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mne_len
ANASTASIIA NELEN
📸 I started to shoot before the first iPhone was released.
✨Top 100 best emerging photojournalists in the world’24
📍US
#eawxxxvii
Booking @wow.nelen
NVIDIA Founder and CEO Jensen Huang visits the Exhibition Hall during the NVIDIA GTC 2025 conference in San Jose, California, on March 20, 2025.
Photo by Anastasiia Nelen @mne_len for @nvidia
NVIDIA Founder and CEO Jensen Huang visits the Exhibition Hall during the NVIDIA GTC 2025 conference in San Jose, California, on March 20, 2025.
Photo by Anastasiia Nelen @mne_len for @nvidia
Ashton Kutcher @aplusk , TechCrunch Disrupt, San Francisco, CA, on October 29, 2024.
#techcrunchdisrupt #ashtonkutcher
Ashton Kutcher @aplusk , TechCrunch Disrupt, San Francisco, CA, on October 29, 2024.
#techcrunchdisrupt #ashtonkutcher
Ashton Kutcher @aplusk , TechCrunch Disrupt, San Francisco, CA, on October 29, 2024.
#techcrunchdisrupt #ashtonkutcher
In Indonesia, giant Ogoh-Ogoh figures are carefully built by local communities before Nyepi, the Balinese Day of Silence. Made from bamboo, paper, and paint, these dramatic sculptures represent evil spirits and are carried through the streets in vibrant nighttime parades before being symbolically destroyed.
Bali, Indonesia, 2020
In Indonesia, giant Ogoh-Ogoh figures are carefully built by local communities before Nyepi, the Balinese Day of Silence. Made from bamboo, paper, and paint, these dramatic sculptures represent evil spirits and are carried through the streets in vibrant nighttime parades before being symbolically destroyed.
Bali, Indonesia, 2020
In Indonesia, giant Ogoh-Ogoh figures are carefully built by local communities before Nyepi, the Balinese Day of Silence. Made from bamboo, paper, and paint, these dramatic sculptures represent evil spirits and are carried through the streets in vibrant nighttime parades before being symbolically destroyed.
Bali, Indonesia, 2020
In Indonesia, giant Ogoh-Ogoh figures are carefully built by local communities before Nyepi, the Balinese Day of Silence. Made from bamboo, paper, and paint, these dramatic sculptures represent evil spirits and are carried through the streets in vibrant nighttime parades before being symbolically destroyed.
Bali, Indonesia, 2020
In Indonesia, giant Ogoh-Ogoh figures are carefully built by local communities before Nyepi, the Balinese Day of Silence. Made from bamboo, paper, and paint, these dramatic sculptures represent evil spirits and are carried through the streets in vibrant nighttime parades before being symbolically destroyed.
Bali, Indonesia, 2020
What does it take to shoot for Vogue on the streets?
Not what you think.
No studio. No client. No brief. Just Chinatown, mixed light, and the right people by your side.
We showed up with camera and a simple lighting setup. Went out to find characters. Had no plan. And somewhere in that afternoon — one photo found its way to Vogue.
This is what documentary photography looks like when you trust the process and the people around you.
Couldn’t have done this without my incredible friends @wana_girl and @thedanielvalentine who jumped in with no hesitation and made this day possible.
📍 San Francisco, Chinatown
#documentaryphotography #streetphotography #voguefeature #sanfrancisco #chinatown portraitphotography behindthescenes vogue
My story of turning a childhood’s hobby and a dream into my life’s work.
Part 1.
My story of turning a childhood’s hobby and a dream into my life’s work.
Part 1.
My story of turning a childhood’s hobby and a dream into my life’s work.
Part 1.
My story of turning a childhood’s hobby and a dream into my life’s work.
Part 1.
My story of turning a childhood’s hobby and a dream into my life’s work.
Part 1.
My story of turning a childhood’s hobby and a dream into my life’s work.
Part 1.
My story of turning a childhood’s hobby and a dream into my life’s work.
Part 1.
My story of turning a childhood’s hobby and a dream into my life’s work.
Part 1.
My story of turning a childhood’s hobby and a dream into my life’s work.
Part 1.
My story of turning a childhood’s hobby and a dream into my life’s work.
Part 1.
My story of breaking up with my ex.
After my first year living abroad, I kept returning in my thoughts to autumnal Krasnodar, walking down the main street in my mind, shuffling through the leaves just like I did in childhood. It wouldn’t let me live in peace.
So I came back.
With a camera and a tripod, I walked through the places that meant the most to me — to capture myself in my city one last time. To see myself again on the streets where I had spent so many hours as a child and teenager.
I expected to feel tender nostalgia, but instead I saw, from the outside, what the city had become. I realized that my Krasnodar existed only in memory. It had overgrown with fences. Where there used to be grass and where we used to skateboard, now stood cold iron walls. The familiar spots where I bought my first textbooks, scraped my knees, and fell in love — were gone. The places where my grandmother held my hand on the way to school, where I gathered walnuts after class, where the first teenage showdowns took place — had turned into nothing.
I stood among those fences — both real and internal — and realized I was saying goodbye.
Goodbye to my former self, and to a city that no longer exists.
That farewell allowed me to let go. The weight of memory, which once felt so important, had been keeping me from seeing and loving my new home — San Francisco.
I still love Krasnodar.
But now, it’s my ex.
The project “Farewell to My Ex” is a series of self-portraits — a farewell to my hometown Krasnodar, Russia.
My story of breaking up with my ex.
After my first year living abroad, I kept returning in my thoughts to autumnal Krasnodar, walking down the main street in my mind, shuffling through the leaves just like I did in childhood. It wouldn’t let me live in peace.
So I came back.
With a camera and a tripod, I walked through the places that meant the most to me — to capture myself in my city one last time. To see myself again on the streets where I had spent so many hours as a child and teenager.
I expected to feel tender nostalgia, but instead I saw, from the outside, what the city had become. I realized that my Krasnodar existed only in memory. It had overgrown with fences. Where there used to be grass and where we used to skateboard, now stood cold iron walls. The familiar spots where I bought my first textbooks, scraped my knees, and fell in love — were gone. The places where my grandmother held my hand on the way to school, where I gathered walnuts after class, where the first teenage showdowns took place — had turned into nothing.
I stood among those fences — both real and internal — and realized I was saying goodbye.
Goodbye to my former self, and to a city that no longer exists.
That farewell allowed me to let go. The weight of memory, which once felt so important, had been keeping me from seeing and loving my new home — San Francisco.
I still love Krasnodar.
But now, it’s my ex.
The project “Farewell to My Ex” is a series of self-portraits — a farewell to my hometown Krasnodar, Russia.
My story of breaking up with my ex.
After my first year living abroad, I kept returning in my thoughts to autumnal Krasnodar, walking down the main street in my mind, shuffling through the leaves just like I did in childhood. It wouldn’t let me live in peace.
So I came back.
With a camera and a tripod, I walked through the places that meant the most to me — to capture myself in my city one last time. To see myself again on the streets where I had spent so many hours as a child and teenager.
I expected to feel tender nostalgia, but instead I saw, from the outside, what the city had become. I realized that my Krasnodar existed only in memory. It had overgrown with fences. Where there used to be grass and where we used to skateboard, now stood cold iron walls. The familiar spots where I bought my first textbooks, scraped my knees, and fell in love — were gone. The places where my grandmother held my hand on the way to school, where I gathered walnuts after class, where the first teenage showdowns took place — had turned into nothing.
I stood among those fences — both real and internal — and realized I was saying goodbye.
Goodbye to my former self, and to a city that no longer exists.
That farewell allowed me to let go. The weight of memory, which once felt so important, had been keeping me from seeing and loving my new home — San Francisco.
I still love Krasnodar.
But now, it’s my ex.
The project “Farewell to My Ex” is a series of self-portraits — a farewell to my hometown Krasnodar, Russia.
My story of breaking up with my ex.
After my first year living abroad, I kept returning in my thoughts to autumnal Krasnodar, walking down the main street in my mind, shuffling through the leaves just like I did in childhood. It wouldn’t let me live in peace.
So I came back.
With a camera and a tripod, I walked through the places that meant the most to me — to capture myself in my city one last time. To see myself again on the streets where I had spent so many hours as a child and teenager.
I expected to feel tender nostalgia, but instead I saw, from the outside, what the city had become. I realized that my Krasnodar existed only in memory. It had overgrown with fences. Where there used to be grass and where we used to skateboard, now stood cold iron walls. The familiar spots where I bought my first textbooks, scraped my knees, and fell in love — were gone. The places where my grandmother held my hand on the way to school, where I gathered walnuts after class, where the first teenage showdowns took place — had turned into nothing.
I stood among those fences — both real and internal — and realized I was saying goodbye.
Goodbye to my former self, and to a city that no longer exists.
That farewell allowed me to let go. The weight of memory, which once felt so important, had been keeping me from seeing and loving my new home — San Francisco.
I still love Krasnodar.
But now, it’s my ex.
The project “Farewell to My Ex” is a series of self-portraits — a farewell to my hometown Krasnodar, Russia.
My story of breaking up with my ex.
After my first year living abroad, I kept returning in my thoughts to autumnal Krasnodar, walking down the main street in my mind, shuffling through the leaves just like I did in childhood. It wouldn’t let me live in peace.
So I came back.
With a camera and a tripod, I walked through the places that meant the most to me — to capture myself in my city one last time. To see myself again on the streets where I had spent so many hours as a child and teenager.
I expected to feel tender nostalgia, but instead I saw, from the outside, what the city had become. I realized that my Krasnodar existed only in memory. It had overgrown with fences. Where there used to be grass and where we used to skateboard, now stood cold iron walls. The familiar spots where I bought my first textbooks, scraped my knees, and fell in love — were gone. The places where my grandmother held my hand on the way to school, where I gathered walnuts after class, where the first teenage showdowns took place — had turned into nothing.
I stood among those fences — both real and internal — and realized I was saying goodbye.
Goodbye to my former self, and to a city that no longer exists.
That farewell allowed me to let go. The weight of memory, which once felt so important, had been keeping me from seeing and loving my new home — San Francisco.
I still love Krasnodar.
But now, it’s my ex.
The project “Farewell to My Ex” is a series of self-portraits — a farewell to my hometown Krasnodar, Russia.
My story of breaking up with my ex.
After my first year living abroad, I kept returning in my thoughts to autumnal Krasnodar, walking down the main street in my mind, shuffling through the leaves just like I did in childhood. It wouldn’t let me live in peace.
So I came back.
With a camera and a tripod, I walked through the places that meant the most to me — to capture myself in my city one last time. To see myself again on the streets where I had spent so many hours as a child and teenager.
I expected to feel tender nostalgia, but instead I saw, from the outside, what the city had become. I realized that my Krasnodar existed only in memory. It had overgrown with fences. Where there used to be grass and where we used to skateboard, now stood cold iron walls. The familiar spots where I bought my first textbooks, scraped my knees, and fell in love — were gone. The places where my grandmother held my hand on the way to school, where I gathered walnuts after class, where the first teenage showdowns took place — had turned into nothing.
I stood among those fences — both real and internal — and realized I was saying goodbye.
Goodbye to my former self, and to a city that no longer exists.
That farewell allowed me to let go. The weight of memory, which once felt so important, had been keeping me from seeing and loving my new home — San Francisco.
I still love Krasnodar.
But now, it’s my ex.
The project “Farewell to My Ex” is a series of self-portraits — a farewell to my hometown Krasnodar, Russia.
My story of breaking up with my ex.
After my first year living abroad, I kept returning in my thoughts to autumnal Krasnodar, walking down the main street in my mind, shuffling through the leaves just like I did in childhood. It wouldn’t let me live in peace.
So I came back.
With a camera and a tripod, I walked through the places that meant the most to me — to capture myself in my city one last time. To see myself again on the streets where I had spent so many hours as a child and teenager.
I expected to feel tender nostalgia, but instead I saw, from the outside, what the city had become. I realized that my Krasnodar existed only in memory. It had overgrown with fences. Where there used to be grass and where we used to skateboard, now stood cold iron walls. The familiar spots where I bought my first textbooks, scraped my knees, and fell in love — were gone. The places where my grandmother held my hand on the way to school, where I gathered walnuts after class, where the first teenage showdowns took place — had turned into nothing.
I stood among those fences — both real and internal — and realized I was saying goodbye.
Goodbye to my former self, and to a city that no longer exists.
That farewell allowed me to let go. The weight of memory, which once felt so important, had been keeping me from seeing and loving my new home — San Francisco.
I still love Krasnodar.
But now, it’s my ex.
The project “Farewell to My Ex” is a series of self-portraits — a farewell to my hometown Krasnodar, Russia.
My story of breaking up with my ex.
After my first year living abroad, I kept returning in my thoughts to autumnal Krasnodar, walking down the main street in my mind, shuffling through the leaves just like I did in childhood. It wouldn’t let me live in peace.
So I came back.
With a camera and a tripod, I walked through the places that meant the most to me — to capture myself in my city one last time. To see myself again on the streets where I had spent so many hours as a child and teenager.
I expected to feel tender nostalgia, but instead I saw, from the outside, what the city had become. I realized that my Krasnodar existed only in memory. It had overgrown with fences. Where there used to be grass and where we used to skateboard, now stood cold iron walls. The familiar spots where I bought my first textbooks, scraped my knees, and fell in love — were gone. The places where my grandmother held my hand on the way to school, where I gathered walnuts after class, where the first teenage showdowns took place — had turned into nothing.
I stood among those fences — both real and internal — and realized I was saying goodbye.
Goodbye to my former self, and to a city that no longer exists.
That farewell allowed me to let go. The weight of memory, which once felt so important, had been keeping me from seeing and loving my new home — San Francisco.
I still love Krasnodar.
But now, it’s my ex.
The project “Farewell to My Ex” is a series of self-portraits — a farewell to my hometown Krasnodar, Russia.
My story of breaking up with my ex.
After my first year living abroad, I kept returning in my thoughts to autumnal Krasnodar, walking down the main street in my mind, shuffling through the leaves just like I did in childhood. It wouldn’t let me live in peace.
So I came back.
With a camera and a tripod, I walked through the places that meant the most to me — to capture myself in my city one last time. To see myself again on the streets where I had spent so many hours as a child and teenager.
I expected to feel tender nostalgia, but instead I saw, from the outside, what the city had become. I realized that my Krasnodar existed only in memory. It had overgrown with fences. Where there used to be grass and where we used to skateboard, now stood cold iron walls. The familiar spots where I bought my first textbooks, scraped my knees, and fell in love — were gone. The places where my grandmother held my hand on the way to school, where I gathered walnuts after class, where the first teenage showdowns took place — had turned into nothing.
I stood among those fences — both real and internal — and realized I was saying goodbye.
Goodbye to my former self, and to a city that no longer exists.
That farewell allowed me to let go. The weight of memory, which once felt so important, had been keeping me from seeing and loving my new home — San Francisco.
I still love Krasnodar.
But now, it’s my ex.
The project “Farewell to My Ex” is a series of self-portraits — a farewell to my hometown Krasnodar, Russia.
My story of breaking up with my ex.
After my first year living abroad, I kept returning in my thoughts to autumnal Krasnodar, walking down the main street in my mind, shuffling through the leaves just like I did in childhood. It wouldn’t let me live in peace.
So I came back.
With a camera and a tripod, I walked through the places that meant the most to me — to capture myself in my city one last time. To see myself again on the streets where I had spent so many hours as a child and teenager.
I expected to feel tender nostalgia, but instead I saw, from the outside, what the city had become. I realized that my Krasnodar existed only in memory. It had overgrown with fences. Where there used to be grass and where we used to skateboard, now stood cold iron walls. The familiar spots where I bought my first textbooks, scraped my knees, and fell in love — were gone. The places where my grandmother held my hand on the way to school, where I gathered walnuts after class, where the first teenage showdowns took place — had turned into nothing.
I stood among those fences — both real and internal — and realized I was saying goodbye.
Goodbye to my former self, and to a city that no longer exists.
That farewell allowed me to let go. The weight of memory, which once felt so important, had been keeping me from seeing and loving my new home — San Francisco.
I still love Krasnodar.
But now, it’s my ex.
The project “Farewell to My Ex” is a series of self-portraits — a farewell to my hometown Krasnodar, Russia.
My story of breaking up with my ex.
After my first year living abroad, I kept returning in my thoughts to autumnal Krasnodar, walking down the main street in my mind, shuffling through the leaves just like I did in childhood. It wouldn’t let me live in peace.
So I came back.
With a camera and a tripod, I walked through the places that meant the most to me — to capture myself in my city one last time. To see myself again on the streets where I had spent so many hours as a child and teenager.
I expected to feel tender nostalgia, but instead I saw, from the outside, what the city had become. I realized that my Krasnodar existed only in memory. It had overgrown with fences. Where there used to be grass and where we used to skateboard, now stood cold iron walls. The familiar spots where I bought my first textbooks, scraped my knees, and fell in love — were gone. The places where my grandmother held my hand on the way to school, where I gathered walnuts after class, where the first teenage showdowns took place — had turned into nothing.
I stood among those fences — both real and internal — and realized I was saying goodbye.
Goodbye to my former self, and to a city that no longer exists.
That farewell allowed me to let go. The weight of memory, which once felt so important, had been keeping me from seeing and loving my new home — San Francisco.
I still love Krasnodar.
But now, it’s my ex.
The project “Farewell to My Ex” is a series of self-portraits — a farewell to my hometown Krasnodar, Russia.
My story of breaking up with my ex.
After my first year living abroad, I kept returning in my thoughts to autumnal Krasnodar, walking down the main street in my mind, shuffling through the leaves just like I did in childhood. It wouldn’t let me live in peace.
So I came back.
With a camera and a tripod, I walked through the places that meant the most to me — to capture myself in my city one last time. To see myself again on the streets where I had spent so many hours as a child and teenager.
I expected to feel tender nostalgia, but instead I saw, from the outside, what the city had become. I realized that my Krasnodar existed only in memory. It had overgrown with fences. Where there used to be grass and where we used to skateboard, now stood cold iron walls. The familiar spots where I bought my first textbooks, scraped my knees, and fell in love — were gone. The places where my grandmother held my hand on the way to school, where I gathered walnuts after class, where the first teenage showdowns took place — had turned into nothing.
I stood among those fences — both real and internal — and realized I was saying goodbye.
Goodbye to my former self, and to a city that no longer exists.
That farewell allowed me to let go. The weight of memory, which once felt so important, had been keeping me from seeing and loving my new home — San Francisco.
I still love Krasnodar.
But now, it’s my ex.
The project “Farewell to My Ex” is a series of self-portraits — a farewell to my hometown Krasnodar, Russia.
My story of breaking up with my ex.
After my first year living abroad, I kept returning in my thoughts to autumnal Krasnodar, walking down the main street in my mind, shuffling through the leaves just like I did in childhood. It wouldn’t let me live in peace.
So I came back.
With a camera and a tripod, I walked through the places that meant the most to me — to capture myself in my city one last time. To see myself again on the streets where I had spent so many hours as a child and teenager.
I expected to feel tender nostalgia, but instead I saw, from the outside, what the city had become. I realized that my Krasnodar existed only in memory. It had overgrown with fences. Where there used to be grass and where we used to skateboard, now stood cold iron walls. The familiar spots where I bought my first textbooks, scraped my knees, and fell in love — were gone. The places where my grandmother held my hand on the way to school, where I gathered walnuts after class, where the first teenage showdowns took place — had turned into nothing.
I stood among those fences — both real and internal — and realized I was saying goodbye.
Goodbye to my former self, and to a city that no longer exists.
That farewell allowed me to let go. The weight of memory, which once felt so important, had been keeping me from seeing and loving my new home — San Francisco.
I still love Krasnodar.
But now, it’s my ex.
The project “Farewell to My Ex” is a series of self-portraits — a farewell to my hometown Krasnodar, Russia.
My story of breaking up with my ex.
After my first year living abroad, I kept returning in my thoughts to autumnal Krasnodar, walking down the main street in my mind, shuffling through the leaves just like I did in childhood. It wouldn’t let me live in peace.
So I came back.
With a camera and a tripod, I walked through the places that meant the most to me — to capture myself in my city one last time. To see myself again on the streets where I had spent so many hours as a child and teenager.
I expected to feel tender nostalgia, but instead I saw, from the outside, what the city had become. I realized that my Krasnodar existed only in memory. It had overgrown with fences. Where there used to be grass and where we used to skateboard, now stood cold iron walls. The familiar spots where I bought my first textbooks, scraped my knees, and fell in love — were gone. The places where my grandmother held my hand on the way to school, where I gathered walnuts after class, where the first teenage showdowns took place — had turned into nothing.
I stood among those fences — both real and internal — and realized I was saying goodbye.
Goodbye to my former self, and to a city that no longer exists.
That farewell allowed me to let go. The weight of memory, which once felt so important, had been keeping me from seeing and loving my new home — San Francisco.
I still love Krasnodar.
But now, it’s my ex.
The project “Farewell to My Ex” is a series of self-portraits — a farewell to my hometown Krasnodar, Russia.
My story of breaking up with my ex.
After my first year living abroad, I kept returning in my thoughts to autumnal Krasnodar, walking down the main street in my mind, shuffling through the leaves just like I did in childhood. It wouldn’t let me live in peace.
So I came back.
With a camera and a tripod, I walked through the places that meant the most to me — to capture myself in my city one last time. To see myself again on the streets where I had spent so many hours as a child and teenager.
I expected to feel tender nostalgia, but instead I saw, from the outside, what the city had become. I realized that my Krasnodar existed only in memory. It had overgrown with fences. Where there used to be grass and where we used to skateboard, now stood cold iron walls. The familiar spots where I bought my first textbooks, scraped my knees, and fell in love — were gone. The places where my grandmother held my hand on the way to school, where I gathered walnuts after class, where the first teenage showdowns took place — had turned into nothing.
I stood among those fences — both real and internal — and realized I was saying goodbye.
Goodbye to my former self, and to a city that no longer exists.
That farewell allowed me to let go. The weight of memory, which once felt so important, had been keeping me from seeing and loving my new home — San Francisco.
I still love Krasnodar.
But now, it’s my ex.
The project “Farewell to My Ex” is a series of self-portraits — a farewell to my hometown Krasnodar, Russia.
My story of breaking up with my ex.
After my first year living abroad, I kept returning in my thoughts to autumnal Krasnodar, walking down the main street in my mind, shuffling through the leaves just like I did in childhood. It wouldn’t let me live in peace.
So I came back.
With a camera and a tripod, I walked through the places that meant the most to me — to capture myself in my city one last time. To see myself again on the streets where I had spent so many hours as a child and teenager.
I expected to feel tender nostalgia, but instead I saw, from the outside, what the city had become. I realized that my Krasnodar existed only in memory. It had overgrown with fences. Where there used to be grass and where we used to skateboard, now stood cold iron walls. The familiar spots where I bought my first textbooks, scraped my knees, and fell in love — were gone. The places where my grandmother held my hand on the way to school, where I gathered walnuts after class, where the first teenage showdowns took place — had turned into nothing.
I stood among those fences — both real and internal — and realized I was saying goodbye.
Goodbye to my former self, and to a city that no longer exists.
That farewell allowed me to let go. The weight of memory, which once felt so important, had been keeping me from seeing and loving my new home — San Francisco.
I still love Krasnodar.
But now, it’s my ex.
The project “Farewell to My Ex” is a series of self-portraits — a farewell to my hometown Krasnodar, Russia.
What do I love about the USA? That I get to celebrate my birthday twice.
My previous personal New Year, I celebrated with @eddieadamsworkshop — among the best of the best photojournalists on this planet, in New York. That workshop gave me an incredible boost for the whole year and set in motion a beautiful cycle of new connections, meetings, friends, and simply the best community in the world.
Through the year, I’ve worked with amazing people and with the giant NVIDIA, photographed celebrities, assisted some of the most brilliant photographers — and also received approval for my EB-1 visa in photography, the same visa granted to Nobel laureates and Olympic champions.
And maybe I’ll tell this to the little Anastasiia who once flipped through National Geographic magazines back in 2008, worrying that she would never become a real photographer. She did. Now National Geographic reaches out to me themselves.
But the most important thing for me is that I’m entering this New Year with a sense of peace — something I’ve been striving for a very long time.
In just two years in the U.S., my life has turned upside down: I lost loved ones, lost friends, went through depression, clawed my way up from rock bottom — and made it. I’ve met so many incredible new people along the way.
I’m deeply grateful to all my beloved ones on this planet for the support they’ve given me — through the visa journey and through life itself.
May the next year be even more amazing — all the signs are there.
Happy birthday to me.
Of course, more than anything, I wish my family could be here with me today.
What do I love about the USA? That I get to celebrate my birthday twice.
My previous personal New Year, I celebrated with @eddieadamsworkshop — among the best of the best photojournalists on this planet, in New York. That workshop gave me an incredible boost for the whole year and set in motion a beautiful cycle of new connections, meetings, friends, and simply the best community in the world.
Through the year, I’ve worked with amazing people and with the giant NVIDIA, photographed celebrities, assisted some of the most brilliant photographers — and also received approval for my EB-1 visa in photography, the same visa granted to Nobel laureates and Olympic champions.
And maybe I’ll tell this to the little Anastasiia who once flipped through National Geographic magazines back in 2008, worrying that she would never become a real photographer. She did. Now National Geographic reaches out to me themselves.
But the most important thing for me is that I’m entering this New Year with a sense of peace — something I’ve been striving for a very long time.
In just two years in the U.S., my life has turned upside down: I lost loved ones, lost friends, went through depression, clawed my way up from rock bottom — and made it. I’ve met so many incredible new people along the way.
I’m deeply grateful to all my beloved ones on this planet for the support they’ve given me — through the visa journey and through life itself.
May the next year be even more amazing — all the signs are there.
Happy birthday to me.
Of course, more than anything, I wish my family could be here with me today.
What do I love about the USA? That I get to celebrate my birthday twice.
My previous personal New Year, I celebrated with @eddieadamsworkshop — among the best of the best photojournalists on this planet, in New York. That workshop gave me an incredible boost for the whole year and set in motion a beautiful cycle of new connections, meetings, friends, and simply the best community in the world.
Through the year, I’ve worked with amazing people and with the giant NVIDIA, photographed celebrities, assisted some of the most brilliant photographers — and also received approval for my EB-1 visa in photography, the same visa granted to Nobel laureates and Olympic champions.
And maybe I’ll tell this to the little Anastasiia who once flipped through National Geographic magazines back in 2008, worrying that she would never become a real photographer. She did. Now National Geographic reaches out to me themselves.
But the most important thing for me is that I’m entering this New Year with a sense of peace — something I’ve been striving for a very long time.
In just two years in the U.S., my life has turned upside down: I lost loved ones, lost friends, went through depression, clawed my way up from rock bottom — and made it. I’ve met so many incredible new people along the way.
I’m deeply grateful to all my beloved ones on this planet for the support they’ve given me — through the visa journey and through life itself.
May the next year be even more amazing — all the signs are there.
Happy birthday to me.
Of course, more than anything, I wish my family could be here with me today.
Feel the summer. Part 1.
Home.
The place where I spent all my childhood summers.
Where we herded cows, dove into the canal, swung on the swings, swam in the river, and stuffed ourselves with cherries.
Дом.
Места в которых я провела все детские лета. Где пасли коров, где ныряли в канал, качались на качелях, купались в реке и объедались вишней.
❤️
Feel the summer. Part 1.
Home.
The place where I spent all my childhood summers.
Where we herded cows, dove into the canal, swung on the swings, swam in the river, and stuffed ourselves with cherries.
Дом.
Места в которых я провела все детские лета. Где пасли коров, где ныряли в канал, качались на качелях, купались в реке и объедались вишней.
❤️
Feel the summer. Part 1.
Home.
The place where I spent all my childhood summers.
Where we herded cows, dove into the canal, swung on the swings, swam in the river, and stuffed ourselves with cherries.
Дом.
Места в которых я провела все детские лета. Где пасли коров, где ныряли в канал, качались на качелях, купались в реке и объедались вишней.
❤️
Feel the summer. Part 1.
Home.
The place where I spent all my childhood summers.
Where we herded cows, dove into the canal, swung on the swings, swam in the river, and stuffed ourselves with cherries.
Дом.
Места в которых я провела все детские лета. Где пасли коров, где ныряли в канал, качались на качелях, купались в реке и объедались вишней.
❤️
Feel the summer. Part 1.
Home.
The place where I spent all my childhood summers.
Where we herded cows, dove into the canal, swung on the swings, swam in the river, and stuffed ourselves with cherries.
Дом.
Места в которых я провела все детские лета. Где пасли коров, где ныряли в канал, качались на качелях, купались в реке и объедались вишней.
❤️
Feel the summer. Part 1.
Home.
The place where I spent all my childhood summers.
Where we herded cows, dove into the canal, swung on the swings, swam in the river, and stuffed ourselves with cherries.
Дом.
Места в которых я провела все детские лета. Где пасли коров, где ныряли в канал, качались на качелях, купались в реке и объедались вишней.
❤️
Feel the summer. Part 1.
Home.
The place where I spent all my childhood summers.
Where we herded cows, dove into the canal, swung on the swings, swam in the river, and stuffed ourselves with cherries.
Дом.
Места в которых я провела все детские лета. Где пасли коров, где ныряли в канал, качались на качелях, купались в реке и объедались вишней.
❤️
Feel the summer. Part 1.
Home.
The place where I spent all my childhood summers.
Where we herded cows, dove into the canal, swung on the swings, swam in the river, and stuffed ourselves with cherries.
Дом.
Места в которых я провела все детские лета. Где пасли коров, где ныряли в канал, качались на качелях, купались в реке и объедались вишней.
❤️
Feel the summer. Part 1.
Home.
The place where I spent all my childhood summers.
Where we herded cows, dove into the canal, swung on the swings, swam in the river, and stuffed ourselves with cherries.
Дом.
Места в которых я провела все детские лета. Где пасли коров, где ныряли в канал, качались на качелях, купались в реке и объедались вишней.
❤️
Feel the summer. Part 1.
Home.
The place where I spent all my childhood summers.
Where we herded cows, dove into the canal, swung on the swings, swam in the river, and stuffed ourselves with cherries.
Дом.
Места в которых я провела все детские лета. Где пасли коров, где ныряли в канал, качались на качелях, купались в реке и объедались вишней.
❤️
Feel the summer. Part 1.
Home.
The place where I spent all my childhood summers.
Where we herded cows, dove into the canal, swung on the swings, swam in the river, and stuffed ourselves with cherries.
Дом.
Места в которых я провела все детские лета. Где пасли коров, где ныряли в канал, качались на качелях, купались в реке и объедались вишней.
❤️
Meet the artist: Anastasiia Nelen @mne_len
Her work Plastic Life, featured in Ephemeral Earth, considers the quiet integration of plastic into our daily environment — how a once-convenient material now subtly shapes the spaces we inhabit.
Exhibition Dates: May 9 – June 1
Location: Radium Runway, Alameda
Free admission (except Closing Party)
The festival is presented by @radiumpresents and @westendartsdistrict, in partnership with @photoville
@bapcsf
#EphemeralEarth #PlasticLife #AnastasiiaNelen #BAPC #ClimatePhotography #InPlainSiteFestival #Photoville
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