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a space of new aesthetics and sincerity
Ekaterina Sokolova
True art begins where the armor comes off. This is an interview on the brave intersection of art and vulnerability, where the greatest strength is found in the willingness to be authentically, imperfectly seen.
Kuro: There are conversations that skim the surface, and then there are those that dive into the depths, returning with pearls of raw, unvarnished truth. This interview is of the latter kind. It is not merely a question-and-answer exchange but a map of an inner landscape, charted by a photographer who uses her camera not just to capture light, but to navigate the intricate shadows of the self.
Here, the camera transforms from a tool of observation into an instrument of introspection — a mirror, a confessional, a key to locked rooms within. We are invited to witness a journey from silence into expression, from fear into acceptance, and to explore the potent alchemy that occurs when a woman decides to document her own becoming. This is a story about finding a language where words fail, and about the breathtaking courage it takes to truly see, and to be seen.
Here, the camera transforms from a tool of observation into an instrument of introspection — a mirror, a confessional, a key to locked rooms within. We are invited to witness a journey from silence into expression, from fear into acceptance, and to explore the potent alchemy that occurs when a woman decides to document her own becoming. This is a story about finding a language where words fail, and about the breathtaking courage it takes to truly see, and to be seen.
An Interview on Vulnerability and Art
Ekaterina Sokolova:
Instagram: instagram.com/katerina_sokolovas
X: x.com/kat_sokolovas
Foundation: foundation.app/EkaterinaSokolova
Objkt: objkt.com
Instagram: instagram.com/katerina_sokolovas
X: x.com/kat_sokolovas
Foundation: foundation.app/EkaterinaSokolova
Objkt: objkt.com
Kuro: I think many of us walk through the world feeling a little fragmented, carrying parts of ourselves we’ve been told to hide. We’re taught to curate our visibility, to show only the polished, coherent chapters of our story. But it’s in the raw, unedited moments — the cracks, the silences, the hesitant truths — where the real magic of connection happens.
Reading your words, I see a kindred spirit in that search for a language beyond words. Someone who understands that the body keeps score, that memory lives in the curve of a spine and the map of lines on skin. Your art feels like a permission slip to all of us: permission to be complex, to be unfinished, to be fiercely and unapologetically felt.
This conversation is an attempt to trace the outline of that permission slip. To understand not just how you create your images, but how your images are, in turn, creating you. It’s about the alchemy of turning shame into acceptance, fear into curiosity, and a solitary moment in front of a lens into a universal echo.
I see your work not as answers, but as beautifully framed questions — questions that I, and I suspect many others, are also asking in the quiet of our own lives. So let’s begin. Tell me a bit about yourself, about your art, about your creative journey in art.
Reading your words, I see a kindred spirit in that search for a language beyond words. Someone who understands that the body keeps score, that memory lives in the curve of a spine and the map of lines on skin. Your art feels like a permission slip to all of us: permission to be complex, to be unfinished, to be fiercely and unapologetically felt.
This conversation is an attempt to trace the outline of that permission slip. To understand not just how you create your images, but how your images are, in turn, creating you. It’s about the alchemy of turning shame into acceptance, fear into curiosity, and a solitary moment in front of a lens into a universal echo.
I see your work not as answers, but as beautifully framed questions — questions that I, and I suspect many others, are also asking in the quiet of our own lives. So let’s begin. Tell me a bit about yourself, about your art, about your creative journey in art.
Ekaterina: I could say: "I'm just a person." But that no longer sounds true. Now I feel myself becoming a woman — no longer that frightened girl, but not yet who I'm meant to be. An adolescent rebellion lives inside me, even though I'm 38, and it's strange to realize. Creativity is the only thing that helps me translate vague states into something real. Without it, they would remain somewhere on the border between illusion and life.
I am someone who endlessly moves from one set of boundaries to another, and I'm trying to find my way through resistance — both internal and external.
I am someone who endlessly moves from one set of boundaries to another, and I'm trying to find my way through resistance — both internal and external.
The First Click
Kuro: A moment of rupture, a quiet becoming. This is where the journey begins — not with a grand plan, but with a feeling. A self, once certain, cracks open. A new language, whispered in light and shadow, starts to form. Here, we find the origin story: how a life split in two by transformation gives birth to a new way of seeing.
Falling into the void / © Ekaterina Sokolova
Kuro: When did you first feel that in the female body lives something more than anatomy — something that cannot be explained but can be captured in a subtle curve, in breath, in a shadow on the skin?
Ekaterina: I don't think it's only about the female body. It's just easier for me to express myself through a female lens — it's my flesh, my language, it's more understandable to me this way. I truly began to realize myself after the birth of my daughter. Then my life clearly split into "before" and "after."
I still remember that turning point — a sharp understanding: "Now everything will be different." At first, it was terrifying, as if the ground had disappeared from under my feet. But looking back, I understand: if a girl hadn't been born, I might never have discovered this feminine part of myself. It appeared through her — as if a quiet voice whispered: "Here she is, your truth."
I still remember that turning point — a sharp understanding: "Now everything will be different." At first, it was terrifying, as if the ground had disappeared from under my feet. But looking back, I understand: if a girl hadn't been born, I might never have discovered this feminine part of myself. It appeared through her — as if a quiet voice whispered: "Here she is, your truth."
Kuro: Do you ever feel that the camera becomes not just an extension of your eye, not just a technical tool, but an extension of your sensations, a kind of instrument for feeling?
Ekaterina: For me, the camera is like a magnifying glass. It doesn't invent anything new, it just shows what is already there but hidden from the ordinary view. Even when I'm shooting not myself but something around me — it's still about my experiences. Light, shadow, sharpness or blur... It all becomes a language to tell about what would otherwise remain inside.
Someone once said that they recognize themselves in my shots only when they themselves are in pain or having a hard time. Probably, it's true — the most honest art is born where there's no possibility to pretend.
Someone once said that they recognize themselves in my shots only when they themselves are in pain or having a hard time. Probably, it's true — the most honest art is born where there's no possibility to pretend.
Kuro: Do you believe that photography can be a ritual where not the body is exposed, but something internal and unconscious?
Ekaterina: Absolutely. For me, it's exactly what you're talking about. I really liked one creator's words that art gives trauma an image. That's exactly what I experience. It's hard for me to talk about my experiences and feelings, it's easier to just block them entirely, but through imagery, I can pull it out of myself.
Kuro: At what point did you start to feel that your shoots are not about external forms, but about internal journeys?
Ekaterina: I truly began to realize this only very recently. Not just feel it, but actually understand: everything is about me. Perhaps when I immersed myself in nude art and started taking self-portraits more often. Now, as soon as I feel that I need to process something internally, to digest it, I know: I need to shoot. And more and more often, this only happens this way — through myself, through my own reflection in the frame.
The Alchemy of Trust
Kuro: The camera is not a cold machine; it is a conduit. In this sacred space, distance dissolves into electricity. It’s about the silent pact between the seer and the seen, where the unspoken is translated into color, texture, and tone. This is the magic of co-creation, where two vulnerabilities meet and something honest is born.
Kuro: When you look at the heroine/hero of the shot, do you see them or a reflection of your own state?
Ekaterina: During the shoot, I always see the subject — whether it's me or someone else. But the real magic happens later, when I start working with color. That's when all those feelings surface that I myself am not always aware of during the shoot. They come through in the hues, in the subtle color transitions — as if the soul itself is developing in the photograph.
And also — music. It always guides me. What's playing in the background while I process the frames amazingly influences the result. Although, if you think about it, the music isn't random either — it's just a mirror reflecting what's already bubbling inside me at that moment.
And also — music. It always guides me. What's playing in the background while I process the frames amazingly influences the result. Although, if you think about it, the music isn't random either — it's just a mirror reflecting what's already bubbling inside me at that moment.
Kuro: How does it feel inside you, the moment when the distance between you and the model suddenly disappears — and only something real, inexplicable, like electricity, like deep silence, remains?
Ekaterina: I feel closeness. Trust — real, mutual. And that quiet joy. For me, such moments are very precious.
GUILT / © Ekaterina Sokolova
Kuro: Does it happen that a photo becomes a kind of mirror for you, showing something you tried not to notice?
Ekaterina: Yes. But now I perceive it more calmly. What I didn't notice are just parts of me that I once rejected. Not because they are bad, but for my own reasons. And now, when a photo shows them to me — it's a chance to get to know them. There's actually a lot of strength in them. Although I admit — this process is rarely easy.
Kuro: What is harder for you — to show your vulnerability in the frame or to face someone else's?
Ekaterina: When I shoot self-portraits — it's easy for me to be vulnerable. But when I myself become the model... I admit, in that case, it's really hard for me to open up. To show the real me. That's exactly why I feel so acutely what the person on the other side of the lens is experiencing. And that's why — I don't push. I don't demand. I just quietly walk alongside them until they are ready.
Kuro: Why, do you think, nudity is still perceived as a provocation, and not as a form of, say, silence and peace?
Ekaterina: You know, I was just thinking about that myself recently. We are literally saturated with a sense of shame from childhood — as if our body is something shameful. But the body is the most honest part of us. It doesn't know how to lie.
When I see nudity — I don't think about provocation. I see a chronicle of life: little folds like tree rings, scars like road maps of survived storms, stretch marks like marks from internal transformations. It's beautiful — to read a person's history like an open book.
When I see nudity — I don't think about provocation. I see a chronicle of life: little folds like tree rings, scars like road maps of survived storms, stretch marks like marks from internal transformations. It's beautiful — to read a person's history like an open book.
Kuro: Have you ever felt that a photo "saved" someone — or you yourself?
Ekaterina: Now photography has become that very tool for me — a way to bring out everything that accumulates inside. When feelings that are hard to handle wash over me, I take the camera: I make a self-portrait or return to old shots. It's important for me to see these emotions, to give them form, otherwise they start to eat me up from the inside. So yes. It really does save me. Not as a temporary relief, but as a way to remain myself even in the darkest waters.
following freedom / © Ekaterina Sokolova
The Body as a Living Chronicle
Kuro: To move beyond the anatomy of it all. To read the skin as a map of a life lived. A gentle rebellion against the shame etched into the flesh. Here, the body is not an object to be judged, but a subject with its own memory, its own truth. A landscape of scars and stories, waiting to be witnessed without flinching.
Kuro: What is more important: how the body looks in the frame or how it feels — in its uniqueness, in its state, in its truth and sincerity?
Ekaterina: A difficult question. I look for a middle ground. For me, both the aesthetics of the frame and the sincerity with which the body lives its moment are important. I don't want to choose between beauty and truth — for me, they are two sides of the same coin.
Kuro: When you take a self-portrait, are you striving for a meeting with yourself or hiding from yourself? Or is it always something in between?
Ekaterina: It's always a meeting. Especially with those parts of myself that are still hard to accept — but so important to understand and live through. Photography becomes that safe space where you can finally look in the eye what usually hides in the shadows.
Kuro: Is there an image in you that you search for again and again, but still haven't found?
Ekaterina: Yes, there is such an image. A desire lives in me to reveal my wild, sexual nature — the one that breathes with a full chest and doesn't ask for permission. But I still hear the creaking of old doors in my consciousness: "Is it too much?", "What will people think?" These internal limitations are like a tight blindfold. I can already make out the outlines of who I could be, but I don't dare to tear it off completely yet. Although I feel — this image is waiting for me somewhere ahead, on the next turn of honesty with myself.
Demeter’s Last Breath / © Ekaterina Sokolova
Kuro: How does the image of your body change inside you when you stop looking at it as an object and start perceiving it as subjective memory — as something that felt, remembered, lived, and can tell about all of it?
Ekaterina: Reading this question, I suddenly felt — how cruel I have been to my body. How much I demanded, how rarely I thanked. Now I want to hug it like an offended child, whisper: "Forgive me." Because it's not just a shell — it's a faithful witness of my entire life, storing every joy and pain in the folds of skin, in the tension of muscles. Now I'm learning to treat it not as a tool, but as the closest being — one that deserves not criticism, but gratitude. Not strict control, but careful care. After all, it has endured so much... And it continues to carry me through life, even when I don't notice it.
Kuro: Is it ever scary to touch what's real?
Ekaterina: It's always scary. Living in illusions is easier, more airy, safer. But I realized: to breathe with a full chest, I need to go through these fears. They are like heavy chains that I've been forging for myself for years. Now my practice is to meet face to face everything that frightens me: unpleasant feelings, bitter disappointments, naked truth. Not to run away. Not to pretend. Just stand and breathe until the shackles begin to loosen. Because only this way can one become truly free.
The Unflinching Mirror
Kuro: The most terrifying and rewarding gaze is the one we turn upon ourselves. The self-portrait becomes a ritual, a safe house for a dialogue with the fragments we hide. This is where the camera holds up a mirror that does not lie, reflecting not just a face, but the raw, unedited architecture of a soul. It is an act of courage, an archaeology of the self.
Kuro: Have you ever cried during a shoot? If yes, what happened at that moment — inside and out?
Ekaterina: During a shoot — never. In the frame, I live in the flow, almost in a childlike delight. But tears came after — when during processing something suddenly manifested that resonated deeply within me. As if the photograph knew me better than I know myself. And also—that day when my work was selected for Vogue's portfolio. We discussed it with my therapist: it turned out, for me it became permission to call myself a photographer. In a year, something incredible happened — I moved from "I just take pictures" to the bold "I am an artist." And when I finally allowed myself to say it, the world seemed to expand its boundaries. Now I see horizons I hadn't noticed before.
Kuro: Does it happen that a frame seems to reject you — too honest, too personal, as if it knows you're not ready?
Ekaterina: My frames are always me. Even when there's someone else in the lens — every shot contains a piece of my soul. I don't remember direct rejection... But there are photographs — like locked rooms in the house of consciousness. I know they are waiting for the right understanding to mature in me. They don't reject. They are just more patient than me.
ears of wheat / © Ekaterina Sokolova
Kuro: What emotions do you expect from the viewer? Or do you publish your works without any expectations at all?
Ekaterina: Of course, I want to evoke emotions with my works. Strong emotions. Not just "like/dislike" — but for the shot to hit right in the core. I think I would want to touch those parts of the soul that usually sleep. The ones we hide ourselves — because it hurts, because it's scary, because it's "improper." When a person looks at my photos and suddenly freezes — I understand: it hit home. Not in the eye, but deeper. To where their personal truth lives. And if after that they think about something of their own for even a second — then it's all worth it.
Kuro: What is aesthetics for you — a way to calm the internal chaos or a means to say more than words can? Or is it perhaps a special way of sensing beauty?
Ekaterina: For me, aesthetics is first and foremost harmony. The kind where every line finds its place. It's beauty — unobtrusive, but real. And of course, it's a special feeling, when the heart recognizes the beautiful even before the mind realizes it.
Kuro: Where is the line between sincerity and aesthetics — and is it even worth looking for?
Ekaterina: I don't know where it is)) but I try to feel for it. It's something barely perceptible.
Kuro: What changes in you when you look at a female body for a long time — not as a photographer, but as a person?
Ekaterina: When I look at a female body for a long time — not through a lens, but just as a person — I begin to see. Truly see. That we are all different. That every body is a book where scars are instead of letters, stretch marks are like dotted lines of fate, wrinkles are traces from laughter. I still don't accept everything in my own body. But it's the only thing I have. And the more I examine other bodies, the clearer I understand: our "imperfections" are actually life's autographs. Maybe I first learned to see beauty in others? Or maybe, on the contrary — self-acceptance suddenly opened my eyes? Now I know for sure: perfect bodies don't exist. There are only different stories — honest, alive, breathtakingly beautiful.
The Ripple in the Water
Kuro: An image, once released, takes on a life of its own. It becomes an echo in the chambers of others' hearts. The afterlife of art — the silent conversation between the creator's truth and the viewer's secret self. It’s about the hope that a single, honest frame can be a permission slip for someone else to breathe, to feel, to be.
Kuro: What smells, sounds, or touches would you want to convey through a shot, if the camera allowed it?
Ekaterina: If photography could convey more than just an image... I would add:
- The smell of cut grass
- The freshness of the morning after rain
- The warmth of a blanket when you're shivering from the cold
- A light touch on your skin
- How children's arms hug
- The first sip of coffee when it's just right
Kuro: Are you an observer or a participant in your shoots?
Ekaterina: I am more often an observer. It's important for me to catch those moments when a person forgets about the camera — when a gesture comes from the shoulder, and laughter is born deep in the stomach. Such truth only happens in silence, when I am almost invisible. I become a participant less often. That's a different truth — the one born in dialogue. But that's another story.
Inner zeroing / © Ekaterina Sokolova
Kuro: How do you perceive the moment when the distance between you and the heroine disappears? Is it magic, therapy, merging?
Ekaterina: It only happens when trust arises between us. Real trust. When she can finally exhale — let go of control, stop thinking about "how it should be." And in this space without masks, we suddenly become closer than one might expect. I don't call it magic. Rather — a rare honesty. When all defenses crumble, and only she remains. The real one. And me, trying not to scare away this fragile moment.
Kuro: What do the girls tell you after the shoot that stays with you for a long time?
Ekaterina: The most valuable thing for me is when they come back to me. When they trust me again — knowing how scary it can be. A shoot is really not an easy thing: you are naked, you are on display, you are defenseless. That's why I try to make it so that in the frame, one can forget about the camera. About me. About "how it should be." So that only "how it is" remains. And when that happens — that's when those very shots are born. The real ones.
Kuro: When you shoot, are you creating eternity or just catching a moment?
Ekaterina: At first — just catching a moment. One of thousands. But then, when it remains in the photograph — it suddenly becomes eternity. Fragile, but eternity.
Kuro: Do you think your shoots/works can be an act of healing — for the heroine, for the viewer, for yourself? And if yes, what exactly is this therapeutic mechanism?
Ekaterina: Oh yes, I fully believe in it. I go through it myself in self-portraits — when during the shooting process you suddenly discover that part of yourself you were previously afraid to look at. And now you can live it, accept it, or at least just see it — which is already a huge step. That is healing: you don't necessarily have to immediately love it. It's enough to stop looking away.
On the tree / © Ekaterina Sokolova
Kuro: What did you discover in yourself/about yourself by studying others?
Ekaterina: I discovered that I am not the "good girl" I thought I was. This knowledge first destroyed me — as if the ground was disappearing from under my feet. But then I discerned: a whole universe lives inside me. Dark, complex, frighteningly honest. Now I explore it — carefully, like an archaeologist. And you know what? I like this dark world of mine. It's a part of me. Perhaps the most real part.
Kuro: Is it possible to understand your own feelings and sensations without having lived the feelings and sensations of another?
Ekaterina: How can you recognize someone else's pain or joy if you don't know the taste of your own tears? We measure the world through ourselves — and in that lies both a limitation and the possibility of true closeness.
Kuro: What internal dialogues happen within you during the shooting process? Do you talk to yourself, to the model's body, to the silence?
Ekaterina: During the shooting process, I am focused on the heroine, on the moment.
Kuro: In which shot did you first accept yourself — truly, without defense and without justification?
Ekaterina: It was the self-portrait "Shards." The one where I finally saw my dangerous, prickly part. Not beautiful. Not convenient. But — real. As if I saw myself without embellishment for the first time and wasn't frightened.
Shards / © Ekaterina Sokolova
Kuro: What do you understand about yourself and your sensations when the work is finished, and you look at the result for the first time?
Ekaterina: When the work is finished, and I look at the shot for the first time — it's like meeting myself anew. Sometimes it's painful. Sometimes — a relief. Most often: "Aha, so this is what you're really like." These frames are like an honest mirror. They don't ask if I like what I see. They just show. And in that — lies their main gift.
Kuro: Do you feel as if someone is looking at you "through" your works?
Ekaterina: Yes. Each of my works is an open window into those corners of the soul that I myself glance into with caution. Strangely: through photographs, I can show what I usually hide even from myself. Maybe because the camera is like a conductor between my "want to say" and "afraid to admit"? When someone looks at these shots — they see the real me. The one without masks. And that is simultaneously terrifying and liberating.
selected works
Instagram: instagram.com/katerina_sokolovas
X: x.com/kat_sokolovas
Foundation: foundation.app/EkaterinaSokolova
Objkt: objkt.com
X: x.com/kat_sokolovas
Foundation: foundation.app/EkaterinaSokolova
Objkt: objkt.com
The Quiet Permission
Kuro: After the last question hangs in the air, a single, powerful truth remains. This is the core of it all, the simplest and most radical message art can carry. It is not a shout, but a whisper that settles deep within the bones: a reminder that to be here, as you are, is enough.
Kuro: If you could leave only one thought for the world through your art, what would you say?
Ekaterina: You can simply be, without proving anything to anyone. You are enough to be loved. Even when you seem "awful" to yourself.
Kuro: If your art could change one thing in the world, what would you want it to change?
Ekaterina: I don't strive to change the world. But if even one person, seeing my works, suddenly thought: "I am okay. I'm fine just as I am" — that's worth continuing for.
Kuro: What makes you get up in the morning and do what you do?
Ekaterina: Love for what I do. It's simple. I love it.
EPILOGUE
Kuro: To read these words is to be granted a rare privilege: to stand beside an artist as she holds a light to the deepest corners of her being. What remains after the final question is not just an understanding of a creative process, but a feeling of profound connection. It is the echo of a shared humanity.
This interview is a testament to the idea that our most powerful art is born from the courage to be vulnerable. It is a reminder that our bodies are not projects to be perfected, but stories to be honored. That our perceived flaws are, in fact, the very signatures of our existence.
The final thought left with us is a gentle, yet revolutionary, permission slip: You are enough. It is an invitation to put down the armor, to look inward with compassion, and perhaps, to find our own instrument — be it a camera, a brush, or simply a willing heart — to begin translating our own inner universe into something tangible, true, and utterly beautiful in its imperfection. The journey inward is the most creative act of all.
This interview is a testament to the idea that our most powerful art is born from the courage to be vulnerable. It is a reminder that our bodies are not projects to be perfected, but stories to be honored. That our perceived flaws are, in fact, the very signatures of our existence.
The final thought left with us is a gentle, yet revolutionary, permission slip: You are enough. It is an invitation to put down the armor, to look inward with compassion, and perhaps, to find our own instrument — be it a camera, a brush, or simply a willing heart — to begin translating our own inner universe into something tangible, true, and utterly beautiful in its imperfection. The journey inward is the most creative act of all.