Russian photographer Kristina Rozhkova captures a world where the spell has already been broken, yet something like a trace of fantasy still lingers. With the release of her photo book unbewitched, an exhibition under the same title is now on view at PARCO MUSEUM TOKYO.
At the heart of the work is the Russian custom of the “dacha,” a second home in the countryside where people retreat from the city for weekends or longer stays. Shot during the pandemic, when Rozhkova gathered with friends in such a space, the series unfolds within an exhibition designed to echo that same environment. Step inside, and the images may first appear eccentric, even disarming, but they never become excessive or overtly provocative. Instead, what emerges is a quiet intimacy. The closeness between photographer and subject opens a window into their private worlds, while subtly tracing the textures of contemporary Russia itself.
Born in 1996, Rozhkova continues to photograph young people, girls and boys searching for something beyond reality, and those often labeled as sexual minorities, even in a time long after the illusions of a past era have faded. Raised in a single parent household without books, her path toward aesthetics and image making was anything but conventional. Speaking with her reveals how she arrived at a visual language entirely her own.
Having left her home country, where freedom of expression has become increasingly restricted, why does she continue to create. What does it mean for her to live and make work in a state of “unbewitching.” Listen closely to her voice.
Please note that some images featured in the exhibition include sexual and violent content.
INDEX
A School Life That Found Its Refuge in the Library, and a Chance Moment That Opened the Door to Photography
You studied philosophy at university, and after graduating, you went on to study photography at the photography academy Fotografika. To start, what area did you focus on during your time in the philosophy department?
Kristina: The philosophy department at Perm State University was centered around Marxism, but students were free to choose their own areas of focus. I chose to study aesthetics and film philosophy.
In aesthetics, I was particularly interested in Walter Benjamin’s ideas, especially how he defined what can be considered art, and his concept of the “aura.” I explored those ideas in depth. I also looked at feminist film criticism, and for my graduation thesis, I chose the Italian filmmaker Pier Paolo Pasolini as my subject. Through these different perspectives, I approached aesthetics from multiple angles.
There is also something quite specific to Russia that I studied. In Russian Orthodoxy, there is a figure known as the “yurodivy,” often translated as a holy fool, someone seen as both mad and spiritually close to sainthood. I researched that as well.
At the time, I never imagined I would become an artist. I thought I would become a researcher.
Born in 1996 in Perm, Russia, Kristina Rozhkova enrolled in the philosophy department at Perm State University in 2015. In 2021, she graduated from both the master’s program in Practical Philosophy at Saint Petersburg State University and the photography academy Fotografika.
That same year, she was selected for British Journal of Photography’s “Ones to Watch,” a list highlighting emerging photographers to follow. Her work has since been featured in publications including Vice, PHROOM Magazine, Calvert Journal, and Fisheye Magazine.
In 2022, she published her first photobook, The Bliss of Girlhood. In 2023, she was selected for “What is Beauty?”, a global open call under PhotoVogue. In 2026, she is set to undertake a long-term artist-in-residence program at the Artist Unlimited association in Bielefeld, Germany.
Given that you pursued those fields at university, were you raised in an environment where art and philosophy were close to you?
Kristina: Not at all. I grew up living alone with my mother, and there wasn’t a single book in our home. There weren’t any particularly intellectual or culturally inclined people around her either. It was just my mother and me, along with many dogs, moving from place to place.
Left: We Love Dirt (2025) / Right: Deep Latch (2020)
Kristina: The schools I went to were not very strong academically, and I was bullied at times. When that happened, I would always escape to the library and spend hours reading. I think that was where my interest in aesthetics and philosophy first began.
When I entered high school, I attended a school with a much higher academic level for the first time. I still remember how shocked I was when I realized I could not understand subjects like chemistry at all.
So how did you end up starting photography?
Kristina: I always thought of myself as someone who was not creative, more suited to reading books and writing. I planned to become a researcher, but there was always a small sense of discomfort somewhere in me. After submitting my university thesis, I posted on Twitter at the time saying I wanted to try something new. Then someone I knew reached out and suggested I try photography, and even lent me a camera.
Once I started taking photos, it felt completely different from writing. Through photography, I had this intense feeling of becoming a creator, almost like seeing from a godlike perspective, where I could visually bring a new world into existence. From that moment on, I began to explore what kind of expression photography could offer.
INDEX
Escaping Reality Through Dachas and Saunas, and a Body of Work Born from the Pandemic
While you were in the master’s program in philosophy, you also attended the photography academy Fotografika. What kind of work did you begin creating there?
Kristina: In Russia, there is a tradition of spending time at a second home called a dacha. My family did not have one, but soon after I enrolled at Fotografika, I had the chance to visit a friend’s family dacha.
It was my first time experiencing that kind of space, and I started taking photos there. I borrowed my friend’s grandmother’s clothes and dressed up, almost like cosplay, and I also came up with small performances that could exist within the dacha setting and acted them out. Then I captured those moments through photography.
So you started taking photos at the dacha not as a project, but simply while spending time there, and that eventually developed into ongoing work.
Kristina: Yes, exactly. I was not going there with the intention of shooting. I went to the dacha to spend time with friends, to have parties, to relax, especially during the pandemic. But in that environment, moments I wanted to capture would naturally appear, and they gradually took shape as work.
I was not consciously building a series at first, but when I showed the images to the head of Fotografika, they responded very positively. I then submitted the work to competitions, and it began to receive recognition in different countries. That was how my career as a photographer started.
The work feels very specific to the dacha, offering a glimpse into Russian culture, but at the same time, it also opens up a deeply personal world around you and your friends. What was it about the dacha that drew you in and made you continue photographing there?
Kristina: I think that today, not only in Russia but in many countries, people are becoming exhausted by modern society, and time spent away from the city, surrounded by nature, has become very valuable. Going to the dacha, spending time in the banya, it allows you to relax. In the current political situation, I think it can also function as a kind of escape from reality.
Note: A banya is a traditional Russian sauna. Compared to a typical dry sauna in Japan, it has a lower temperature and much higher humidity, and it is often enjoyed as a social activity with friends and family.
INDEX
Holding the Gaze on What Feels Unsettling, and Choosing to Capture It Through Photography
In addition to the works shot at the dacha, there are also many images taken in the city or in people’s homes.
Kristina: In general, I rarely cast models or stage scenes specifically for a work. Even with the photos taken at the dacha, I do not intentionally construct situations or choose locations in advance.
For example, this image is a self portrait. I was walking with a friend when we were at the dacha, and suddenly I had this image of myself lying on that road. So I spontaneously took off my clothes and shot it. [laughs].
Kristina: I am often asked by people I know to photograph them, and when I go to their place, we talk together about what kind of images we want to create. That was also the case with this man. I photographed him in his apartment.
He is a photographer himself, but during the pandemic, his wife took her own life. He reached out to me because he wanted to create something as a way to begin moving forward again.
The boxes on the floor are from a Russian online shopping platform called Ozon, something like Amazon. During the pandemic, his wife became overwhelmed by the fear that she would no longer be able to buy things or even access food, and she fell into a kind of panic that led her to compulsively shop online.
While we were talking about all of this, he brought out a costume he uses during sex and asked me to photograph him wearing it. In a way, you could say the work emerged unintentionally.
Because the image reveals both this man’s personal story and the broader atmosphere of the pandemic, it feels like photography here functions both as a record and as a narrative medium.
Kristina: Looking back on it now, I do feel that many different layers of story exist behind the images. But one thing I am very particular about when I shoot is removing the sense of distance between myself and the subject.
I want the viewer to feel as if the person in the photograph is right there in front of them. And sometimes, what draws the eye are images that feel shocking or slightly uncomfortable. I do not want to look away from those moments. I want to face them directly and capture them as they are.
In works such as the image of two women kissing, your photography also seems to reflect diverse forms of love, including LGBTQ+ relationships.
Kristina: It might simply be that many of the people around me are creative, and among them, there happen to be many who are part of the LGBTQ+ community.
As I mentioned earlier, I usually do not stage or direct scenes intentionally, but this photograph is an exception. It is a work where I brought an image I had in my mind into reality. I wanted to capture a kiss between two women wearing a retro wedding dress, so I asked a teacher at Fotografika who owned the dress if I could borrow it.
They agreed on the condition that I would photograph 20 of their students in exchange for the dress, so I did that and received it. (laughs) One of the women is someone I know, and the blonde woman was someone both of us were meeting for the first time.
The idea of two people meeting for the first time, wearing a wedding dress and sharing a kiss, feels incredibly romantic.
Kristina: Even when I photograph people, there are times when we never see each other again after that. And with the war, there are also people who have had to leave the country. Relationships in life can be very fleeting.
I feel that those fleeting moments are also captured in the photographs.
INDEX
Confronting an Unsettling Reality in Russia Through Her Work
In addition to your portraits, there are many works featuring animals. They seem to carry a sense of vitality and also a perspective on life and death. It feels as though they are connected, at a deeper level, to your more sexual works featuring human subjects.
Kristina: When I was young, I was more interested in animals than in people, and in my photography, I want to create images where there is no distance between myself and the animal. Especially in the past few years, I have become less interested in human subjects, and I feel like I am photographing humans as animals as well.
Was there a particular reason for that shift in your perspective?
Kristina: Russia is in a very difficult situation right now. Last year, I was suddenly and unjustly prosecuted because of my work, and it became a criminal case. Because of that, I left Russia in February 2026, and I do not plan to return.
In Russia, many strange laws have been introduced, and it has become impossible to freely do what I want. During the months leading up to my departure, I spent my time photographing animals kept in cages. Through the experience of going through a trial, themes like violence and confinement became very close to me. As I photographed, I kept thinking about the parallels between animals in cages and people in prison.
Through these works, what do you hope to share with viewers?
Kristina: In Russia right now, many people are looking away from reality. Through images of animals kept in cages, I want people to confront that reality. The situation in Russia is abnormal, and I want that to be recognized.
In countries outside of Russia, fewer people may feel the presence of the same kind of cage in a political or social sense. But I think there are still people who limit themselves, who feel the pressure of society, who are living inside some kind of cage. If my work can make people reflect on that, I would be glad.
Finally, I would like to ask about your aesthetic as a photographer. What draws you to press the shutter?
Kristina: In today’s world, I feel that words like “beauty” and “love” have lost some of their weight. For me, beauty is simply something that captures my interest. It can be something beautiful, or something ugly. Beauty and ugliness exist together, and I am drawn to both. Whenever I encounter something like that, I want to capture it in a photograph.
Kristina Rozhkova: unbewitched
Exhibition Information
Dates: March 20 to April 13, 2026
Venue: PARCO MUSEUM TOKYO, Shibuya PARCO 4F
Hours: 11:00 to 21:00
Last entry is 30 minutes before closing. Final day closes at 18:00.
Admission: 500 yen
Free for preschool children. No discounts available.
More details: https://art.parco.jp/museumtokyo/detail/?id=1869
