The exhibition is connected in that it sits within a larger concept; it has come about extremely quickly and unexpectedly. The gallery owner donated the space to run an exhibition/fundraiser. The turnaround between being approached and the exhibition launch is around 5 weeks, half of which has already disappeared in the blink of an eye. So, the concept of how to use the gallery is still somewhat evolving.  It was important from the beginning that the zine and the exhibition would have to be separate entities, linked by a common thread. The format of the zine and the photographs chosen to sit within that work don’t necessarily translate to the walls of a gallery.  The gallery owner (Suki) is a fantastic artist and is intimately familiar with the space, having been the caretaker and manager for the past five years. She knows every corner, bolt, and screw hole in the building. We sat down together, and she asked what my plans were for the space; at this point, I was slightly overwhelmed, to say the least. Suki pointed out that the space is somewhat unique when it comes to galleries. It has 3m high cladded walls and high ceilings, but it also has this industrial feel and a lot of natural light despite being in the belly of a concrete whale. She advised me to view the space as more of a container that carries a unique energy with how the light falls. I’ve somewhat allowed the space to dictate what happens there.  

You described the venue as being wonderfully weird – could you give us some details of it? 

The gallery is in the middle of a large warehouse complex just off Whitechapel Road. Its construction and layout are so odd that they lend themselves to metaphor.  

You enter off the street through a large (6 ft/7ft)  iron gate, which opens up into a courtyard (this is where the market stall-style fundraiser will take place on Saturday the 18th). The courtyard is half undercover and half open air.  There’s another gateway that allows access to a long, dark corridor; walls painted black with intermittent spotlights that, beyond being extremely atmospheric, seem to lead you into the building like stepping stones or marker points. The corridor opens up into the bright, light gallery space. The whole thing is somewhat contradictory, and if you want to wax lyrical, it lends itself to metaphor. Birth, Death, Rebirth. It’s also unique in that it’s not directly on the street like a lot of galleries that have a glass frontage, where the distraction of traffic and pedestrians walking past is a consideration. The entry and layout of the gallery allows you to create a space distinctly separate from the outside world. 

Are there any of the exhibited photographs that you’d particularly focus on? 

There are two photographs in particular that sit heavily with me, the first was taken in March 2022 in a Northern suburb of Kyiv.  Around the middle of March 2022, I found myself staring out at dusk across several rows of monolithic apartment blocks, a sea of empty windows standing barren, robbed of the light and love that would have filled them just a few weeks prior. We were on the 16th floor of a residential tower block in Kyiv, looking west towards Irpin. We were confronted by a cityscape, silent and draped in darkness. The residents were either headed for safer regions or huddled with their neighbours in one of the local shelters. A ribbon of black smoke straddled the horizon.  

When I was able to view the image on my laptop, I was struck by how closely it echoed the red and black flag used by military units today in Ukraine. The flag has a dark and storied history, but it is now widely seen as a symbol of Ukraine’s struggle for independence.  

The other is a photograph taken from the same spot almost two years later with the same city blocks now bathed in soft, yellow, sodium streetlight. The windows of the apartments are now lit with the return of people wanting to hold fast and carry on despite the daily missile threats. In fact, the air alarm sounded shortly after the photograph was taken. Nine Tu-95 bombers left Olenya airfield headed for their firing point near the Caspian Sea which put Kyiv at risk. Upon viewing the photograph, I immediately recognised it as the counterpart/counterpoint to the first image taken two years earlier. Both images are laden with metaphor and context, which helps them transcend the basic and obvious echoes of what they materially represent.  

What do you hope will be achieved with this exhibition?  

Firstly, I’d like to raise some cash for humanitarian causes. Second, after going to many fundraising events, protests, talks, and performances, you always see the same people. It's almost like they are preaching to the choir; I think this is a decent opportunity to at least try to reach a different audience. On a more grandiose level, I'd like to comment on the disconnect between us as humans and how we consume news now. These stories bizarrely become just another dopamine hit, something we scroll past as a part of our daily diet of fast-media consumption. 

Is there a charity or cause that we can link to? 

Vsesvit is a Ukrainian solidarity organisation that supports grassroots movements that conduct house renovations for internally displaced people, distribute humanitarian aid, and distribute much-needed medical equipment to the front line. They're constantly working on fundraising events, folk art workshops, educational talks, and discussions. They have a large network of people to talk to and many ways to be involved. 

Take only what you can carry  | 10 Greatorex Street, E1 5NF | 12th – 17th August, 11 – 6pm 
Private View: 13th August, 6 – 9pm 

Take the icons and the embroidery, take the silver, 
Take the wooden crucifix and the golden replicas. 
Serhiy Zhadan 

A Little Crowd of Us Productions is delighted to present Take only what you can carry, an exhibition of photographic prints by London-based artist Noel Faucett. 

Faucett began making work in Ukraine after transporting medical supplies to Lviv in March of 2022. This initial contact developed into a photographic project that has spanned the past two and a half years including working with the Ukrainian diaspora in London and making several trips to Ukraine. 

The exhibition takes its name from a work by Starobilsk-born poet Serhiy Zhadan – an elegy for small, beautiful particulars of Ukrainian ways of living. It has become a touchstone both within the country and with solidarity movements abroad – remoulded into a punk song in New York; read aloud as an address in Trafalgar square. 

Proceeds from both exhibition and zine sales will be distributed by Vsesvit, a Ukraine solidarity collective based in London.