An In-Depth Exploration of Three Photographers: Part 4 (bonus!) - Boris Savelev

Sometimes a photograph doesn’t really end at the edge of the frame. Sometimes it keeps going - into the paper, into the surface, into the way light physically bounces back at you and into your mind as you begin to get affected by the narrative portrayed. And when I visited an exhibition in Santiago de Compostela, I ran into exactly that kind of work: images that don’t just show you something, they sit in front of you like objects with their own gravity.

The author is Boris Savelev, a photographer who began his journey in Ukraine (back when it was a Soviet Republic) and went on to carve out a visual language that feels both mundane and strangely poetic. What got me hooked wasn’t only what he photographs, but how seriously he takes the final output - so seriously that he pushed himself into unfamiliar territory just to make the image land exactly the way he imagined.

This man started printing his images on metal panels, using a technology he himself derived from stacking varied Photoshop layers of the edited image and printing them one by one, several times, onto the metal sheets. You really begin to appreciate it when you see it in person—because the depth of color, details in the shadows, the depth, the contrast—all of that begins to play vibrantly on the surface of a thin metal sheet.

While the technical aspects of his work are not exactly the main topic of today’s conversation, I figured it would be a shame not to mention such an important (and straight up cool) part of what he does. Aside from being obsessive about perfection in the representation medium, he developed a keen eye for spotting the peculiar in the mundane, the vibrant in the grey, and poetry in prose. His photography sometimes is full of deep meaning and context-related storytelling.

Without further ado, let’s dive into some of my favorites:

This image, aside from capturing the impressive context of what is probably inside one of the panel blocks in Soviet Ukraine, tells us an interesting story—hidden in the play of shadows and light. If you look closely, you can imagine that the shadow of the basketball ring resembles a sickle, a sign of communist ideology (if paired with a hammer). And the fact that it shows up on a basketball ring—ultimately an American sport, and therefore representing a capitalistic state—makes this image so much more thought-provoking. That is just marvelous work, my friends.

A photo of this lady, standing there with an empty look in the eyes and a classic “Slavic smile,” does fill me with wonder about what is on her mind. After all, that is a lot of bags to carry—and those mayonnaise jars will potentially be used to make lots of Olivier salads for the New Year’s celebration.

This one is straight up a beautiful narrative without any actors. Just environmental storytelling.

You’ve got this heavy, almost charcoal darkness of the buildings and bare branches, and then those windows glow like little furnaces—each one a tiny rectangle of somebody’s evening routine, each one different, even in temperature. I love how the warm color isn’t spread evenly; it’s concentrated in a few pockets, which makes it feel precious, almost guarded by the window frames.

And that bright orange stairwell/landing on the right is the real kicker: it’s like an accidental abstract painting glued onto Soviet-era geometry. It gives the whole scene a quiet narrative—outside is silent, leafless, and indifferent, but inside there’s movement, heat, and human presence: beating hearts surrounded by the “bones” of their living space. The heavy presence of the tree trunk slicing through the frame adds a sense of separation, and while in other images I might protest against its placement, the way it fits this shot works just great. It doesn’t take your attention away—it’s just there, and it is not going anywhere.

This one feels like you’re spying on a tiny island of peace from a much darker world. The lace-like pattern works almost like a curtain (or a memory) that you’re looking through, and then—bam—your eye lands on that little sunlit patch where a person is just sitting there, existing. I really love how the foreground silhouette blocks almost everything, like the scene is being “protected” from us. It’s intimate and distant at the same time, which is honestly a hard combo to pull off.

Here Mr. Boris turns a sidewalk into a canvas. Those warm streaks of light look like molten lava poured onto cold stone, and the wet surface makes everything feel freshly “revealed,” like the city is showing its veins under the setting sun—just before plunging into darkness. I’m also a sucker for how the geometry of the bricks fights with the organic flow of the reflections—order vs. chaos, but quietly.

This one is pure mood. It’s like we’re not looking at a scene, but at layers of time stacked on top of each other: window grime, reflections, the person inside, and those horizontal bands of color outside that feel almost like a sunset trapped in a box. The framing makes the subject feel isolated without being dramatic about it—just a normal moment that turns cinematic because the light decided to cooperate, and a talented photographer was passing by and decided to capture it.

I adore the “little theater” happening here: silhouettes crossing the stage, a wall full of paper noise in the background, and then that one figure in a brighter top that immediately becomes the focal point. The railing slicing through the scene gives it that urban, slightly oppressive rhythm—like everyone is moving along invisible tracks. Another thing I have to add is the historical context here: those paper advertisements on the wall are probably either job offers or buy/sell offers. This photo is likely from after the fall of the Soviet Union, so this was a wild time: people who worked for the state didn’t get paid for five months or more, while people who could find a niche and build a new business from scratch could actually do it—and succeed. This wall is the spirit of a time of uncertainty and overwhelming opportunity.

This is such a clever use of contrast—an ordinary street corner, but the light turns that shutter into a giant, sharp-toothed pattern. And then you have a solitary older lady standing nearby, almost swallowed by the space. The blur of car movement in the background makes it even better: the world keeps rushing, but this person is paused—probably thinking about her future—while the observer decided to capture this special quiet moment.

This one hits that sweet spot between documentary and dream. You’ve got reflections of apartment blocks laid over human figures like a second skin—people literally wearing the city. It feels like a comment on routine life: the architecture is constant, the individuals pass through it, and for a split second they merge into one image. Also, the warm tint makes it feel like an old story being retold—certainly brings me back to the time when I would watch old Soviet comedies, observing the life stories of individuals living their lives and dreams in a strange concrete world built on utopian ideas. Also, I think it might be a reflection from glass near a metro entrance, which was a highly important space that showcased productivity, public facilities, and grandiose (and in some cases) modern architecture and the power of the state.

This photograph is just cold poetry. The narrow corridor framing pulls you forward like a funnel, and the streaks of snow slash across the image like scratches on film—harsh, restless, alive. And then at the end of the passage there’s that pale, open space with bare trees and a building, which feels like “outside” isn’t freedom either… just another version of the same atmosphere, bearing its “teeth.” It’s minimal, but it sticks.

Going through those was a pleasure. Boris definitely knows what he is doing, and he decided to go even farther. I recommend everyone check him out here:

https://www.instagram.com/savelev_boris_photography/

He deserves more attention, and in case he puts out another exhibition somewhere in Galicia—go for it. Find out for yourself what it means to see those images through a superior medium chosen by the author, where you can see and appreciate every little detail of a hard work that this man did.

Cheers!