, or was it circumstance?
– It was a combination of circumstances, but definitely not an accident. I think it was a conscious choice. I started living in the squat first, and very quickly the opportunity to create a lab arose. The point is that certain things enter your life exactly when you are ready for them.
— Is the arrival of things in one’s life a consequence of past actions?
– Generally, yes, it’s a consequence of past actions. Regarding this workshop, I’ve been doing photography for a long time with varying success—projects started and stopped—but I always wanted to continue. And now the lab is ready for work.
— Do you develop all film formats? Including color and black-and-white?
— Currently, I can only develop standard narrow film (35mm) and medium format film, but only in black-and-white. I think in time I’ll move to larger formats like sheet film, but those require extra equipment. Right now, format isn’t my priority. Color photography is probably more relevant, and I want to master that too. Lately, I’ve become fascinated by color, as if I’ve finally started to see and understand it. Working with color has become more interesting to me than black-and-white printing. In the future, I plan to produce color photos by hand, printing them through a magnifying glass.
— What difficulties do you face in the workshop? What would you like to work on?
— When time and energy align, there are no difficulties. The hardest thing is simply living through these troubled times.
— Is the DIY principle important to you? Could someone learn to develop their own film in your workshop? Do you hold masterclasses?
— I announced a couple of masterclasses, but they haven’t happened yet. I’ve developed film for acquaintances, and I always tell them they can learn to do it themselves, but so far no one has shown real interest.
— Digital photography is everywhere now. Where do you see the place of analog photography in this world?
— The modern world has enough photography already, and it’s clear digital is similar to analog in many ways. However, a lab—the way I see it—is something niche. A lab serves the art in photography.
— So you believe photography is more about creativity than functionality?
— I call it creativity. The term “art” feels a bit flat to me. But generally, yes, with digitalization, functionality takes a back seat. Now everyone has a phone that replaces everything.
— The world is becoming more digital. How do you feel about this? Do you think machines will soon replace humans?
— It seems they’ve already started. But I don’t have a strong opinion on it. To be honest, I don’t feel any particular way about it right now.
— What is the most important part of the film development process? What is needed for a home setup? What skills are necessary?
— You need some experience and the desire not to lose the result. Even if something doesn’t work out, it’s part of the learning process. You often think, “This is it, pure bliss,” only to run into problems again. But that’s all part of it. For home development, you need a basic kit: a tank, a thermometer, a set of chemicals, and a couple of measuring cups. And most importantly—the desire.
— I’m a fan of multiple exposure. I know film can be soaked in coffee before development. Are there other tricks for analog effects?
— Yes, of course, there are plenty. I could dive deep into the topic, but it’s better to just show them in practice.
— And one last question from the realm of the fantastic: does a photograph have a soul, or is it just a frozen moment?
— It is, first and foremost, a frozen moment—but one interpreted by you. The concept of a soul doesn’t contradict my views. I believe that everything in your head—what moves you, your eye, your heart, your brain—all of that creates your work. There’s a paradigm among photographers: you see with your eye, feel with your heart, and your brain processes it all. They work together. I’m not so spiritual, or rather religious, to talk about the soul in a traditional sense, but if we go by that concept, then yes, there is a soul in the work.
P.S. For collaborations, film development, and lab work, or to support the “Syrena. Ciemnia” project, write to Maksim Yudanov