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For some reason , as the camera hammered out multiple exposures in burst mode , I stood still . As if the sound from the broken glass and burned , shattered remains of the life lived here would somehow disturb the images being produced . Standing in a bombed out building in Irpin , Ukraine , as Kiran Ridley photographs a lady in what was once her living room , I wasn ’ t aware one of these pictures would become part of an award-winning gallery of Kiran ’ s work from Ukraine .
Back in the early part of the war , he had called me under extreme duress before the phone went dead and he disappeared . Finally resurfacing when a call came in from Poland , the anxious days of waiting over as I learned he was en route to Paris where his wife and daughters were waiting .
During the car ride , the longer we spoke the more it became clear I needed to join him on his next visit , and somehow in my own small way shine some light on the work Kiran and other journalists are doing in these dangerous environments .
Another conversation with my friend Heidi Levine , who has been on the front lines since the beginning of the war , was bringing the brutality of this conflict directly to me . A veteran of foreign conflicts , with over 30 years experience , Heidi told me this was like nothing she had ever seen : The random nature of the attacks and the killing of journalists for examples .
I put the wheels in motion to join Kiran in Ukraine and obtain motorcycles for our travels , as he had previously benefitted from the access a small Chinese motorcycle had given him , even it if was a piece of shit . We
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