To each, their own pace.
Yana Northen • 3 January 2026
Thoughts on slowing down, creative work, and the year behind me.

Every time we stand on the threshold of the New Year, I look back.
For me, 2025 became a year of conscious and gradual forward movement.
Sometimes it feels like there is not enough time and that I am not moving as fast as I would like. But over time comes the understanding that everyone has their own pace.
When I allow myself not to rush, it becomes easier for me to think and make decisions.
Throughout 2025, I continued working on projects that I had started earlier. They may not be developing as quickly as I would sometimes like, but it is precisely in this rhythm that I begin to find my own form of expression and to do what truly resonates with me.
For me, this is a process of searching—understanding how I want to express my thoughts and show them through photography.
It is valuable that along this path there were, and still are, people who support me—both creatively and on a human level. This sense of stability and inner balance accompanied me throughout the past year.
I am not in a hurry, and I do not demand the impossible from myself.
Like many others, I think about what I want in the coming year. I want to complete one of my projects and give it the form of a book. I am also thinking about participating in group exhibitions and, possibly, holding a solo exhibition.
A special place in my work is occupied by a project about volunteers. It is important to me that people who quietly and daily invest a part of their lives into a common cause are seen and heard. For me, they are invisible heroes whose small contributions help preserve large and important things—whether it is the restoration of a space or the preservation of memory for future generations. I feel that this is important for the community and for the society in which I live.
In parallel, I continue working with the theme of memory and family. My family archive was lost—during the revolution of 1917–1920, all documents about my ancestors were destroyed. Last year, I learned about the fate of my great-grandfather, a priest, and my great-grandmother—they were executed during that period.
Since the archive no longer exists, I try to recreate it in my own way—through photography, through my own ideas and visual images. For me, this is a way to preserve the memory of my relatives and pass it on to future generations, including my grandchildren.
Slowly, in small steps, I continue to move in this direction.
In the coming year, my wish to myself is to keep going—at my own pace, attentively listening to myself and to what is happening around me.











