Today we’d like to introduce you to Anastasiia Terentieva.
Hi Anastasiia, please kick things off for us with an introduction to yourself and your story.
I was born and raised in Ukraine, where I earned a Master’s degree in law. But despite following a traditional professional path, I always felt a pull toward something more creative, more emotional — something that could hold nuance and contradiction. That “something” eventually became photography.
I moved to the United States several years ago, originally starting over as an immigrant with very little. I began photographing weddings — moments of love, connection, and vulnerability — and slowly built a name for myself in North and South Carolina. I eventually became a certified wedding photographer and was named one of the top 10 wedding photographers in Charlotte.
But when the full-scale invasion of Ukraine began in 2022, something shifted in me. I could no longer work only with beauty and joy — I needed to make space for pain, memory, and questions of identity. I began developing fine art and documentary projects focused on Ukrainian stories in exile.
Today, my practice explores the quiet emotional landscapes of refugees and displaced people. I work with symbols — houseplants, traditional dolls, hands, curtains — to speak about loss, resilience, and the fragile hope of making a new home.
My work has been exhibited internationally (in New York, London, Barcelona) and published in several art magazines. I’m currently working on a visual thesis at Harvard about the psychological experiences of Ukrainian women in displacement, combining photography and personal narratives.
Photography has given me a new language — not just to document what I see, but to reflect what others feel but cannot always name.
Alright, so let’s dig a little deeper into the story – has it been an easy path overall and if not, what were the challenges you’ve had to overcome?
Obstacles / Challenges
Not at all — it’s been anything but smooth. I came to the United States with no connections, no artistic community, and no idea how to rebuild my career from scratch. Like many immigrants, I took on whatever jobs I could to survive: I cleaned houses, worked as a food delivery driver, and even drove a taxi. It was exhausting — physically, emotionally, creatively. But I never stopped photographing.
At the time, I worked weddings on weekends and edited photos at night — because photography was the only part of me that felt stable.
Then the full-scale war in Ukraine began. My family remained in occupied territories, and I suddenly carried the weight of being safe while knowing they were not. That emotional split — between physical safety and psychological trauma — deeply shaped my work.
Shifting from wedding photography to fine art was another challenge. I had to find my own voice again, this time not just as a creative, but as a woman, a refugee, and a documentarian of invisible stories. I had no gallery connections, no art school background — only my experience and my persistence.
Each of these challenges became fuel. They taught me to work with what I have, to see beauty in fragility, and to create from the most honest place possible.
Thanks for sharing that. So, maybe next you can tell us a bit more about your work?
Your Work – Artist / Creative
I’m a visual artist and photographer working at the intersection of fine art, documentary, and emotional storytelling. I specialize in personal narratives — often centered around themes like displacement, trauma, memory, and resilience. My most recent work focuses on the Ukrainian refugee experience, especially from a female perspective.
Over the past few years, my practice has shifted from wedding photography to more conceptual, socially rooted art. What I’m most proud of is that I’ve been able to turn a painful, unstable time in my life into something that resonates with others — something that helps people feel seen, even when their stories are too hard to tell out loud.
One of my ongoing series, “In Case We Stay”, uses the image of a houseplant as a visual metaphor for internal exile — for the moment when a refugee dares to root, even temporarily. The faces in the photographs are hidden; only hands, postures, and gestures remain. It’s a quiet work, but also a deeply emotional one.
What sets me apart is my perspective: I didn’t come to the art world through a traditional path. I came through survival, through reinvention, through listening to others. I don’t just document — I reflect, I translate emotional landscapes into visual form.
My work has been shown in New York, London, Barcelona, and across North and South Carolina. I’m currently completing a visual storytelling program at Harvard, and developing a photobook rooted in the refugee experience, combining portraiture and fragments of real voices.
Can you talk to us a bit about happiness and what makes you happy?
Happiness
What makes me happiest is seeing my daughter grow up free, curious, and unafraid.
There are moments when she asks me questions — simple ones, like “Why are some houses broken in the pictures from Ukraine?” or “Why do you always cry when you see that news?” And I realize: she has no idea what it means to live in fear. She doesn’t know the sound of sirens or the feeling of packing a bag for the bomb shelter. And I hope she never will.
Watching her run, dance, ask questions, and dream about the future — that’s happiness to me. It reminds me why I left, why I work, and why I keep going. Because this childhood — this peaceful, ordinary, beautiful childhood — is not something I had. And it’s the most precious thing I can give her.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://anameskh.com
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/anameskhphoto/
