For many years, Elmira was the perfect wife, a devoted mother of two, working a routine job and handling everyday responsibilities. Quiet, calm, exemplary—an ideal figure in the eyes of those around her. She never drew attention to herself and, as she describes it, had been “dead inside” for years.

The full-scale invasion became a catalyst for change. At 38, she found herself in a period of deep uncertainty, questioning who she was and what she was doing. She believed she had no real achievements, yet, at the same time, long-suppressed ambitions—once stifled by those around her—began to surface. These ambitions led to a complete destruction of the rigid boundaries that had confined her for years, allowing her to emerge as a new, radiant, and emotionally awakened person.

Now, Elmira is a master of conceptual self-portraits, unafraid to share her work with the world.

The Path to Instant Photography

I grew up in Volyn, a region where traditions have been cherished for generations. My mother was raised in a Ukrainian family where a girl was taught to be obedient, kind, diligent in her studies, and skilled in household work. It wasn’t about restrictions—it was about the way femininity was idealized at the time: following the rules, caring for loved ones, and meeting society’s expectations.

My father was an Azerbaijani Muslim, and his traditions strongly influenced our home as well. As a teenager, I had long braids, wore no makeup or short skirts, and going out with friends was out of the question. He did not approve of expressions of femininity that went beyond his idea of modesty.

Despite this, he always wanted me to paint and nurture my talent. But inside me, a voice of reason spoke louder.

I chose a “serious” profession because I believed in the stereotype that a talented artist is a poor artist.

Becoming a lawyer, my soul always longed for creativity. And now, I realize that the rebellious spirit driving me forward is my way of reclaiming what I once denied myself and finding my true self in art, which has always been a part of me.

After the full-scale invasion began, I hated my reflection in the mirror.

I felt ashamed that I had survived while others were dying. Life seemed empty. Even photography, which had always been a part of me, felt meaningless. I kept telling myself that it wouldn’t change anything—after all, art couldn’t save people from death.

There used to be almost no mirrors in my home. I rarely looked at myself—my life revolved around others, my children, my responsibilities. I always put myself last.

But now, my home is filled with mirrors. Each one reflects a different part of me—like shattered fragments that I am slowly piecing back together. It reminds me of the Japanese art of kintsugi: where a broken pottery becomes even more valuable after being restored. Its cracks, filled with gold, highlight its history and beauty.

Perhaps I, too, am piecing myself back together—so I can finally see my own wholeness.

First Self-Portraits

On December 19, 2022, I enrolled in a photography course by Roman Pashkovskyi. From the very first lesson, I felt that I had found an incredible community. Many of my classmates were shooting stunning work—some even worked with film, which seemed almost magical to me. At the time, I was only taking photos with my phone and had no time for a proper camera. I thought, What am I even doing here?

But Roman created such an open and welcoming atmosphere that it was impossible not to let my guard down. One of our assignments was: Forget the rules—work with your heart, not your mind. At first, I was hesitant, but then the girls in our group chat started sharing such bold and powerful photos that I gasped: Wow! That was the push I needed.

That’s how my journey began. I started talking more with Roma, who became my first mentor. At first, his advice seemed unusual, even strange, but over time, his words kept echoing in my mind. And then, I finally understood what he meant.

Finding My Format

After trying film, I realized it wasn’t the right fit for me at this point. Here, in Portugal, it’s very expensive, and developing the film takes a lot of time.

But when I tried Polaroid, my excitement knew no boundaries. There’s something magical about pressing the button and immediately holding the result in your hands—physically feeling it. For me, it became much more convenient: I could immediately see what was happening, and it was much easier to make selections. My perfectionist nature no longer struggles with doubts, because I know there won’t be duplicates, which means there’s no choice to be made.

Polaroid has given me more courage and charisma. It gives me confidence in every shot because each moment is unique and unrepeatable. And it’s this uniqueness that fascinates me the most.

How I Chose My First Camera and My First Polaroid Photoshoot

I asked a lot of people for advice, and I’m lucky to have friends from the conceptual and art photography school MYPH ART, who could tell me about instant cameras. Many warned me that with a Polaroid, it’s trickier and more expensive because the film might “not align” and the shot could be ruined, while with Fujifilm, it was supposed to be simpler. I was already about to order a Fuji, all set to go, when a friend messaged me: “I have the contact of a great guy—Bohdan from Polaclub. He’s a Polaroid pro and will definitely answer all your questions.”

At first, I thought…

Who would be interested in helping me? I’m in Portugal, and he’s in Ukraine.

Still, I wrote to him. Bohdan didn’t hesitate—he replied with a long, detailed message, explaining everything. Overjoyed, the very next day, I went and bought a Polaroid. But the camera stayed untouched for another two weeks—I was scared, thinking that nothing would turn out.

One day, during a photoshoot, I just couldn’t get into the flow. That’s when I decided:

Alright, it’s time to try the Polaroid.

I took it out, standing half-dressed, trying to figure out how to insert the cartridge properly. Five minutes later, I looked at the first photo—and gasped in amazement: “Wow, these are masterpieces!”

I instantly wanted more and more. It overwhelmed me, like a child who had just gotten their hands on an incredibly exciting new toy.

Further Experiments with Polaroid

After my first shoot, I was hooked—Polaroids were all I could think about. The kids even joked that when they opened the fridge, instead of food, they’d find nothing but Polaroids. For a while, I didn’t show them to anyone, but then I shared them with someone very close to me. He looked at them and said, “Elmira the photos of you with the fig tree are just amazing!”

The whole session was only 8 shots—one got ruined, but the other seven turned out great. Back then, I was climbing trees, getting scratched up, but I didn’t care—I just wanted cool shots.

At first, I thought I’d keep just two or three photos, but he looked at them and said, “I don’t want to throw any of these away, this is an amazing series!” The colors turned out really cool because I played with the exposure: on one shot, I increased it, on another, I reduced it.

I especially love the shot where I’m hugging that fig tree. Everything turned out like a watercolor—such beautiful colors. That’s when I realized that these spontaneous moments and nature—this is truly my thing.

“I’m Overcoming Several Barriers at Once”

I was criticized a lot, especially by women. They’d say, “Do something serious, why do you need these self-portraits?” My family didn’t accept my new hobby at all; some close ones even tried to shame me. Once, a friend said, “What man would want people to look at his woman naked?” I replied:

For me, this is art. I couldn’t live any other way!

It’s one thing when a 25-year-old woman takes such self-portraits, and completely different when a 41-year-old woman with two children does it. People are shocked, because at my age, such openness seems unacceptable. But I decided: it’s only for me to decide what I can or can’t do. I want to, I can, and I will! At first, it was hard, especially when I posted my first nude self-portrait. The fear was enormous, but with each time, I learned to overcome it and grow stronger.

Once, I told my mentor, Roma Pashkovskyi: “You know, family, relatives…” He remained silent. Then I asked, “Okay, but who am I supposed to show this to?”

And he replied:

You’ll show it to the whole world!

The bolder I became in my art, the more I found those who supported, admired, helped, and encouraged me to shine brighter. This especially happened during moments of doubt when I didn’t understand who would even care about it. But now, I know that it’s important, at least to one person—me. And I will keep creating as long as I feel that desire.