Every now and then, a book arrives that is more than just a photobook, it’s a profound exploration of memory, identity, and the human spirit, woven together through 87 photographs and 17 short stories.

Bykov describes his work as “a collection of portraits of people I met on my way: relatives, loves, friends, colleagues I used to work with, places I visited.” In essence, it’s a collage of life as he’s lived it, a deeply personal project that reaches into the ordinary and draws out the extraordinary. His words, “brought back from the past, the waves of my memory, a chain of flashes of light,” stayed with me as I flipped through the pages. Those “flashes of light” perfectly capture the essence of the book. Each photograph feels like a glimpse into a fleeting moment, a story frozen, waiting to be told.

What at once struck me about After Us was its ability to balance stark, crisp clarity with dreamlike ambiguity. The photographs seem to oscillate between reality and memory, inviting you to both see and interpret. Take, for instance, the faded blue image of two distant silhouettes. They’re blurred and barely there, as if submerged underwater or lost in a haze. It’s hauntingly beautiful, the kind of image that lingers in your mind long after you’ve turned the page. It reminded me that photography isn’t always about precision, it’s about evoking a feeling, sparking something intangible.

Then there are the more grounded moments, like a mother and her child at a beach. The scene isn’t your typical sun-soaked shoreline; instead, it’s a stony edge where water laps softly against the rocks. The blues in the image seem to glow with a quiet melancholy, capturing the bond between the mother and child while simultaneously conveying the serene stillness of the setting. It’s these contrasts, between sharp and soft, intimate and distant that give After Us its power. Every page feels like a conversation, a connection between Bykov’s world and your own.

One of my personal favourites in the collection is an image of a mother breastfeeding her child. She stands in a lane scattered with autumn leaves, trees arching overhead like a protective canopy. In the background, you can just make out a flat or multistorey building, a quiet reminder of the world beyond this intimate moment. There’s something so raw and honest about the way Bykov captures motherhood here. It’s not posed or polished, it’s life, as it happens. The photograph feels universal, yet deeply personal, a testament to the enduring power of photography to capture not just moments, but emotions.

The stories interwoven with the images add yet another layer of depth. In Hidden Message, Bykov reflects on his father’s attempts to teach him the subtleties of a poem, a moment that’s equal parts tender and fraught with the weight of generational understanding. It reminded me of my own conversations with family, the way we try to pass down knowledge or wisdom, even when it feels elusive. Traitor, on the other hand, delves into the raw vulnerability of self-doubt after a harsh critique of a Krakow photography exhibition. The story is both painful and uplifting, particularly when a friend’s words serve as a lifeline in the midst of chaos. And in Deja Vu, Bykov recounts a transformative photography workshop in Italy, a moment that reignited his passion and shifted his perspective on the craft. As someone who has had similar moments of creative awakening, I found this story especially resonant.

What makes After Us so compelling is its refusal to adhere to convention. Bykov doesn’t shy away from discomfort or vulnerability. The book juxtaposes innocence and intimacy, sharpness and blur, black-and-white and colour. One moment, you’re drawn into the exuberance of a family playing at the beach, complete with a dog eagerly prancing after a ball. The next, you’re confronted with a raw and intimate portrait of a naked couple in bed. It leaps to an artistic shot of a street preacher cast in dramatic shadow, only to pivot again to the quiet innocence of a child sleeping. The contrasts shouldn’t work, but somehow, they do. Together, these images form a tapestry of human experience, messy, unpredictable, and achingly real.

For me, this book felt like opening an old, beloved photo album. It’s not polished or linear; instead, it’s a series of fragmented memories, woven together in a way that feels deeply authentic. There’s an image of a young boy playing with his pet mouse, another of a woman on a swing, her dress slipping up to reveal a flash of skin. These moments feel unguarded, unfiltered, and refreshingly honest. They’re snapshots of life in all its contradictions, joy and pain, connection and solitude, innocence and sensuality.

What ties it all together is Bykov’s ability to infuse his work with a raw, emotional honesty. His photographs aren’t just about capturing what’s in front of the lens; they’re about what lies beneath. They’re about memory, not as a static record, but as something fluid and evolving, shaped as much by what we forget as by what we remember. There’s a tension in the work, a push and pull between clarity and ambiguity, which mirrors the complexities of life itself.

Reading After Us felt personal in a way few photobooks do. It came to me at a time when I was exploring my own creative voice, navigating the challenges and joys of photography with my Nikon D5300. Bykov’s work reminded me why I fell in love with the medium in the first place. Photography isn’t just about documenting the world; it’s about making sense of it. It’s about finding beauty in the mundane, meaning in the fleeting, and connection in the chaos.

As I turned the final page, I was struck by the title, After Us. It’s a question as much as a statement. What stays after we’re gone? What do we leave behind, and how will it be remembered? Bykov doesn’t offer easy answers. Instead, he invites us to reflect on our own lives, to consider the fragments we’ll leave behind for others to piece together. It’s a meditation on legacy, on memory, and on the fleeting yet profound moments that make us who we are.

After Us isn’t just a photobook, it’s an experience. It’s a reminder that life, in all its messiness, is worth documenting. It’s a call to embrace the imperfections, the ambiguities, and the contradictions that make us human. For anyone who loves photography, storytelling, or simply reflecting on the beauty and fragility of existence, this book is a must-read. It’s a work that lingers, long after the last image has faded from view.

The book is available at – https://www.redhookeditions.com/books-1/after-us

Regards

Alex