Olesya Parfenyuk

My work is mostly portrait and fashion photography,  sometimes a bit of video, but also interdisciplinary work, like  this sculpture in space — Überrest (2022).

Absolutely. I think a lot about how environment shapes my  practice. How it could possibly change based on location. I  immigrated as a child, not by choice, and creating became a  form to cope. Growing up between cultures made me very  attentive to differences, biases, and unspoken rules, and I  believe, it subconsciously shaped my visual language. Culture  and upbringing deeply form our values, taste, our perception  of life, success, and even where we look for happiness— especially in darker moments—and moving around recently  made me even more aware of that. In every place I lived,  even for just a month, I tried to find what moves me: often  historical spaces, architecture and nature, but also the rhythm of the city, the relationships I build, and the experiences I gather.

For me, a story usually begins with a feeling. Sometimes it’s  very subtle—just in a gaze—and it doesn’t need much set  design. I’m drawn to a regard intérieur: an inward,  melancholic, nostalgic, and slightly surreal atmosphere. This  is still evolving and changing.
Because I’m very sensitive to energy, the stories often  emerge from what’s present in the moment. I try to feel how  the person in front of me feels, and we create something  together. I’m interested in behavioral science and in exploring  the depth of human complexity and connection. We meet as  strangers and often leave as friends.

Photography reveals that we never simply see one another  — we project. In a Lacanian sense, the self is never  complete and desire is never fully satisfied, so every  act of looking involves misrecognition. We don’t  photograph others as they are, but as we need or  imagine them to be. In that way, every photograph is  also a mirror of the photographer — and a reminder that images can reveal, but also fix and distort, how we see each other.

Photography exposes how easily perception hardens into stereotype. Because images feel like evidence, they  can quietly reinforce biases and power structures.  That’s why I think photography demands ethical  attention: it asks us to constantly question what we are  really seeing, what we are imposing, and whose story  we are actually telling. I’m tired of those who in first  case still portray women as objects of desire. I’m also  bored by narrow, Western beauty standards that don’t  expand how we see the world. And I struggle with  glamour and the display of wealth; it feels insincere and  uninteresting to me.

I feel that melancholy and romanticism are always with me;
they follow me, sometimes only quietly echoing.  Reflecting on it, I think I carry a certain grief from  migrating and assimilating into a culture I didn’t choose.  I found peace and security in creating a world of my  own—through collecting, imagining, and being creative.  That’s when I fell in love with the 19th century, from its  aesthetics to its gothic novels, and with the idea of how  the past continues to live in the present. The antiques  I’ve been collecting have always fascinated me and  made me feel closer to bygone centuries.

I have experience in both, but I just need to dare to take it to a more serious level. Same with singing and dance. I  hold very high expectations for myself, which can block  me from experimenting and errors, even though I know  they’re part of the journey. I hope to return to enjoying  the process more than focusing on the outcome, and to  unlearn the idea that every talent must be brought to a  level and be monetized.