Anastasia Rudenko is a documentary photographer and photojournalist whose work has taken her from remote Russian villages and psychiatric institutions to political events and international exhibitions. Born in Kazakhstan and now based in Vologda, she is known for her human-centered approach to photography and her ability to find extraordinary stories in ordinary lives.
A finalist of the Magnum Expression Award, winner of the Canon Female Photojournalist Award and the Young Photographers of Russia competition, Rudenko has been published in numerous international and Russian publications. Yet despite professional recognition, she believes the true value of photography lies elsewhere.
We spoke with Anastasia about documentary photography, chance encounters, failed journeys, memorable images, and the lessons she has learned through her camera.
Anastasia Rudenko: “Photography teaches you to see the beauty in every person”
Anastasia, how did photography become part of your life?
I often say that photography happened by accident. My first photograph was taken when I was around eight years old. It was a picture of my dog. I still keep that image and sometimes joke that it serves as my business card.
By education, I am actually a programmer. For many years I spent most of my time in front of a computer. Eventually, I felt a strong desire to communicate with people and experience life beyond a screen. Photography became the perfect way to do that.
Over time I experimented with many genres, including self-portraits, creative projects, weddings, and commercial assignments. But documentary photography ultimately became my true passion because it allows me to observe and preserve real life.
What attracts you most to documentary photography?
Truth. I love unstaged photography because it allows people to remain themselves. Documentary photography gives me access to worlds and experiences that I would never encounter in everyday life.
Every person carries a story. Sometimes these stories are dramatic, sometimes funny, sometimes deeply moving. My role is simply to be present and attentive enough to recognize them.
There is also a certain energy that exists when life unfolds naturally. When you become part of that moment instead of trying to control it, photographs emerge almost by themselves.
Many photographers carefully plan their projects. How much of your work depends on chance?
A lot more than people imagine. Some of my favorite photographs were made during situations that initially seemed like failures.
I remember traveling to Kemerovo to photograph a man who repeatedly refused to participate in a story I was working on. After a long journey, he declined again. I was frustrated, angry, and disappointed. As I was leaving the city, I made one photograph that later became one of my favorites.
Photography constantly reminds me that disappointment often leads to unexpected discoveries.
Another time, while working in Novosibirsk, I spent nearly a week waiting for a subject's consent. One evening I looked up and noticed the time on a street clock—22:22. I made a wish that something interesting would happen. Minutes later I witnessed a bizarre sequence of events involving an argument, a fight, reconciliation, and another fight. The photographs from that evening became far more valuable than the assignment I originally traveled there to complete.
You have traveled extensively. Have these journeys changed your perspective on photography?
Absolutely. Travel teaches patience and humility.
I remember traveling through Kazakhstan in search of nomadic communities. I crossed enormous distances and found almost none of what I expected. Yet those unsuccessful journeys produced photographs and experiences that became far more meaningful than the original goal.
One of my favorite images came from a broken-down car in the Kazakh steppe. The owner had reportedly acquired the vehicle in exchange for a glass of hashish. The doors barely stayed attached, the engine constantly failed, and eventually the car stopped completely.
Objectively, it was a disaster. Photographically, it was wonderful. The lesson was simple: when plans collapse, reality often offers something better.
Your work often focuses on people living in difficult circumstances. What draws you to these stories?
I am interested in human dignity.
One of the most important projects in my career involved documenting life inside neuropsychiatric institutions. Access was limited and time was always short. You entered a space, had only minutes to understand what was happening, and somehow needed to create meaningful images.
I remember a girl named Anya who could not communicate clearly through speech. Nevertheless, she insisted that I photograph her. She wanted to be seen. She wanted to be beautiful.
That moment reminded me that photography can become an act of recognition. Sometimes a portrait is not simply a picture—it is acknowledgment.
How has photography changed your life personally?
It transformed me completely. From a financial perspective, programming was undoubtedly the smarter career choice. Photography is much less predictable.
Yet photography gave me something else. It introduced me to extraordinary people. It taught me how to communicate. It brought friendships that continue to shape my life. It allowed me to travel, witness history, and experience places and events I could never have imagined.
I have stood only meters away from world leaders. I have traveled across countries chasing stories. Most importantly, I have learned to understand people better.
So while I sometimes joke that I should have remained a programmer, I have never regretted becoming a photographer.
What makes a strong photograph?
A photograph should make you feel something.
People often separate artistic photography from commercial photography, but emotion remains important in both. An image can be visually perfect and still leave the viewer indifferent.
The strongest photographs create a reaction. They provoke curiosity, empathy, joy, sadness, nostalgia, or surprise.
If a photograph leaves no emotional trace, it quickly disappears from memory.
Has your understanding of success changed over the years?
Very much. When I was younger, I believed success came from equipment, recognition, and professional achievements.
Like many photographers, I was convinced that buying a new camera would instantly improve my work and change my life. Eventually I realized that photography is much less about technology and much more about attention. The best photographs rarely happen because of the newest equipment. They happen because you are fully present.
What is the most important lesson photography has taught you?
That every person is beautiful in their own way. The longer I photograph people, the more convinced I become of this. Photography has shown me people at their strongest and most vulnerable moments. It has taught me that everyone carries dignity, complexity, and a story worth hearing.
Today, when I think about photography, I no longer think first about exhibitions, awards, or publications. I think about memory. Photography allows us to preserve people we love. It allows us to hold onto moments that would otherwise disappear forever. For me, that remains photography's greatest gift.
To explore more of Anastasia Rudenko’s work, please visit her portfolio at https://anastasiarudenko.com/work. For collaborations, publications, exhibitions, assignments, or other inquiries, you can contact the photographer directly at matildenko.photo@gmail.com.